I need, in my life, Post-Indigo Disk, Drayton being the only one who realizes this chick who fell out of the sky because of Celebi—who has brown and green hair in a weird pattern that suspiciously resembles two people he knows—is Kiki and Juli's future daughter

Drayton: Hey, don't you think her hair looks kind of...interesting?

Kieran: It's the same shade of brown as Juliana's <3

Drayton, standing in front of him: Okay, but what else?

Kieran: ...

Kieran, who was watching Juliana tell the girl about Miraidon: Well, I'd be able to tell you if you weren't blocking my way!

Carmine does catch on, but a part of her thinks it's funny to pretend that she doesn't get the very logical conclusion he's pointing out because it's so rare for her to be the one with the upper hand??

It gets better when the girl catches on to what Aunt Carmine's doing, and she's like, "sorry, Uncle Drayton, this is for all the times you played a prank on me. Aunt Carmine's my favorite now <3"

summertime | wong kunhang

pairing: hendery x reader, side xiaocas

words: 4.5k

genre: childhood friends to lovers!au, first love, hs reunion, practically idiots to lovers, fluff, angst

warnings: none

a/n: warmup-ish fic. i don’t know why it’s so long either. loosely inspired by this. also hendery sweetest boy so i had to write something cute for him !! 

When Wong Kunhang had hit you in the face with a volleyball coated in sand, you knew it was one way or the other with him. You were either going to fall in love with him or hate him for the rest of your life, and nothing in between.

It’s a little more complicated than that, you realize at twenty-one.

The neat asphalt is now a cool grey, not as pretty and dark as it used to be when you were in eighth grade but still clean and maintained. The stone walls on either side are certainly better off, marking the houses of the beachside town your school trip led to every goddamn year. Not that you were complaining, shining blue seawater has always been a favourite sight of yours. Kunhang was just the smiling bonus you held on to.

The road slants uphill till you can see the sunlight shimmering against the vast blue of the ocean across the horizon, dotted with the tops of palm trees and pastel buildings. It’s mostly at this point you realize that Kunhang’s been talking the entire way, and that you should nod along to add to the pretence, that you’re listening to him and not the loud drumming of your heart against your chest.

But Kunhang’s not here today. You don’t even know if he’s coming.

“Hey, (name), are you listening?” Yukhei asks, steadying the surfboard in his arms when you stop. “Are you thinking about Kunhang?”

The tone of his voice is teasing, but it’s as if you’re still thirteen, trying to come to terms with the first crush you’d ever had. Your cheeks grow hot and you scoff at him, snatching your tote bag from his arms and striding faster down the road. Kunhang can come, not come—you don’t care. For all you know, he’s enjoying his new life out there, as curious and fun-seeking as he is—was. He might even have found himself a lover, you realize as the bitter taste grows on your tongue.

Kunhang has always been special. Summer after summer, he’s only grown better at that.

Your parallel lines started growing distant somewhere in the first year of college. The daily facetime calls to describe the baffling wonders of adulthood slowly turned into weekly phone calls about the strain of assignments and projects and eventually, into faded texts you still look over on your phone. He’s just a friend, so you shouldn’t be expecting any more, right? It’s only ordinary that friends will grow apart. The city downpour that was slowly erasing his voice made you long for summer even more.

When you were twelve, Wong Kunhang had hit you in the face with a volleyball at the beach you always visited as part of the school trip. Somehow, with his weird sense and cutting enthusiasm, he’d offered the corner of his shirt to rub the sand off your face instead of a towel he’d find lying just about anywhere at the beach. (“The towels were definitely covered in sand! There’s no way beach towels aren’t sandy.”) And somehow, with your poor foresight, you’d felt an audible thump in your ribcage, the kind that only comes once. It was fitting, almost.

When you were thirteen, the thump grew into an entire orchestra. They settled in before you knew, and you realized you could neither accept them nor reject them. You suddenly couldn’t comprehend sitting beside him in class without nervously bouncing your legs, or laughing a little less enthusiastically at his jokes. You felt the turbulence of your pulse every time your hands touched as he passed you an eraser or a pen, or when his face split into a grin at you struggling to unscrew the bottle cap—it’s almost as if it were the end of the world whenever he breathed near you. You were painfully honest, so easy to see through and even Yukhei caught on to the fact that you had a thing for the weird yet lovable kid and his ridiculous smile. Kunhang, however, was probably in need of prescription glasses. 

When you were sixteen, Kunhang learned how to play the drums and if anything, it made the heat bloom in your cheeks even faster. When you saw him play at the summer festival before the school trip, you wanted to stay there forever, just watch him do what he loves. Focused in the way he breathed and looking incredibly handsome for a stupid crush, you’d wanted to tell him then and there. 

You’d made up your mind, or at least part of it, that this summer trip wouldn’t go to waste. Even the short-lived love of a young boy, you wanted to see it reflected in his eyes. That summer, just like every school trip, Kunhang had passed a volleyball to you in the outline of an inside joke that doesn’t get old; and you’d swallowed harshly, choking suddenly only for him to rub his hand over your back in the same gentle manner he did most everything.

When you think about it, you can’t seem to get over how much of an idiot you were back then. Kunhang was almost an even bigger one.

“I wish I’d get better at the drums quickly,” he’d said beside the campfire, tapping his foot impatiently. 

It was only the two of you immersed in the night and if that weren’t reason enough for your incoherent thoughts, his knee was touching yours in a way oblivious to him—and the look of complete serenity over his face made you rethink your confession.

“You’re already good enough,” you huffed in disbelief.

“I can play two, er, three songs!” His voice was enthusiastic in the beginning but it hummed out to a mellow ending. He’d added in a determined whisper, “I need to practise so I don’t embarrass myself.”

Before you knew it, you’d let out a short laugh. Wong Kunhang, afraid of embarrassment? It was almost unheard of. You’d never met anyone so open before, so happy to share even the rougher, less tangible parts of himself.

Kunhang only gazed at you wordlessly, and when you met his eyes, the butterflies were let out of the cage in your stomach again. You wanted to lean in a little, kiss him right then and there, the image itself slowly curling around your head in haunting wisps as if something taboo. It didn’t make sense to you, to feel so immensely submerged in adolescent feelings—yet be comforted by his presence oh so easily. You know you weren’t the only one harbouring clandestine feelings. You’d seen them confess, you’d seen the few perfumed letters in his locker asking to meet after class.

Kunhang had turned down all of them. It didn't take solving quantum physics to realize he’d probably do the same to you. And you’d both end up losing a friend.

You’d swallowed whatever garbled confession that might have come out of your mouth that night. It’s better off this way, you told yourself, and you believed it for quite a while.

You wanted to hate him when you turned eighteen. You were going away to start a new life all on your own, and yet there he was, pretending that everything was going to be the same. Did he have to treat you so special? It wasn’t real, after all, the full wave of attention he gifted you, the adoring laughter and the occasional awkward head pats. 

(And yet, every time you close your eyes, you wish it was.)

You wonder if Kunhang knows summer the way you do—sand against bare feet, having ice cream under a beach umbrella and most importantly, the scent of young love coating you in a thick layer of nervousness. Knowing him, he probably didn’t even notice the way you struggled to keep your wide grin secret every time he offered you the coconut flavoured ice cream. You wonder if he’s forgotten summer by now.

Yukhei catches up to you just before the narrow stone steps that end in the beach sand. You stop for a second, careful of the rock you always trip over (and the memory of Kunhang there to steady you with a laugh, unless he was the one who tripped face first into the sand) as you breathe out heavily. This is your high school reunion. You don’t have to think of your awkward  teenage love right now. You can enjoy the coconut flavoured ice cream all by yourself.

You step onto the sand, taking a sharp breath at the full strength of heat that hits you. The towels and umbrellas are spread across the area, candy blue stripes everywhere your eyes visit, till your name is called by a frantic Dejun trying to get your attention. Summer feels hotter than any year you’ve visited and even sunscreen can’t protect you from the inevitably dazzling view you face.

After all this time, you thought he’d go away but the waves come crashing after all.

Kunhang has grown into a messy sort of handsome. His hair is longer since the last time you saw him, unkempt in the way it falls over his forehead yet still strangely neat. Even under the shade of the giant umbrella, there’s an unmistakable calm over his features—the look he often had on his face and no one would be able to tell what he was thinking, his own respite in broad daylight. The contrast between him and the blue around is crisp, like a sunlit field of pink tulips floating atop blue ocean water. It’s hardly been three years and he looks older, a bit more mature. 

Kunhang beams when he notices you, the effect of it almost crushing as you try not to acknowledge the tidal wave of pent-up emotions.

“(name)!” he grins wide, jogging up to you. “I didn’t know you were coming. You didn’t reply to any of my texts!”

They vanished. Your words vanished again. Fidgeting with your fingers, you abruptly clear your throat before you can respond.

“Yeah. I, uh, I changed my number.” You bite your tongue softly at the lie.

He frowns. “Oh. Well, give me your new one.”

“I- I- I forgot my phone. At the- the hotel.”

You feel yourself cringing at your voice. It’s so...so embarrassing, every rise and fall. Kunhang blinks a few times before shrugging.

“Ah. I’ll get it later then.”

You almost immediately excuse yourself and beeline to Dejun sitting by the cooler, trying hard to hold a coconut larger than his hands as he raises a suspicious eyebrow at you. Of course it’s natural you’d go straight to the guy you see everyday at university instead of visiting the boy of your unrequited affections. It’s completely normal. What’s the point of a reunion anyway?

What you don’t expect is to be sandwiched between Dejun and Kunhang, the latter enthusiastically summing up each and every point of his life at university, the lack of control over facial expressions still prominent and you try not to let your heartstrings pull too hard. Dejun hums in intervals beside you, sipping at the coconut water he so struggled to get as Kunhang skilfully ignores the growing tension. 

God, he really is an idiot. You feel like telling him you’ve been in love with him for eight years just so he’d shut up.

But after all this time, Kunhang has managed to remain himself. You smile. The sand in your hourglasses might not be flowing so differently after all. He’s still talking about most everything he finds fascinating through the smallest of details and you’re still willing to listen to the sound of his voice for hours. The scent of the ocean breeze that made you think of him, so you kept it safe—it’s overwhelming now.

Your vision is suddenly blocked by a pink paper cup, the spotless white ice cream in it already starting to melt. You turn your head to Kunhang trying hard not to make a face at you, biting onto the edge of an empty paper cup.

“You didn’t listen to anything I said, did you?” he asks with a click of tongue, after taking his cup in his hand. 

You can’t help your sheepish laugh. “I lost you when you started talking about the campus cats.”

Kunhang scratches the back of his head, smiling. “I couldn’t get a volleyball today. They increased the rent rates by ten!”

“What, you were planning to rent a volleyball just to hit me in the face with it?”

Kunhangs face breaks into a grin, positively glowing from his eyes to the line of his nose to his lips. Maybe you don’t hate this feeling so much. 

Dejun suddenly clears his throat beside you, springing up. “I’m- I’m going to go help Yukhei,” he declares, discarding his coconut somewhere over the sand.

“Help with what?” you ask, furrowing your brows.

Dejun coughs uncomfortably before shrugging and speeding off to Yukhei trying very hard to plant the wet surfboard in the sand. Somewhere in your mind, you already know the reason why he ran off. 

You turn to Kunhang with a worried look, but there’s no sign of realization over his face. You almost sigh but catch yourself in the moment. Is it pitiful? He probably can’t even imagine you that way, maybe that’s why he hasn’t caught on. 

Is it bad that you hate it? That you’re not satisfied with the friendly touches, the innocent smiles. You don’t want to keep it so pure after all—you want to run your hands through his hair, you want to twine your fingers through his, you want to feel the touch of a kiss with him.

Your gulp nervously once Kunhang’s features come into focus, still talking about something vague and nodding along to it at an uncertain rhythm. The sound of the waves come gently crashing, just as they do to the shore and the buzz of this place reminds you of all the time you spent here. What has been, what could have been.

“Kunhang,” you interrupt and he whips his head to you, eyes curious. You take a deep breath.

What value is there to words that you’re desperately trying to throw away?

“I- I’m going to go to the water,” you say, trying to cover up your nervousness. If it wasn’t any other summer trip, it’s not going to be today. It’s not going to be, at all.

If you can’t put it into words, will you be alone? You’re only chewing over your memories hoping they fade.

Kunhang springs up just as you stand, his sudden movement surprising you. 

“I…” He begins but shakes his head with a subdued smile. His voice comes out softer than you expect. “Yukhei’s that way, if you’re looking for him.”

You blink back your confusion. “Ah, um, thanks!”

The more you try to lie to him, the less you understand yourself. But if you stay any longer, you might just spill the archived secrets, the words you should have burned in the campfire that night. You can fall out of love. It’s easy, it’s easy, you tell yourself—then why couldn’t you have done it earlier? Can you even do it now?

“What are you doing here?!” Yukhei asks, furrowing his brows as he gets up from the sand. “Where’s Kunhang?”

“I- I don’t know! Why would I know everything about him?” you grumble, hugging yourself.

“You are so stupid,” he states in response.

“That’s- That’s not something you should be telling me!”

Yukhei grabs your shoulder, shaking you hurriedly. “You should go back to him! The beach is one of the top ten romantic places, come on.”

“What makes you think I still like him?!” you hiss, trying to get his hands off your shoulders.

Yukhei stops abruptly, tilting his head to greet Dejun, who makes you jump out of your skin. You move apart from Yukhei, facing him with a sigh.

Dejun tries hard not to pull a face, notifying that your other classmates are here, and it’s a lot more likely some of them are still heart-eyed for Yukhei. The two of them seem to share an inside joke as they laugh and you raise an eyebrow, not even bothering to decode the situation. 

The brunch idea was probably Dejun’s, considering how smoothly things run. The whole renting out half a bar idea was probably Yukhei’s, considering how much of a wild mess it is. The place is perfectly snug, warm and just enough for a former high school batch, right by the beach where the sand meets asphalt. The laughter and conversations overpower the low jazz undertones of the music playing through the speakers and you find yourself smiling when someone or the other reminds you of all the high school ventures you’d had under the teachers’ disapproving eyes.

“Remember when Yukhei stole the rabbit from our school garden?”

“That wasn’t even worse than when he accidentally fired the water hose at Mr. Liang!”

“Oh my god, you remember putting on makeup in between classes without getting caught?”

“Or trying to steal lunch from me, you big bully?”

Really, seeing old faces after so long and then the same faces hammered only a few hours later might just be another one of the ‘fun’ things you’ve been missing out on.

There’s Shuhui, Lunmei and Linlin—girls you didn’t get to talk much with during school, but you remember Shuhui’s face from middle school. There’s Yukhei’s friends, Shihao and Taishun, who you think you exchanged a whopping total of sixteen words with throughout high school. Yet now, with everyone gathered here, it feels like some sort of a haven of reminiscence, like you’d known each other all your life (which, to an extent, you did). It’s comfortable and warm, the blanket of old connections.

You take another sip of the punch. It’s not enough to get you drunk but it's enough to shift the gears in your ribs to begin the steam engine you can’t find the brakes on. Your face is hot, Kunhang finally not the reason behind it, and you sigh as you glance around the room slowly.

It would’ve been quieter if Yukhei somehow hadn’t started this chain of confessions. Dejun is still struggling to keep him seated, a warm blush over his face when he has to wrap his arm around Yukhei yet again while the others continue chanting “confess! confess!” to the next unlucky victim guilty of harbouring an unspoken teenage crush.

You shake your head at the whole scene, sighing once again as you lazily swirl the remnants of your drink in the glass. The night will be over soon, and you’ll go back to your own paths. For now, you can pretend it’s all just another summer adventure.

Yukhei clears his throat, everyone’s eyes turning to him instantly. “I’m sure there’s one more confession left!”

There’s a bunch of cheers and you feel your heartbeat quicken when Yukhei shoots you a knowing smile. Your eyes widen, your throat suddenly feeling dry and you turn your head to meet Kunhang’s eyes. He looks at you with no hint or clue about the reality and you look away before it fries your nerves out.

“You’re going to thank me after this, Kunhang,” Yukhei calls, a teasing lilt to his voice and the boy in question simply shakes his head, grinning in polite confusion. 

You look around in panic, from Yukhei to Kunhang and wonder if you should open your mouth. You take a breath before a roar of cheers interrupts you.

Shuhui stands up, rosy-cheeked and wobbling at the knees. You catch Yukhei blinking with furrowed eyebrows but nodding anyway, as if the decisive president in a heated debate. 

“Wong Kunhang!” she calls before coyly confessing. “I like you! I’ve liked you since eighth grade!” 

Is it the alcohol? Or the cruel realization that your mother was right when she said summer makes people fall in love? There’s another round of cheers and applause as you get up discreetly, sneaking out the door a few steps behind you. You don’t think you can stomach the sight of someone else’s arms around Kunhang, his loving attention drawn to them. 

The night air is cool, the bushes lining the sidewalk buzzing with cicadas as you step over onto the soft, warm sand. The campfire has been reduced to blazing embers, no one there to kindle it as the night progressed. You hug yourself as you walk, the calm over you strange, uncharacteristic. 

Even if it’s not you and him after all, you should have said something. You’re only a coward, slow and naive in a world too fast-paced, unable to face a reality that’s your own. You couldn’t even stay in that room a second longer. If only your chest didn’t waver so easily, your heartbeat didn't grow erratic.

You walk closer to the water, waves lapping quietly against the sand, a hush over them as if they do not know what to say to you. What do you say to someone on the verge of heartbreak? Consoling your friends at university taught you next to nothing, your own seeming beyond your help.

“(name)!”

You feel your breath hitch, hesitant in turning around. There’s a moment’s pause and when you don’t turn, Kunhang tugs at your wrist, pulling you to him.

It’s getting so that your heart can’t even flutter anymore.

Gentle and kind, and so willing to give, Kunhang could never really leave you alone, could he? He looks at you with wide eyes, almost like a puppy lost on the streets. His pale pink overshirt is hanging loosely over his shoulders, unbuttoned all the way over his white T-shirt, his hair tousled by the wind and words yet resting on his lips. You forget to breathe for a few seconds and when you inhale sharply, the onslaught of your feelings comes toppling over you.

“I hate this,” you choke on the words. “You should be in there.”

“They’re still celebrating. And drunk.” He shifts nervously.

“I hate you,” you say, not finding meaning in the words. “I hate you so much because of how stupid I was- how weak I was.”

Kunhang’s eyes shimmer with something unfamiliar, lips quivering before he steadies himself, drawing nearer.

“That’s not fair,” he whispers, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. 

You purse your lips. It isn't fair—who are you to blame him? He doesn’t deserve the vomit of emotions from your popped balloon of a heart. You bite your tongue before you can spit out the poison-infused words. 

“I’m sorry,” you whimper, voice hoarse and still angry, “I wish I told you earlier. How much I liked you. How much I wanted to be with you.”

Kunhang stays quiet, hand not ready to leave your wrist yet, the part where his thumb rests searing hot.

“I thought I could pretend I never liked you at all,” you say, biting your lip. “I thought that if I faked it then it would go away but Wong Kunhang, I- I’ve liked you for so long that I don’t know what it’s like if I don’t.”

Why are you crying? It’s like the emotions you’ve hoarded all these years have somehow found an opening to burst through, in a stream of colours that paint you in embarrassment. You feel the blood rush to your cheeks and nose, as you vigorously rub at your eyes so the tears don’t escape in so obvious a manner.

“I- I tried going on dates, I tried- I tried all those stupid blind dating apps, I tried to focus on my major and making new friends and- and still…”

Doesn’t the rain fall in times like these? Yet there’s only the hot blanket of summer, with its swaying sea wind and calling cicadas resting in the vibrant bushes.

“I didn’t want to force all of this on you. I’m so—”

It’s only fitting that the stupidest sequence of words would leave his lips.

“I thought you liked Yukhei,” he says quietly.

You pause, uncertain of what to do and breathe out in annoyance. “Kunhang, for the love of god, where did you even come up with that?”

His cheeks colour ever so slightly and he clears his throat. “I don’t kno- I just- I kept giving myself excuses too. I’m sorry.”

The wind makes his hair sway lightly by his eyes, the stars glowing cool blue in them. Whatever the ebb and flow of your feelings were, they’re crashing against the sand, violent and sorrowful at first till the moon tames them into something warmer.

And then it happens again. Kunhang smiles, shoulders relaxing. There’s a moment’s pause.

“I- I’m not good with this.”

When Kunhang presses his hand against your jaw and leans in a little, eyes waiting for confirmation, the drumming in your veins is so loud you can barely comprehend the movement of his actions. You shut your eyes almost instantly but Kunhang accidentally bumps your noses a little too hard. The two of your wince, your hand flying to your nose as a muffled cry of pain escapes your lips and he looks at you worriedly, his fingertips pressing against your cheek softly.

You choke back a laugh but it bubbles up anyway, his own following after an embarrassed pause. 

“I think- I think I was a little nervous,” he admits, looking down and then back up to you.

“We can...we can try that again,” you hum, biting back a smile.

Kunhang’s hair is in fact softer than you’d expected, and when you run your fingers through them, he smiles into the kiss, his hand at the small of your back pulling you closer. Nothing’s like you daydreamed of and yet everything is in place, the shared warmth growing with each passing second. 

It’s blissful for a few moments before you’re interrupted by a drunk Yukhei to “get it” and you jump apart from each other, flushed hot in the cheeks. Dejun apologizes for his boyfriend, waving at you guys to continue whatever the hell you were doing before tugging Yukhei along with him.

You clear your throat awkwardly before plopping down on the sand, face buried in your hands. Kunhang follows slowly, legs outstretched towards the ocean. You peek to see him smiling at the sky, leaning back on his hands and the look you love seeing on him.

“Kunhang?”

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t- I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. Even if you didn’t like me back then.”

Kunhang turns his head to you, eyes earnest as they trail across your face.

“You don’t have to be brave.”

He reaches out to fix the hair from your eyes, a gentle touch to them as ever, but this time there’s a stronger meaning to it, almost as if he’d kiss you again right then. The two of you smile, twining your fingers somewhere along the night as he tells you to rest your head on his shoulder. The waves sing softly to accompany Kunhang’s chatter, the feeling almost unreal when you feel his pulse against your thumb. 

What has been, what could’ve been—they’re barely a breeze to what really is.

AVENOIR | l.dh - QUINDECIM

(gif not mine - credits to rightful owner)

Genre: High School AU (at beginning) ; Tarot Reader!Witch!Hyuck

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: (bold if in use) slow but with a purpose, belief contradictions (???), mentions of r*pe, blood, swearing, violence, mentions of abuse

Pairings: Lee Donghyuck (Haechan) x Reader (F)

DEATH: end of a cycle, beginnings, change, metamorphosis

The summer months seemed to go as fast as they came. Autumn was approaching rapidly but wasn’t quite there yet. It was the awkward time when it was unbearable hot out while the leaves were starting to fall and turn different shades to show their end for the year. It was exciting to them in all honesty despite the death of the nature around. Autumn arriving meant many things but most importantly it meant the end of them travel the country until next spring.

It also meant Cosimia’s birthday. She’d be turning sixteen later in October, not far off from the adulthood she thought she’d never come to reach. She thought it was the perfect age for some reason... Perhaps it was because she was young enough to continue being irresponsible without consequences like she wanted, but also because she was old enough to be taken seriously by the adults she criticized, privately, too.

She realized now, looking back on her passing childhood years how fast they had actually gone by. Some of them were even very blurry to her when she tried to recall it and realized how much she had taken away in those years as well... She hated it all. The great chunk of her childhood taken from her and especially the fact that adulthood was already sneaking up on her so stealthily...

“Hey, Haechan...” She called you him as she continued to stare out the window at the dull gray that filled the sky that morning as the trailer bumped on the highway. “Did you feel any different when you turned sixteen? Like it was a big deal or anything?”

“I mean, sorta.” He shrugged. “I rushed out to get my license so I got to drive legally for once and it does feel like a shift in perspective I guess. I think you start to realize how the slow years have passed and everything seems to have gone by faster despite how slow it might seem in the moment.”

“Hmm,” She hummed as her chin rested atop her hands.

“Why do you ask?”

“I feel like... something big is suppose to happen? I don’t know when though...”

“Can’t you see if something big is coming, you know, with your ability?”

“Not like that... Remember? One to two things at a time and they’re often vague for me...”

“Can you tell me what you see right now?”

“It’s more of feeling right now... Mostly of immense devastation and the feeling of fresh tears running down your cheeks, that’s it. Me crying is not that uncommon but that feeling, I don’t know.”

“Do you think it’s possible because we’re getting closer to Oregon?”

She turned her head around to look at him and he felt like he shouldn’t have brought it up the way she looked at him with doe like eyes. It’s true, the place she was so desperately looking forward too at the beginning when Johnny had found them was coming up soon. It wasn’t even a day away from them now... She has kind of forgotten about since she’d been so focused on Donghyuck lately. She missed her mother, even if the memory of her was blurry and she knew she was gone physically... There was nothing should could do about that but at least she felt the lingering of her soul around her sometimes...

“Maybe I don’t need to see her deathbed anymore.” She sighed. “I don’t feel like I do, maybe, I’m finally moving on from it.”

“You can always change your mind.” He mumbled as he rubbed her shoulder, lightly.

He noticed lately that the girl didn’t flinch at all anymore whenever he touched her. He could initiate it without a problem now too. As her trust with in him, grew he noticed how clingy she could actually be... There was no longer any room between them when they shared the bed. In fact, he’d often find her arm draped across his torso in the morning. He was still afraid for some reason so it was always feather-like, kind of sweaty and burned due to warmth but she didn’t seem to mind. Though, she still flinched whenever it came to any of the other guys they hung out with during their free time.

Of course there were times she begin to get overwhelmed or tremble and brushed the boy’s hand off of her. He could feel it when the breath hitches in her throat this time. She grabbed it gently, but quickly to take it off her shoulder. She didn’t let go of it, rather she just held it while she continued to look out the window in silence. He just looked at her as rubbed her thumb across his skin. She never looked back at him, just sat there while he stood, hand in hand.

The following morning, Donghyuck was the first one up which was not common. The birds chirped outside and the air ice cold when it hit his skin. He noticed their trailer was no longer moving which must have meant they’ve reached Oregon already. He looked out the window and was able to see the sky shined yellow at the horizon which faded to pink up into purple as the sun rises to push the night elsewhere.

He got out of bed, carefully not to wake up the sleeping girl. He got ready quietly too as she still slept peacefully and he snuck outside without her. He noticed a lot of their co-workers were also up and walking around. He assumed they were already setting up the booths and such for the day ahead of them. It was his turn to return the favor from awhile ago...

He grabbed a quick breakfast before he went to find Lucas who gladly helped cover for Cosimia in setting up their booth that morning. He had become distant friends with the other at that point but he felt rather awkward around him because of how rude and hostile he was at first. The taller had always been the friendly type and he understood where the boy slightly younger than him was coming from so he didn’t care all that much. It didn’t take long to set up either.

Donghyuck, oddly full of enegry that morning despite how little he slept decided to help a few other people with that tents that morning. He realized how easily the time got away from him as the sun began to rise higher and higher in the sky. He went to go grab some breakfast for Cosimia before he returned back to their trailer. Knowing her schedule by heart allowed him to sneak back in right before she woke up and make it seem like he never really left either.

She came out of their room only ten minutes after he walked in. She immediately noticed the plate of food on the counter which was visibly still very warm. She looked to find him on the floor with one of his books and a piece of toast in his mouth as he read. She also came to notice the slightly dark circles under his eyes.

“You didn’t sleep much, did you?” She asked.

“I feel great.” He responded as he munched away on his toast. “So, what’s the big deal?”

“The big deal is you let me sleep and you had to set up the tent all by yourself.” She huffed.

“Lucas eagerly covered for you, okay? I was return the favor from months ago too... Plus you needed the sleep.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I don’t know... I just felt it? Oh, can’t you let me be nice without questioning about it?! And where’s my ‘thank you’ too?!”

She rolled her eyes at what he said but she admitted that a ‘thank you’ was overdue. His face was all red and scrunched up as he tried to focus on the words on the page. She came around to the other side and stood next to him. He didn’t look up at her out of anger. To be honest, her face was red and hot as well in the silence with no acknowledgment. She bent down, putting her hand under his chin as she planted a kiss on his cheek which immediately sent all the red to his cheek.

“Thank you,” She muttered as she let go of him rather, roughly. “But next time wake me up please.”

She didn’t look back at him as she walked into the kitchen and grabbed the breakfast and even the cup of coffee he got for her of the counter. She left to go to the back again rather quietly as she also had a bright red face and slightly trembled. Once he saw her leave from view it took him every fiber of his being not to scream out of the dopamine rush. He had no idea that was about but he did like it, maybe a little too much since he wished she’d do it again.

He was able to calm himself down from the high just a little to get up to go tell the girl something, “I’m gonna go help in the big tent so you know where I am if you happen to need me. Enjoy your breakfast! I’ll see you later!”

He smiled at her, it somehow more big than it usually was and his tone more cheerful when he spoke to her. She nodded at him before he left. A smile appearing on her face after he was gone, a wave of relief washing over her as she settled down too. She did as he said, something very rare and took all the time in the world getting ready for the day ahead of them.

Donghyuck walked outside their trailer, refreshed by the cool air against his buting cheeks as he was finally able to breath properly. He didn’t even look around before he started to jump around like an idiot whispering a few words of encouragement to himself. He knows it was only a kiss on the cheek, but for her, that’s a big deal... He had finally gotten rid of the overexpelling enegry from his body after that but of course not without being caught.

“What was that?” A girl named Lia laughed hysterically when she saw him.

“Yeah, you’re never that energetic around us.” Jeno added.

“Oh, it was nothing,” He shrugged with a smile. “Just an adrenaline rush or something...”

“Whatever you say.” Lia hummed, knowing it was a lie somehow.

They all went to the big tent that was not too far from the trailers. In all the months they had been working there, he’d never been there for anything for some odd reason. He was kind of in awe of how big it was and how glorious it seemed. He was assigned to help with stage check by Johnny. The elder handing him the clipboard made him feel special in all honesty. It definitely felt like a change and everything had seemed different to him, but in a good way that day... He ran off rather happily to go the job he was assigned while big, sparkly eyes full of excitement.

Cosimia had just gotten out of the shower, already dressed in her signature flowy, long skirts and her overall dark clothing back at the trailer. She went straight to making lunches for her and Donghyuck that day. She had already made sandwiches and was cutting the fruit while she hummed, contently. Though, her mood shattered when she felt an overwhelming feeling of dread overcome her in that moment.

The lighting was no longer warm and inviting yellow but a cold and dark gray that seemed to have clouded her judgement. She only had negative thoughts before she completely paused for a moment. She came back with a small gasp and tiny tears already coming down her cheeks. She ran out of the trailer, her adrenaline through the roof as she still had the knife she was cutting with in her hand. She ran unlike she had in the past, this time it was frantic and she felt weightless due to her speed.

It already seem too late when she heard the gunshot go off... The crows around flew off while squawking due to the noise that felt like it hurt her right in the chest. She could hear people screaming from inside the big tent and scrambling around She stopped in her tracks at the sound, gripping the knife tighter. She just wanted to fall down and cry right then. She might have not been there to physically see it but she saw it.

She saw Donghyuck happily smiling as he walked on stage. He stood in the middle of it all, unsuspecting as the person and all black with a ski mask to cover their face slipped in, unnoticed. She saw the way the amethyst necklace he always wore because she made for him shattered into pieces once the bullet had come in contact with it only to pierce right through it, knocking him down, all bloody.

She trudged further, in tears and her knuckles turn white at the grip she had on the knife. A small figure emerged from the tent, in all black and with a gun in hand. They took in their mask, their face glistening with sweat as they took took in deep, heavy breaths. He was stupid, thinking no one else was around but rather in the tent paying attention to the boy he hated so much that he just shot.

“Hey, Ten!” She yelled, impulsive out of anger and sadness.

“I will shot you!” He threatened as he held up the gun in her direction while he shook.

“Like you did Haechan?” She asked, taking steady steps further to him as she seemed to cry harder. “Go ahead, what’s it going to do? Land you more time in jail?”

“How do you know what I did?”

“How the fuck you think, dumbass?!”

She continued to walk further toward him. She held her high to appear fearless. She just felt so heavy in her heart right then... He looked to be frightened by how she came closer with only grieve in her eyes. He had failed the notice the knife at her side that was almost hidden by the skirt she wore. He tried to adjust his gun but failed to do so because of hard he was shaking. He couldn’t shot her if he wanted the guilty was already eating him up and he had a terrible shot.

She came to stand in front of him finally. His gun was aimed at her torso and she quickly grabbed his wrist to move the aim up to her head. The mouth of the gun kissing her forehead. He looked more terrified by this action.

“He never did anything wrong...” She cried, her voice cracking. “I’m the one who was the cause of all the things that upset you... So why did you blame him and not me? Why did you have to hurt him? What good is it?”

He couldn’t find the words to respond to her questions as he looked into teary eyes that sparkled with the most hurt he’d seen from someone... She noticed he was focused on her now more than anything which gave her the opportunity to knock the gun out of his hand and drive the knife she held into his abdomen.

She backed away from him. His hand going toward the handle where her hand had just been. It wouldn’t be wise to take it out. He backed away, the black clothing he wore clearly becoming soaked from his own blood. His hands came to rest near the knife in his abdomen.

“Y-you bitch! You tricked me! You stabbed me!” He gritted before he fainted, the blood still coming out in pools.

She realized what she had done, something that could’ve been avoid, something she was against and something that was purely revenge driven in her mind... With her vision blurry with her own tears, she looked down at her hands seeing they were covered in Ten’s blood from when she did it. Her eyes widened and she started hyperventilating. Her mind was racing to every place it could, she couldn’t see anything that was to come which made her even more panicked. She no idea as to what was next.

Her ears started to ring and that’s all she could hear. Her vision remained blurry even when she wiped away her tears with her sleeves. She was focused on the blood that coated her hands and soon it was the only thing she was able to see. Darkness engulfed her, taking her away from the horrible image in front of her, on her and possibly within her...

Things We Lost in the Fire [05]

Summary: During a bank robbery you’re surprised when the criminals seem to recognize you and retreat in fear. Only after do you learn that your high school sweetheart now runs a nationwide crime syndicate and has you placed on a “no harm” list. You decide to pay him a visit after all these years. 

Pairing: Sebastian Stan x Reader (F)

Warnings: Language. Mentions of a miscarriage. NSFW. Unprotected Sex.

Word count: 4996

AN: I am not a doctor, I’m a writer. So things will probably not be medically correct. Please keep that in mind. And please, please, please let me know what you think. I need feedback. And validation. Obviously :) ♥

Masterlist

Even though you have been awake for quite some time now, you can tell by Sebastian’s steady breathing that he’s still vast asleep and so you get out of bed slowly, careful not to wake him. There’s just enough sunlight peeking through the curtains to help you find your clothes without much trouble and you quietly make your way to the bathroom.

Saturday, you think to yourself as the warm water hits your back, day six of this new life where you’re keeping information from the police and playing house with a criminal. You roll your eyes and shake your head at what your life has become, fully understanding that you can never go back to the way things were. It’s fine. Except for maybe your colleagues at Carver State there’s not much to go back to anyway. 

Your shower’s quick and you make your way downstairs just a couple of minutes later, barefoot like yesterday, but this time wearing a denim, knee-length shift dress. Coffee first, you decide, and you find what you need in the cabinets and turn on the machine before you raid the fridge to put together a healthy breakfast with what you got at Lowes yesterday.

The coffee’s almost done when you hear noises coming from upstairs and this time it’s Sebastian who asks you if he still has time to take a shower. 

“Yeah,” you reply with a smile, while you continue to set the table. Or breakfast bar. Whatever.

You hear the water being turned off a couple of minutes later and as if on cue you turn the toaster on, your hands resting on the counter top as you wait for the bread to pop up. The smell of toast starts filling the air and for a moment it takes you back to Saturday morning in your childhood home. Suddenly, there are hands on your hips and then he’s kissing your neck, making you jump because you didn’t hear him walk in. You mutter a quiet, “Jesus,” because he surprised you, and you feel him step back.

“Shit, sorry,” 

You scrunch your nose, your back still turned to him, because yes, it was unexpected, but also because you kind of want him to keep his hands there and you don’t know how to make it less awkward.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, and there’s no doubt in your mind he’s running his hand through his hair nervously this very second. “I don’t know what came over me.” He chuckles then, trying to ease the tension, “Force of habit, I guess.” 

Really, you want to bite back, after all these years? But you don’t, because you really, really need to let that go. So instead you turn around with a sly smile, “Just give a little heads up next time, Stan.”

His eyes go wide in surprise although he doesn’t say anything and just nods. Sitting down he takes the cup of coffee you’re sliding towards him, his head low when he says, “I want you to know I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be-” you start, because really, it was no big deal.

“No,” he interrupts you, “that’s not what I meant. Well, also, I guess, but I uh,” he runs his hand through his hair (again) and looks up at you, “I’m sorry about yesterday. What I said about needing you.” 

“Oh, Seb, really-”

“No, let me finish.” He raises his eyebrows and you understand what he wants and so you nod to let him know you won’t interrupt. He clears his throat before he continues, “I uh, I thought about it a lot yesterday while you were out, and again last night and I realized that I should never have asked you that. It was,” he pauses, almost like he’s looking for the right words. He smiles then, repeating what you said, “It was a fucking big ask and it wouldn’t be fair in any situation, let alone the one we’re in right now, but even more so because I wasn’t there for you when needed me most.” 

He nods then, lowering his eyes, a whispered, “So, please, forget I even asked,” following.

The sincerity in his voice surprises you and for a moment you are actually at a loss for words. But then you realize something and before you know it the words come out, “It’s ok.” 

And, as if your body has a mind of its own, you find yourself rounding the breakfast bar, ending up behind him, watching him as he turns around in his seat. A stampede of butterflies flutters around in your stomach when you throw your arms around his neck, taking a step forward so you're standing in between his legs, pulling him closer. “It’s ok,” you say again, and you mean it. It’s time to put that part of your past behind you, it’s been sixteen years, for God’s sake. 

His arms find their way around your waist and he pulls you even closer, and the gesture feels weirdly desperate, almost as if he needs you for support. But then you guess in a way he does. You realize you haven’t held him like this since you were in the hospital waiting for the doctors to inform you of Josh’ condition and somehow it seems fitting. Full circle, or something like that anyway.

“Thank you,” he says then, his voice low as he lets you go. His lips brush your cheek, placing a chaste kiss there before he drops his hands back in his lap. 

You return to your side of the breakfast bar, with so much more you still want to tell him, but the words failing you, and it doesn’t really feel like the right time either. Maybe later. Maybe tonight.

Sebastian suggests taking your car for the trip to Columbia and you don’t really see any reason why not, especially after he offers to drive. You let your head rest against the window as soon as you hit the mainland, knowing there’s a good two-and-a-half hours left before you get to Chestnut Hill Nursing home, just outside the city. You keep stealing glances in his direction, taking him in because he looks ridiculously good in his black jeans, and a black button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. 

He leans forward then and you quickly avert your eyes, but he’s going for the radio, changing it to a station that only plays eighties music. He’s quietly singing along to a Bruce Springsteen song while you watch the world pass you by and all of sudden the whole thing feels so wholeheartedly nostalgic that you find yourself getting lost thinking about the one, big, what if.

What if you had stayed together? 

Would that have been enough to keep him out of what he’s involved in now? Would you have not lost the baby? Would you have gotten married? Started a family? There’s a tug at your heart then when you realize that if you hadn’t lost the baby, you would have had a fifteen-year old by now. 

Suddenly an image of a moody teenager sitting in the backseat pops into your mind, a boy, because that’s what the doctor told you after he gave you the news that you were no longer going to be a mom.

The kid would probably be sulking because you’re making him go see uncle Josh when he much rather would have stayed at home to play video games. You’d tell him uncle Josh would be happy to see him, and promise to make it up to him with a stop at your favorite ice cream shop on the way home. Sebastian would tell him that this is all part of growing up, not doing things you specifically want to do but doing them anyway because it’ll make you feel better afterward. 

God, Sebastian would make a great dad. 

It’s too much, this fantasizing about what could have been, and you can feel tears forming in your eyes at an alarming rate. No matter how hard you try, there’s no blinking them away, and so you try to be subtle, dabbing at your eyes with the back of your hand, but of course he notices.

There’s a quick glance in your direction, before he asks, “You ok?” his voice filled with worry.

You try to tell him that you’re fine, but nothing comes out for a while and when it does, it’s not what you had in mind, “It was a boy.”

You’re not sure he understands what you’re talking about, but once again he surprises you as he puts his hand on your knee and gives it a little squeeze, “I could tell you I was sorry until the end of time and it still wouldn’t be enough.” 

Without thinking you take his hand, because somehow you understand this is still very much his loss too, “I know.”

His thumb gently strokes the inside of your wrist, but he doesn’t look at you, his eyes on the road. His voice is barely above a whisper when he finally speaks again, “I’m sorry, dragă.” He squeezes your hand, “For everything.” 

“I know,” you say again, because really, you do. You don’t agree with what he did, and never will, but there’s still some part of you that understands why he did it, even though you are not sure you’re thinking about what he did sixteen years ago or what he has been doing over the last fifteen years. Maybe both. 

You remember his mother’s words then, about how he’s changed but how that boy you know and love is still there. She was right, it’s not all bad. Most of it is, there’s no doubt about that, but there’s still good in him. Maybe even more so now than before. 

Once you turn off the freeway the road leads you through a lush forest and up the world’s longest driveway. It’s a little after one in the afternoon when you pull up to a big mansion, Sebastian maneuvering your car into one of the free parking spots with ease. He looks at you, “Here we are.”

You lean forward in your seat, trying to take in the immense building in front of you, wondering out loud if this used to be a plantation. Sebastian hasn’t heard you though, because he’s already out of the car, greeting what seems to be a nurse making her way towards him. You unbuckle your seat belt and grab your purse before you are introduced to Elizabeth, who insists you call her Betty. 

You follow Betty and Sebastian inside, where she makes you sign the visitor’s log while Sebastian explains he’s listed as Josh’ emergency contact and doesn’t have to sign in anymore. You write your name down in what appears to be a very empty log and you wonder just how many people live here and if there’s anyone visiting them. It doesn’t seem like it. Before you have a chance to ask, Betty and Sebastian are on the move again, and you follow them down a long corridor towards what Betty informs you is the sun room. 

While Sebastian asks her about some tests they did on Josh a couple of days ago, you follow a little behind, taking in all the art that’s lining the walls. There’s a wheelchair parked outside the room Betty’s taking you to and you realize you haven’t given Josh’ condition much thought up until now. You wonder what’s become of him and it’s then you hear Betty tell Sebastian that he isn’t in the best of moods today so you’ll guess you find out soon enough, preparing yourself for the worst. 

Betty opens the door to the sun room then and steps aside, allowing you to pass. You fight the urge to take Sebastian’s hand for comfort and instead follow him inside to where there’s a man sitting in a chair. He’s wearing a beanie, even though it’s mid June and not at all cold outside, the sun having warmed up the room significantly already. His posture is very rigid, his hands resting on top of the armrests of the chair, but his fingers barely touching the fabric. Sebastian’s standing in front of him now, effectively blocking out the sun, a sad smile on his lips when he says, “Hey brother.”

You watch as he gives Josh a gentle hug, and you can tell he’s careful to not hold him too tight, before he pulls up a chair and sits down on his right. Josh doesn’t really respond and keeps his eyes trained on the window, barely even acknowledging Sebastian. Must be the bad mood Betty warned you about. 

Sebastian nods at you then to let you know it’s ok and so you take a step forward, swallowing a gasp when you see Josh’ face. It’s badly scarred and it looks like it must hurt, the skin still an angry red in some spots. His left eye is milky-white, while his right keeps moving around and you wonder just how much he can still see. 

Stepping in front of him, blocking out a little less sunlight than Sebastian did, you can tell Josh knows there’s someone else in the room by the way he lifts his head up and seems to look for you. You clear your throat, although your voice is barely above a whisper when you say “Hi Josh,”

It takes him a moment, but he chuckles then, his right hand curling into a fist and finding Sebastian’s upper arm perfectly as he gently stomps it, “I can’t believe it actually worked!” 

Before you can ask what this is about, because why the fuck does Sebastian look so flustered all of a sudden, Josh turns his attention back to you, “I never thought I’d see you again, Squeaks”

You can’t help but smile at the use of your old nickname, even though Josh was the only one who ever called you that. He’s smiling too and tells you to sit down because you’re blocking his light and he’s working on his tan, thank you very much. 

You see Sebastian shake his head at Josh’ wry sense of humor before he pulls up a chair for you, moving over so you can sit in between him and Josh. You’re not really sure how to start, so there’s a bit of an uncomfortable silence before you decide to just go for it and turn towards your left, “I feel stupid for even asking this, but how are you?”

Josh’ smile drops, his tone more serious now, “I have my good and my bad days.” He chuckles then, but the sound doesn’t have any warmth to it, “I fucked up when was younger and I’m still paying the price for that.” 

He never was one to beat around the bush.

He points towards his face, “Left eye’s completely fucked, right eye’s seventy percent fucked, sixty percent of my body’s covered in third degree burns, I’ve had more bouts of pneumonia than I can keep track off and I have been close to dying, oh I’d say about four times now, due to infections wreaking havoc on my body.” He says it all so matter-of-factly that you wonder how many times he’s already told someone this, but he continues then, “I’m getting immune to almost every known antibiotic out there and I’m going to need a new sort of therapy that has a ten percent chance of succeeding. So, yeah. I try not to think about it too much.” 

“Fuck,” you whisper quietly, because you never knew it was this bad. 

“You can say that again,” Josh agrees with a nod of his head. He points to Sebastian then, “If it wasn’t for this guy I would have given up a long time ago.”

“Hmm,” you reply, not really knowing what else to say. There are some things you want to ask Josh, but not necessarily with Sebastian around. You know it’s a long shot, but you decide to ask him anyway, “Seb? You think you could give Josh and me a minute?” 

“Oh shit,” Josh chuckles. “Am I in trouble?”.

Before you can saying anything, Sebastian asks, “You sure you can handle her?” It seem like he’s trying to make light of the situation even though you can tell he’s doesn’t like this sudden change of plans. 

Josh nods and so Sebastian gets up, muttering something about having to see someone about something anyway. Just as Sebastian walks outside the nurse from earlier walks inside, pushing what seems to be a bar cart. 

“I’ll take an apple juice, Betty,” Josh says, probably having heard her come in. Then with a grin, “I think we’ll give my friend here a cup of coffee even though I’m sure she’d much rather have something with alcohol.” 

“Josh,” you hiss, but can’t help but smile, because if anything he seems to still have his sense of humor. You watch as Betty puts your cup on the coffee table before she hands Josh his glass and wait until she’s out of the room again before you turn to him. 

“Squeaks, I know what he does,” he says before you can even ask anything, his voice low, “I know how he gets the money.”

“Ok,” you draw out slowly, “and you’re ok with that?”

“Of course not,” he bites back, a scowl on his face. His features soften then, “I’ve told him to stop several times, but,” he sighs, “there’s always more. More therapy, more medicine, more whatever it is I need, which means there are always more bills to pay too. You know how stubborn he is. If I tell him I don’t want his money he’ll find another way to make sure the bills are paid.”

“Don’t you worry what will happen when he gets caught?”

“Always the realist out of us three,” he says, sounding almost proud. “Of course I do, but where’s that going to get me? You know as well as I do that I can’t stop him.”

“I know,” you admit quietly.

“I’m glad you’re here though,” he says, smiling. “He’s going to need you.”

“For what?” 

“Wasn’t it genius, having our initials up on those vests?” he asks, effectively ignoring your question. “I came up with that, you know? I knew you’d recognize them.”

“Josh,” you start, but don’t really know how to go from there because what the fuck is going on? Why does it starting to feel like you being here was all part of some big, elaborate plan they conjured up together? What’s the purpose of all of this? 

“He misses you, you know?” Josh sits up in his chair and turns to you, “And it didn’t get better with time, you know, like you’d expect. He never really talks about it, but I know him well enough that he doesn’t have too. I guess he keeps wondering what could have been.” 

You don’t know how to respond and so you keep silent.

"There’s a way out of this,” he says then, leaning closer to you, his voice low, “for both of you.”

“So you promise?” Josh asks again, his hand on yours.

“I promise,” you agree, swallowing back some tears when the severity of the situation hits you. 

“Promise what?” Sebastian asks when he steps back into the sun room with a grin.

“Promise to go on a date with me sometime,” Josh says without missing a beat, a smile now plastered on his face. 

You wonder if Sebastian notices the abrupt change of subject, but if he does he doesn’t comment on it. Instead he looks at you, “They want us to go. Visiting hours have been over for a while” 

You nod, “Ok,” and grab your purse before you turn to Josh and lean in to give him a careful hug, your mouth close to his ear when you whisper, “Thank you.” 

“Just know I’m rooting for you two, kid” he says, pulling you just a little tighter.

You walk out then, giving Sebastian some room to say goodbye to Josh. And to hopefully keep him from seeing you cry. From behind the front desk nurse Betty reminds you to sign out of the visitor’s log, her eyes filled with concern when she sees how upset you are. She doesn’t say anything, and you’re glad, because you’re sure that if she had, you would end up telling her everything. Instead you simply tell her, “Goodbye,” and make your way outside, the fresh air helping you regain at least some of your composure. You lean against the side of the car, waiting for Sebastian to catch up with you, while you relish in the warmth of the sun that’s now hanging low in the sky. Must have been here longer than you thought, you think to yourself. 

It takes a while for Sebastian to join you and you can tell from the way his jaw is set that he’s not up for talking. Josh must have set things in motion then, although you wonder just how much he’s told Sebastian. And if it’s the first time Sebastian has heard it. You doubt it.

You guess there’s a lot to think about for the both of you and so the drive back is silent, each of you lost in your own thoughts. 

It’s dark when Sebastian pulls up in front the beach house and for a moment you just sit in the car together, the engine slowly ticking to a stop. It feels safe in here, like you’re in a bubble where no one can touch you, where the outside world doesn’t exist. 

“Are you sure you’re ok with this?” 

You nod, knowing exactly what he’s getting at, “Yes.”

“It won’t be easy,”

“I know,”

“They’ll be relentless once they take you in, question you to the nth degree.” He runs a hand over his face before he turns to you, “We don’t know if it’ll will work.”

“It will,” you reassure him, simply because it has to. There’s no other way. You look out of the window then, blinking back a tear, “It will.”

“We should get inside,”

“Yeah,” you agree and unbuckle your seat belt. You’re not surprised when he offers you his hand when you round the car, and you take it without hesitation, leaning into him a little as you make your way to the front door. You don’t let go, not even when you get inside and he closes the door behind you, needing the contact. 

He turns to you, “Our last night together then, I guess.”

“I guess so,” you reply, a sad smile playing around your lips. You don’t want this to end, not yet, but you know it has to. Especially after you promised Josh you’d do your part. 

You look up at him, only to find him staring back at you. He’s not smiling though, instead his eyes are darkened with what you know is lust. It makes your knees go fucking weak because no one has ever looked at you like that except for him. You anticipate his next move and so you’re not surprised when he gently pushes you back until your back meets the wall. 

He lets go of your hand while he uses his knee to spread your legs, and places his hands on either side of your head, effectively boxing you in. He lowers his head then, lips ghosting across your jaw before they stop at your ear, his warm breath sending a shiver down your spine, “Tell me to stop and I will, but if you don’t I take it you’re in, dragă.” 

“Of course I’m in,” you reply, your voice hoarse, your hands in his hair then, using them to guide his mouth toward yours. There’s nothing soft or subtle about the kiss, instead there’s a need to it that has on you on edge right away, your teeth dragging across his lower lip, begging him to let you in.

He does and your tongue find his with ease, your hands in his hair pulling him closer to deepen the kiss. He pushes into you more and you moan when you feel his erection press against you. His hands find their way to your hips, his fingers bunching up the fabric of your dress and pushing it higher, exposing your panties. He pulls back then, and you whimper at the loss of contact, but there’s a wicked grin on his lips just before he sinks to his knees and starts kissing the inside of your thigh.

“Oh fuck,” you whisper when he takes your leg and drapes it over his shoulder, placing a kiss on the very wet fabric of your panties at the same time. You arch your back, wanting more, hands in his hair again to hold him in place. You feel his thumb rubbing circles on your clit, the fabric in between adding extra friction, and it actually makes you shiver.

He uses his thumb to push the fabric aside, his mouth latching onto your throbbing clit then, looking up at you through hooded eyes and you nearly come right there and then. He pulls back a little, softly blowing on the spot where his mouth was a few seconds ago, his fingers then hooking in the fabric of your panties and pulling them down.

“Seb, please,” you groan, not liking this loss of contact. 

He grins back at you, “Ready?”

All you can do is nod, but he doesn’t need any more encouragement and it’s all mouth, tongue and teeth from there on out, bringing your dangerously close in just a couple of minutes. You try to hold off as long as you can, but then he slides his fingers in, two at once, finding your G-spot so effortlessly that you come with a loud, “Oh fuck.”

He keeps licking, helping you come down from your high gently, until you release your fingers from his hair and let out a content sigh. He pulls back then, pushing himself up, placing a chaste kiss on your lips before his grin returns. 

You smile, pulling him in for another kiss, still tasting yourself on his lips. Dragging your teeth across his lower lip you let your hand slide down his chest, unbuttoning his shirt as you go along. You let your fingers dance across the now-exposed skin of his stomach, marveling at how muscular he really is. Still kissing him, you find the button of his jeans and you open it, sliding your hand inside and cupping him through his boxers. 

He groans at your touch and you use his momentary lack of focus to turn the both of you around so that he’s now up against the wall, your hand still holding him even though you can feel him wanting to get out. You let your mouth trail from his jaw to his nipples, licking one before you gently bite the other and you can’t help but smile when you feel him grow in your hand. You slowly make your way down, your tongue tracing the hem of his boxers before you pull your hand out and push down his boxers and jeans in one swift motion.

You look at him and raise an eyebrow, pumping him a few times before get down on your knees and run your tongue from the base of his cock to the tip, cleaning up the pre-cum. You take him into your mouth slowly, enjoying the feel of the thick vein against your tongue and then remembering how good he used to, and still does, taste as you bop your head up and down.

His fingers lace through your hair, keeping your head in place but never pushing you, instead letting you set the pace. You can tell he’s getting there from the way his breathing picks up and so you add your hands to the mix, one hand cupping his balls while the other follows your mouth up and down his shaft. 

“Fuck, dragă, I’m close,” he growls, and you take that as your cue to pull back with an audible pop. You’ve only just stood up when you feel his strong hands lift you up and you instinctively wrap your legs around his waist as he carries upstairs, his erection pressing against your core. You pull your dress up and over your head just as he puts you down, your bra following shortly after. 

His eyes travel over your body as you stand there naked in front of him, a low, “Fuck, you’re beautiful,” escaping him. 

You hold out your hand and when he takes it you pull him towards you, slowly lowering yourself on the bed. You watch him through hooded lids as he lowers himself onto you, entering you slowly, not bothering with a condom because honestly, it never even crosses your mind to do so. 

He fills you up perfectly, like he always did, your bodies almost melting together and you easily admit, “I missed you.” Kissing him then, the need behind it hopefully adding to the sentiment. He starts to thrust harder then and you match his rhythm effortlessly, bucking your hips up whenever he thrusts into you, arching your back when his mouth latches onto your breast. He’s keeping himself up with one arm, his other hand finding your clit, gently rubbing circles around it, bringing you closer and closer.

“Fuck,” you draw out, feeling your orgasm rapidly approaching. You cup his face and bring it up to yours, never taking your eyes off of his as your orgasm washes over you. His pupils are blown and you when you see him swallow hard you know he’s right behind you, a smile tugging on your lips, “Come for me, Seb.”

It takes a few more thrusts to send him over the edge, but when he does buries his face in your neck, biting down on your skin as he growls, “I missed you too, dragă.” 

=====

Taglist: @blastaz​ | @dontbetooobvious​ | @weirdfanaus​  On the taglist? Please reblog or comment. Thank you!k

nice, a sequel

this is a commission for @ishipallthings who requested a sequel to nice

--

It's late spring in Manhattan and the weather's perfect when Steve leaves S.H.I.E.L.D. The sun is warm, but the breeze is cool, and Steve takes a deep breath as he starts toward the bus stop that will take him back toward the Tower. Days like this he likes to stay above ground where he can see the world go by. Today he doesn't pay as much attention to the trip as he normally might—his mind's somewhere else. On someone else.

He and Tony had sat in the kitchen for hours talking and passing the spoon back and forth while they made a considerable dent in the carton of ice cream the night before. With the cat out of the bag, Tony had wanted to know everything about the little gifts, details about the classes Steve was signing up for, which edits he'd liked best. Now that Steve was watching for it, he could see Tony taking mental notes of their conversation. More gifts would come out of it, Steve could feel it to his bones. He'd gone to bed feeling lighter than he had in years. Even now, in the searing spring sunshine, the memory hasn't tarnished. Without asking for anything in return, and without any recognition at all, Tony has been making Steve's life more bearable. Something he's realized as he thought about it is that no one does that for Tony. They ask him for things and thank him when he does them (it's fifty-fifty odds as to whether or not they also give him a hard time). Tony doesn't seem bothered by it or inclined to stop, but it bothers Steve. Now that he's paying attention, he knows he's been less gracious than Tony deserves for all he's done. Ma would be disappointed. Which is why Steve stops by a place on his walk from the stop to pick up a burger and fries. It's not unusual for Tony to show up in the kitchen ravenous because he's forgotten to eat. Bringing him something before he gets to that point isn't much, but it's something Steve can do. He pauses at the door to the workshop and says, “JARVIS, can you ask Tony if I can come in?” JARVIS doesn't respond, but inside the shop, Tony cocks his head and then glances back over his shoulder. Steve waves. Tony says something, and the door opens with a hiss. “To what do I owe the honor?” Tony asks and the question is casual, but there's something guarded in the way Tony looks Steve over. It makes Steve feel worse. Tony does all these nice things for Steve, but he still doesn't trust him. Pushing the thought aside, Steve holds up the bag. “I stopped for lunch, and I thought you might be hungry.” Tony stares in surprise for a moment. Then he gathers himself and says, “Yeah, I could eat.” To say the meal is awkward would be an understatement. Steve doesn't know where the easy conversation from the night before has gone, but he feels like a dolt as they stagger their way through. “Well, I'll see you later,” he says, when they've both finished, and Tony's eyes keep sliding over to the holographic displays nearby. “Oh,” Tony says, a mishmash of emotions crossing his face, “yeah, sure, okay. Thanks for lunch.” “Anytime,” Steve says and then makes a not-too-hasty retreat. That had been a disaster. Steve can't understand it, and he wants to, so he goes to the gym and starts going through his routine with the bag, trying to break things down like he would after a battle. He's nearly thirty minutes in when it hits him—Steve had come in the afternoon after finding out Tony's been giving him all these gifts and immediately given something to Tony and stood right there. Steve had liked that he didn't feel pressured to react in a certain way or to reciprocate the mystery nice person's gestures. Maybe that's why Tony had done it that way in the first place, and Steve's gone and put that exact pressure on him. “I have to be more subtle,” he realizes aloud. “Aim for the stars, Cap,” Clint calls from across the room. Steve swipes a wrist across his forehead and shoots Clint a dirty look. “I didn't ask the peanut gallery.” Clint grins toothily at him. “I offer my nuggets of wisdom freely.” “Let me offer you a nugget,” Steve retorts. “Don't.” – Before Steve gets a chance to try again, Tony beats him to the punch. Steve has an appointment with S.H.I.E.L.D. medical. He despises medical, but he recognizes that it's necessary to do regular checkups to be sure he's recovered from old injuries and to make sure he's healthy. Anything he might catch could easily kill the other Avengers. Better safe than sorry. He's not sure how Tony finds him, but he strides out of a hallway Steve passes on his way to medical and falls into step with Steve. His eyes are hidden behind a dark pair of sunglasses, his hands tucked casually into his pockets. “Hey, there, Cap. Where you headed?” “Medical.” Tony glances over at him, sunglasses glinting under the fluorescents. “Care for some company?” It's embarrassing, but Steve does. The idea of Tony watching on while the doctors poke and prod at him relaxes the knot in his belly. Tony won't let them do anything they shouldn't. “I'd like that,” he says, and Tony's mouth curls slightly at the corners. “You got it, Cap.” Tony talks the whole way to the medbay and hardly lets up once they get there. He talks about his projects and asks Steve questions to help him with the new advanced helmet he's working on for Steve. He wants to put a heads-up display into the eye holes. While the doctors put him through the shoulder maneuvers for the physical exam inspecting his muscles and joints, Steve tells Tony what kinds of information would be useful in a HUD and what would just be a distraction. Tony keeps trying to talk him into adding things, and Steve keeps patiently reminding him that as smart as the serum made him, he's still no Tony Stark. It makes Tony look quietly pleased. “Come on, Cap, I think you're underestimating the amount of data you can process.” Steve chuckles. “No, you're overestimating it, Smart Guy.” Tony's presence makes the appointment go by that much faster, and it should be uncomfortable doing all this in his skivvies while Tony watches on, but Tony keeps his eyes firmly on Steve's face and at this point, the more naked he is, the more comfortable he is with Tony there. He knows Tony will have his back. It's a funny, warm realization. – Steve's next attempt to be nice is less showy. Tony doesn't even see him doing it, because what he does is guard the coffee pot so there are still a couple mugs worth of Tony's favorite in the carafe when he comes to the kitchen. It takes a week worth of watching Tony to see what coffee types he likes best, JARVIS' help keeping track of his movements, and Clint being annoyed with him, but he does it. It makes him proud, and the satisfaction of watching Tony's contented expression as he takes his first sip motivates him to think of more things he can do to make Tony happy. Once he remembers Tony saying that's why he started doing it, that makes it much more comfortable. He's beginning to recognize what Tony looks like when he's happy and starts scribbling notes in his sketchbook alongside his doodles whenever he notices something in particular. Tony always seems pleased by gifts, even when they're stupid things like Natasha giving him a sauce packet from a restaurant with Iron Man on it, so Steve keeps his eyes peeled when he goes out and picks things out occasionally. A scarf with gold flecks that reminds him of Tony's eyes, an itty bitty Iron Man figurine, a pack of his favorite snack, anything that makes him think of Tony. Once he buys Tony a piece of art—a painting of the reflection of a chrome bumper—and Tony's face when he presents it to him makes him flush and start to draw back. “NO,” Tony says loudly, and grabs hold of one edge of the painting. “It's mine now. Thank you.” Steve swallows, his heart pounding at the base of his throat. Tony's fingers are touching his, and he feels completely unmoored. “You're welcome,” he finally manages. – It doesn't occur to him how much things have changed between him and Tony until he goes to the SI R&D department to deliver fifteen bags of take out because Tony had told him his team was working sixteen hour days trying to fix something that had gone wrong. Tony smiles as he watches the team dig into the bags, but it's heavy on his face, his eyes lined and his face a little gray. Steve curls a hand around the back of his neck and says, “Hey. You all right?” Tony looks at him and sighs. “As all right as I can be. My back hurts, and it feels like my brain's bleeding, but sure.” Steve squeezes his neck lightly. “Well, I can't do anything about the brain bleed, but I could rub your back?” He realizes immediately how intimate what he's proposing is, but before he can think better of it, Tony says, “Could you really? I might die.” That settles it and Steve nods. “Of course. It may not be very good, but I've got strong hands.” “You've got strong everything,” Tony mutters. “Come on.” He leads Steve over to one of the conference rooms and slumps down on to the nearest armless chair backward, pressing his face into the leather back. Steve puts his hands on Tony's shoulders but doesn't start in intense right away. He rubs his palms slowly over Tony's back, kneading lightly with his fingers, but not using too much pressure. He drags the tips of his fingers across Tony's shoulders and then down either side of his spine, just getting him used to the touch. After maybe five minutes, Tony's posture softens, and he leans heavily into the chair back, the tension slowly easing out of his shoulders. That's when Steve starts massaging more deeply, using his whole hands to squeeze the muscles and pressing harder. Tony groans. It gives Steve an immense sense of satisfaction to see Tony come apart like that, bit by bit.  There's something about it that just makes him feel accomplished, like he's done something that really needed doing. He keeps at it for the better part of half an hour. By that time Tony's slumped against the chair back, his face mashed into the leather, arms dangling loosely at his sides. Steve's pretty sure there's drool on the chair. “Ngh,” Tony finally grunts. “'f I don't go back I never will.” Steve slows his hands, kneading more lightly at Tony's shoulders. “All right. Let me know if there's anything else I can do.” “Help me up?” Tony asks. Steve helps him find his feet, steadying Tony when he wobbles precariously. Tony's face is right there, his eyes hooded and his breath warm on Steve's jaw. Steve freezes, staring directly into Tony's eyes and he watches them widen the slightest bit, Tony's breathing suddenly stuttering. His skin is warm under Steve's hand where he's still touching him, lingering on his skin because Tony's shirt is unbuttoned halfway and his collar's open and he smells like espresso and sweat and the lotion Steve had grabbed off a nearby counter at some point. Steve's heart is beating so hard in his chest it feels like being small and weak again, it feels like tachycardia, it feels like panic and anticipation and an urgency he hasn't felt for anyone since he said goodbye to Peggy seventy years ago. Realization takes his breath away. Oh. Oh. That's why he wanted so badly to give back to Tony. Why he wanted to see him happy. It's not gratitude, and it's not teambuilding, or it is, but it's all buried under the need to see Tony happy, thriving. He's in love with Tony. He doesn't know when exactly it happened but now that he's staring at it—Tony—straight in the face, he knows that's exactly what this is. At his back, the door opens, and panic lurches up Steve's throat. He steps back, letting go of Tony so fast he tips forward a little. Steve turns his head enough to see Pepper peering around the door. “Tony?” she says. “Here you are, they've been looking for you. Oh, Steve. Hello.” Steve reacts on pure habit and nods his head. “Ma'am.” He winces the minute it's out of his mouth because Pepper told him a long time ago that she didn't want him calling her ma'am or Miss Potts unless they worked together which they did not. She doesn't seem to notice though, busy approaching Tony who's trying to get his shirt back in order. Steve flushes as he watches them, suddenly all too aware of how this must look, him and Tony squirreled away in a conference room, Tony looking mussed and dopey. With an intensity that surprises him, Steve finds himself wishing that was precisely what had happened, and that Pepper knew it. “...lost track of time,” Tony is saying. “Captain America gave me a massage.” He sounds smug, and Pepper smiles indulgently at him. “Well, that was very nice of him, you needed something like that. Unfortunately, we need you back out there being brilliant now.” “Story of my life,” Tony sighs, but it's in good humor. “I should go,” Steve blurts, “let you get back to work.” “Hey, thanks, Steve. I feel a million times better.” Steve nods and smiles and flees. – Steve goes out to a coffee shop where he can get some distance and think. He does this often enough that he has a usual spot and one of the baristas smiles at him from where they're wiping down the other tables as he sits down. He sketches while he considers the piano that fell on his head while he was with Tony. He's interested in Tony as more than a friend. This isn't the first time he's felt something like this, and it's not even the first time he's taken a shine to another man, but. Well, he'd been aware of it then, it hadn't hit him like Thor's hammer out of seemingly nowhere. He feels guilty for it because if he'd only been doing nice things for Tony out of some kind of attempt to get Tony's attention that was wrong. As his sketch of the shop storefront develops though, the guilt fades. He hadn't been doing them to get Tony's attention, he'd been doing it to see Tony happy. As happy as Tony had made him. Steve's breath catches and his pencil stills on the page. Was that why Tony had done it? “You deserve to be happy, Steve.” The thought that Tony might reciprocate Steve's feelings fills him with a giddy bubble of happiness. When Tony has some time, Steve will talk to him and find out if he's right. – When he gets home, it's early evening, and Steve is feeling loose and contented, still warm with the thought that there may be something between him and Tony they can explore. He brightens when he walks into the kitchen to find Tony in his rumpled dress shirt leaning against the island countertop. He's grinning across it at Clint who has his hands thrown up in the air. “A dog park!” “Yes,” Tony says, voice thick with amusement. He takes a bite of the breadstick in his hand. “In the Tower!” “Where else would I put it?” Tony asks. “Lucky should be able to run around with his friends.” “You're unbelievable,” Clint says, which is his way of saying thank you. Tony grins. “I know.” Clint throws a wadded up napkin at Tony's head as he leaves. “Send pictures!” Tony yells after him. Then he catches sight of Steve and his smile widens. “Steve, hey. Thanks again for earlier.” Steve shrugs. “You needed it. What was Clint all worked up about?” Tony returns his shrug. “I had a dog park installed on the fifteenth floor. A high-rise isn't the best environment for a dog, you know? Clint doesn't get up early enough to take Lucky to Central for the off-leash hours, and SI's got plenty of employees with dogs—I figured why not?” “That's awfully nice of you, Tony,” Steve says, feeling his heart sink to his feet. Maybe he's not so special to Tony after all. – Steve feels like a heel for his reaction to discovering Tony does nice things for the others. He should be happy that Tony is a good, kind person who does stuff like this for no reason. It's part of what Steve loves about him after all. Despite the logic of that, he's jealous. He wanted to mean something more to Tony, that's all. It's embarrassing, how badly he misinterpreted things. More than ever, he owes Tony repayment for all the good things he's done. He just...can't quite face Tony with how foolish he's been, so he does his best to repay Tony's kindness without interacting with him directly. Natasha watches him enter the kitchen one morning just after Tony's left—Steve had waited in the hallway until he'd heard him leave. “Steve,” she says tone heavy with unspoken words. Steve grimaces at the coffee pot. “What's going on with you and Tony?” she asks, and he sighs. Of course she knows. “Nothing,” he says, knowing it's a feeble denial at best. “Mhm.” She sips her tea judgmentally. “Did he—say something?” Steve asks, voice getting stuck part way through the question. “Why, what would he say, Steve?” Steve shakes his head, feeling the back of his neck grow hot. “Nothing. That I know of.” “Which is why you waited in the hall until he left.” Steve's heart throbs, caught out. Natasha sighs. Steve slinks back out of the kitchen with his coffee, feeling guilty. Later, he's in the gym (after making sure Tony isn't, of course) and Clint strides in with a sigh. “Steve, man, I love you, but what the hell did you do?” Steve pauses his workout, wiping a hand across his sweaty forehead. “Uhh…?” Clint throws something at him—a small piece of paper that Steve catches against his chest. When he lowers his hand to see what it is, the paper drifts into his palm and Steve's throat goes tight. “Where did you get this?” he rasps. “Tony gave it to me and told me to give it to you.” Tony. The small paper is a photograph. He doesn't know who took it or where or how, but it's a photo of him and Peggy. There's a hand on Steve's shoulder in the picture that he's almost positive is Bucky. “Why's Tony giving things to me to give to you instead of giving them to you himself.” “What?” Steve says and tears his gaze away from the photo. “He made me an errand boy. Whatever you did, fix it, Steve.” Clint kicks him in the ankle, none too gently, and leaves. Steve looks at the photograph again, his heart clenching like a fist in his chest. He's never seen this one before, and Peggy looks… For a moment, the loss yawns so wide and dark inside him it feels inescapable. Then he remembers why he has this photo, and he swallows down his embarrassment and disappointment and heads down to Tony's workshop. Tony is sitting at his workbench working with a screwdriver and some kind of electronic with a hologram hovering close by feeding him readouts. “Tony,” he calls, “I can't...I can't accept this.” Tony pauses in his work and then turns slowly, one eyebrow rising up his forehead. “What exactly do you think I'm going to do with it?” Steve doesn't know how to answer that. Tony planned this he realizes when he meets Tony's eye. Tony's lips press into a thin line, and he whaps the screwdriver against the meat of his palm. “Why'd you stop talking to me, Steve?” Steve swallows, pulling the photo back in toward his body. Miserably, he says, “I'm sorry, Tony. I keep trying to fix this, and I just keep making it worse. I thought if I got some distance I could stop myself.” Tony frowns. “Stop yourself from what?” Steve closes his eyes, chin dropping. “Stop myself from being a jealous jackass.” He sighs. “Obviously I'm not doing a very good job.” “Jealous?” Tony echoes. “Jealous of what?” Steve scrubs his face with his hands. The sweat from his workout has dried, itchy and uncomfortable on the back of his neck. “I thought… I thought I was special. That maybe...you were doing these things—” He holds up the photo. “—because you—” Steve trails off, grimacing. “But then you gave Clint the dog park and—” He sighs again. “It's nothing you did, Tony, honest.” “Hang on—you're jealous because I gave Clint the dog park?” “I shouldn't be upset that you're a good guy, Tony, but—” “But you are.” “That's not why I'm upset!” Tony gives him a profoundly skeptical look. “I'm upset because I thought it—meant something.” Steve is mortified when Tony stares at him. He starts backing toward the door, hands raised. “I'm sorry—Tony, I'm sorry, I am. I'm going to—stop, I promise.” “Hang on,” Tony says, raising his voice, and Steve freezes. Then, very carefully, Tony says, “Steve, how many dog park-like things have I done for you?” Steve shrugs, uncomfortable. “Dozens, maybe?” “And do you know how many I've done for Barton?” Steve shakes his head. “One,” Tony says. Then after a beat, “Okay maybe two or three. A handful. But nowhere near the dozens I've done for you. Do you know why that is?” Steve swallows, his heart suddenly beating faster in his chest. Tony's eyes are intense, his lips trembling ever-so-slightly. “Because you're different, Steve.” Steve can't find his voice around his pounding heart. He's special to Tony and Tony's a good, kind person. “You're...something else, Tony,” he finally croaks. “I hope someday I can be half the man that you are.” Tony's eyes go wide, his tongue darting out nervously over his bottom lip. He gives Steve an uncertain, puzzled smile. “You're Captain America,” he says like that's half as important as Tony constantly working himself to the bone to make the people around him happy and, not only that, to keep the world around him safe. Steve is just a sickly kid from Brooklyn with something to prove. He shakes his head. “Tony, you fight the little everyday battles alongside the world-changing ones. You're the reason I can keep fighting at all.” “I think you're underselling yourself.” “I think you're underselling yourself.” Tony's mouth twitches upward on one side, and he twists the screwdriver between his hands. “So...you think I'm pretty great. And I think you get where I'm coming from now. So.” His eyes flicker to Steve's. “What now?” “Well,” Steve says, taking a slow step forward. “My last good kiss was in 1945.” A grin blooms over Tony's face, brightening until Steve feels like he's going to burst with the warmth filling him up.

[Coco] Cielito

The little face she remembered was gone, replaced by a skull with markings of pale blue, silver and purple; her eyes traced the swirling patterns, paused on the tiny silver dots under his eyes - those amber brown eyes, so much like her own, staring at her from beneath thick black hair she’d stroked and brushed so many times.  After thirteen years, she was looking at her son.

A/N: Set a few years after Down to Dust. I started this... months ago, and only just finished it. I really wanted to get it done at long last. I mean, we all knew Cheque’s mother would die at some point.

***

With precisely nothing in her life having ever gone according to plan - not that she’d ever had a plan, she’d just kind of drifted through existence - Celia del Rio found some comfort in the fact that her death had, at least, been perfectly straightforward.

Sepsis. Septic shock. Catastrophic organ failure.

It had been a logic, predictable chain of events. It didn’t have to happen, she knew. If she’d walked into a hospital the moment she’d begun feeling sick, the sepsis would have been treated and she’d maybe have lived to turn forty-seven. Only that she’d missed all the signs, because when you fuck over your body in every possible for your entire life, feeling sick is not something noteworthy. She’d assumed it would pass, and by the time she had known something was wrong, it was too late: she was already slipping into septic shock.

The doctors had done their best, she had to give them that, but it would have been a lost battle even if her body had been healthy enough to take it in the first place. And so things had progressed to the last link of the chain, the one she’d heard someone muttering through her semi-comatose state, the last words her mind could grasp in the Land of the Living.

Catastrophic organ failure.

“So, your name is Celia del Rio. Age at the time of death?”

“Forty-six.”

“Occupation?”

Full time addict, part-time dealer, part-time prostitute. The good news is, I haven’t felt the need for a fix since I breathed my last. The bad one is that my only other skill is useless since we all lack the relevant bits. Or at least I think it is, but asking would be awkward.

“... No occupation.”

“I see. Place of death?”

“Mexico City. Can I have some clothes? The hospital gown is making this weird.”

“Of course, in a minute. Do you know the cause of your death, dear?”

“Sepsis.”

“Huh. You don’t hear that one so often, nowadays.”

“Do I win a prize?”

“You can have a biscuit, dear.”

“Thanks. Where does it go? I don’t have a stomach.”

“No one knows. The general rule is, don’t even question it.”

“Don’t question it. I can go with that,” Celia said with a half-smile, and took a biscuit from the box the clerk pushed towards her. She let her gaze wander around the office while the skeleton across the desk - a skeleton, for heaven’s sake, and she was one too and maybe the situation should freak her out more than it did - kept typing her details on the keyboard of a seriously ancient computer. Everything look so normal, aside from the fact that she now lacked guts, flesh, blood, skin and all that. Also, she looked like a toddler had scribbled over her face with a blue crayon. “Is this real? All of this?”

“I am rather sure it is, dear.”

“I was thinking I may be in a coma. Maybe we are all in a coma.”

“Some would call it a limbo of sorts. You have no idea how many others thought the same before you,” was the good-natured reply. “We are almost done here, I’ll just run a search for any members of your family on this side, so that you can notify them.”

If you must, Celia thought, but the biscuit in her mouth kept her from talking, so she nodded. She doubted there was any relative of hers there, and if they found any, they may as well be strangers. Her half-brother had ran off when she was only four or five, and she hadn’t seen him since, but he would be only about sixty now. Was her mother still alive? Was she dead? It may be good to know it, if anything to avoid her. Her father, maybe--

“All done,” the clerk announced, and smiled. “Your son is going to be overjoyed to see you.”

Celia blinked. For several, long moments she just stared, her brain grasping the words but refusing to comprehend them. Her fingers felt numb, the biscuit in her mouth turning to ashes. She swallowed it with great effort and opened her mouth. She realized, distantly, that the other woman’s smile had begun to fade at her reaction.

“What,” Celia spoke, struggling to get each word out. “What did you say?”

Now the smile was entirely gone, replaced with something that was much closer to alarm. “That… that your son… oh my, I am sorry, I thought you’d--”

“There is a mistake,” Celia cut her off, and hearing herself saying as much aloud was a huge relief. Of course it was a mistake. It had to be. She smiled, feeling immensely stupid for even considering the idea for a moment… but, in the back of her mind, something was ready to shatter. She was acutely aware of that when she spoke again. “My son turned sixteen two months ago. I know it because I marked it on the calendar, you know? I always mark it, so that I don’t forget. It’s the day I stay clean. I forget my birthday, but not his. Never. Would you forget the best thing that ever happened to you? The only right thing you did in life?”

“I… I believe it would be best if--” the clerk began reaching for the phone by her side, but she trailed off when Celia reached to grasp her wrist and shook her head. She kept smiling, but the dread was there, growing harder and harder to ignore.

“No. Listen,” she said, her voice raspy. “There is a mistake. I know that there is a mistake. He can’t be dead. He’s only sixteen. His birthday was two months ago.”

“If you just let me make a call--”

“There is no need. He can’t be dead. He’s sixteen, do you understand?” Celia repeated, slowly, like she was speaking to a very dense child. She refused to let her voice crack. She feared that once that happened, she would crumble. “A sixteen year old has no business here. He’s in the Land of the Living. He’s still in school, he probably has a crush on a girl like boys his age do. Or on a boy, who cares? I love him so, so much. That’s why I let him go, you see, so that I could never drag him down with me. I let him go, so that he’d be all right. And he is. He’s all right. He can’t. Be. Here.”

Those were the last words she’d remember uttering, if anything because she kept repeating them over and over, aloud and in her head. She clung to them as more people walked in, as they took her into another room, as they offered her a warm drink, food, gentle words. She hardly heard, felt, tasted any of it.

He can’t be here. He can’t be here. He can’t be here.

Someone sat in front of her and grasped her hands. Celia recoiled and looked up for the first time to see a skeleton with yellow and green markings looking at her, his expression sorrowful. It was that expression, more than anything else, that cracked the bubble of denial.

“He can’t be here. You don’t understand, my cielito can’t be here,” she repeated, her voice like old paper, and the other’s hands squeezed her own just a little tighter. When he spoke his voice was quiet, and yet it seemed to reverberate everywhere, filling the world.

“I am so sorry you have to find out like this. He had a terrible accident, seven years ago.”

Seven years. He never turned sixteen, did he? What was I doing that day? Where was I?

Everything seemed to blur before her eyes, her mind coming to a standstill. Her hands were numb to the man’s touch; a buzzing sound in the back of her head drowned out all noise.

Even her own scream, when it came, sounded distant.

***

The letter came in on a Tuesday but, wedged between a flyer for discount tacos and a catalogue of antiques, it remained unnoticed until Saturday morning. It may have ended up in the bin along with the junk mail if it hadn’t fallen off the pile when Rosita had gone to tidy up the small table they had been left on. What had caught her attention was the shaky handwriting the address had been written in, and she’d opened it there and then, standing in the middle of the living room.

Forty-five seconds later she was running through the house to call the rest of the family, and within five minutes an emergency family meeting was in full swing - making Héctor very, very grateful that the letter had been noticed and read on a day Ezequiel was not in the house.

“She left him with strangers for his entire life, and now she wants to see him?”

Imelda’s voice was as sharp as her words when she spoke, causing everyone else in the room to fall silent. The letter had gone around from hand to hand before finally reaching hers, and her fingers were clenched so tightly on it that it looked as though she was about to tear it in two. Instead, she handed it to Coco when she held out a hand to take it.

“At least she had the good grace not to demand to have him back,” Victoria was pointing out, causing Rosita to frown. She was clearly relieved that all that Cheque’s mother asked was to see her son - after all, now she was her legal guardian; if this Celia had decided she wanted custody, the matter would have go to through court and would likely get messy - but at the same time, it clearly bothered her.

“How can she not want him back?” she asked, wringing her hands. “Who wouldn’t want such a sweet boy? If he were mine--”

“If he were yours, he would have never found himself in foster care in the first place,” Julio pointed out, placing a hand on his sister’s arm. That caused her to smile a bit, and cover that hand with her own.

“No,” she agreed. “Never.”

“And she didn’t even know whether he was dead or alive,” Felipe muttered.

His brother nodded. “Yes, that’s what she said. Never knew in life, which means…”

“... She never bothered to ask after him.”

“Not for seven years, at least.”

“What kind of mother--”

“We don’t know the circumstances,” Héctor found himself speaking up, and seven pairs of eyes turned to him. He found Imelda’s gaze, and held it. “Cheque hardly told us anything about what happened to him before being placed in foster care. He was only three, he probably doesn’t remember much in the first place. We don’t know why she did it, and maybe… maybe something happened,” he added.

The vague memory of excruciating pain in his stomach, of the effort that it took to take on more step towards the train station before collapsing, made it back in his mind for a moment. Clearly that had not been the case with Cheque’s mother; she hadn’t died while trying to return to her son. She had left him behind and cut all contact with the intention of never taking him back - but if she simply did not care, why write to them at all? Why plead with them to be allowed to see him, even if just one time?

I know I did everything wrong, the letter read. I only want to see him once to tell him how sorry his mamá is. If he doesn’t want to see me, I understand. I won’t bother you again.

He’d been there, too. He knew better than he’d have liked what it felt like to be desperate to fix a mistake, to explain, to see someone important one more time, oh please I am so sorry I left, I only want to see her one more time.

“Maybe something happened,” Imelda repeated, staring at him, and something in her posture and gaze seemed to have softened, like she knew exactly what he was thinking.

Héctor nodded. “Yes. We know he lost his voice, somewhere along the line. We know it’s not a physical problem. If he tries to force himself to speak, he panics. He never wanted to tell us or even Socorro, but something awful must have happened. If it happened before he was placed in foster care, then maybe his mother thought… she thought it would be for the best.”

I know I did everything wrong. I am so sorry.

Imelda frowned in thought before speaking slowly. “She might have thought he was better off without her,” she said, and her harsh expression had softened. She’d never understand a parent willingly leaving their child behind, but a parent choosing a child’s well-being over their own wishes was another matter entirely in her eyes. “Is that what you mean?”

“Sí. If she’d only wanted to be rid of her son, why write to us now? She must care at least enough to wish to set things right, and--”

“And Cheque misses her.” Coco’s voice caused everyone’s gaze to shift from Héctor to her. Coco ran a thumb across the sheet of paper before looking up at them. “That picture of him and his mother together - the one Socorro put on the ofrenda for him a few years ago, remember? It’s been at his bedside ever since. He paid for the frame he put it in with his delivery tips, all on his own. That boy is amazingly lazy when it comes to cleaning his room, too, but I have never once seen a single speck of dust on that frame. I was very careful not to let anything ruin papá’s photo, too, although of course I couldn’t put that in a frame.”

There were a few moments of heavy silence as Coco folded the letter carefully and handed it back to her mother. Imelda took it, something sorrowful her gaze, and Coco smiled at her.

“If we can allow him to see Ernesto de la Cruz of all people, I don’t see why we should get in the way of letting him see his mother, if so he chooses,” she said. “We’ll ask him if he wishes to meet her. If he doesn’t, we’ll write back to let her know. If he does, we’ll stand by him. I don’t think any of us should have a say in the matter.”

And with that, it was settled.

*** 

“You’re cheating. Don’t look at me like that, I know you are. No one wins five games of Con Quien in a row without cheating.”

YOU’RE A SORE LOSER.

“Then you won’t argue if I’m the one to shuffle the cards next.”

SUIT YOURSELF, Cheque wrote, and leaned back against the chair to drink some orange juice like he was sipping wine or something, the smug little bastard. All right, Ernesto thought as he began shuffling the cards, time to start getting serious and--

A sudden ringing sound caused him to recoil, and turn to the next room, where the phone was. With a snort, he threw the cards down on the table. “I’m still shuffling them. Don’t touch anything,” he said. The boy shrugged, letting one of the chihuahuas climb on his lap.

I don’t need to, the smug look he gave him told him, and Ernesto swore himself he was going to wipe that off his face one way or another.

But first, the phone. He picked it up in the middle of its fifth ring. “No, I did not leave a message,” he said, wasting no time with a greeting. “So sue me. If you expect me to believe for even a second that having Carol of the Bells as the tune of your answering machine was a coincidence, you’ve got another think co--”

“That’s actually a great idea, but I’m sad to say I wasn’t the one who came up with it. Taking credit for others’ good ideas is your thing,” a very familiar voice cut him off. Ernesto blinked.

“... Héctor?” he blurted out, taken aback. Despite Cheque making regular visits - usually on his own, but sometimes he was left at the door by that bruja who was now his legal guardian - he and Héctor hadn’t seen each other in… a rather long time.

“Who did you think it was?”

“Someone almost as annoying. What do you want?”

“Is Cheque there?”

“Of course he’s here, your daughter in law or whatever she is--”

“My son in law’s sister.”

“Whatever. She left him here yesterday with enough food to feed an army and looking at me like she was hoping I’d burst in flames.”

“She’ll be disappointed to know you did not. I mean, is he there in the room with you?”

“No, he’s in the next room over. Say, does he cheat at Con Quien with you as well?”

“Oh, we’re sure he cheats something awful with everyone, but none of us has ever managed to catch him in the act. It’s like one of those magician tricks of his, it drives Óscar and Felipe up the wall. How many times has he beaten you?”

“Five in a row.”

“Now that’s impressive, considering that you also cheat something awful.”

“That is an accusation I firmly reject.”

“You taught me how to cheat.”

“You remember wrong. I may have done a thing or two in life and death I’m not proud of--”

“A thing or two.”

“--But I do not cheat at cards. I never needed to.”

“Then I suggest you start now, or you’re never gonna beat the kid.”

“Noted. Is that what you called to let me know?”

“No,” Héctor said, and voice suddenly serious. “We just got a letter. Cheque’s mother died, and is asking to meet him.”

That was… not something Ernesto had expected to hear. “Ah. That’s… early?”

“Yes, there aren’t many people in your bloodline who got to live long lives. You’ll be happy to know you’re still the only one who can claim a giant bell as the cause of death, though.”

“I’m reasonably certain it was put down as a freak accident. Am I supposed to tell him, or-”

“No, no. We’ll do that. Just… tell him to come home. Don’t tell him why. We need to talk this through before we answer the letter, make sure he wants to see her.”

“Are you serious? He never shuts up about her.”

“You may want to choose a different wording.”

“You know what I mean. He brings her up at every visit. Doesn’t he do that with you?”

“No. He’s pretty tight-lipped about her at home.”

“Rethink your wording, right back at you.”

“You know what I-- uugh. Just tell him to come home.”

“What reason am I supposed to give him?”

“Since when do you need help to lie to kids? Just come up with something. Tell him he’s got… I don’t know, a special delivery to do.”

“He was supposed to stay until--” Ernesto began, only to trail off when a click on the other side of the line ended the conversation. “Rude,” he huffed, putting down the phone. He turned towards the door, and his frown deepened. 

Cheque wouldn’t be happy when told to go back for a delivery, but the only alternative would be telling him why they wanted him to return, and Ernesto suspected he wasn’t the best-suited person to break that kind of news.

***

They let Coco do the talking.

Truth be told they had all been more than willing to explain him the situation, or just be there, but in the end they had figured it might be a bit too overwhelming. A one-on-one talk would be best, and if there was someone who knew how to approach the subject - one that Ezequiel wouldn't even talk about to them, but that he did bring up with Ernesto, apparently; Héctor wasn’t sure he liked that - it was her.

Ezequiel had become worried enough the moment he had stepped in, clearly disgruntled for having been called back a day early and without any actual explanation. They had tried to look as relaxed as possible, but the entire family waiting for him in the living room was, come to think of it, a dead giveaway that something had happened.

Coco had stood up before he could become too alarmed, taken his hand, and gently told him there was something they should talk about. They could do so in his room, she’d added, if it worked best for him - and they had, only to come back out after something like half a hour.

When they did come out, Coco was very calm while the boy’s eyes were wide and bewildered. Not a surprise, really, in Héctor’s opinion.

He knew she would die, but that was sooner than he’d expected; and he’d very much hoped she would look for him, then, but he had no idea if she ever would. Now he knew, and it was better than nothing. However the meeting went, at least there was that. He knew his mother cared enough about him to seek him out, to plead to see him.

I only want to see him once to tell him how sorry his mamá is.

I wish I could apologize. I wish I could tell her that her papá was trying to come home. That he loved her so much.

“I told him,” Coco was saying, stepping forward. Ezequiel held onto her hand as though he feared he would fall otherwise. Not that he possibly could: the next moment Rosita’s arms were around him, and she was picking him up. He stayed limp as a ragdoll - or rather, a marionette - for a moment clinging back to her, burrowing his face against her shoulder.

“Ay, pequeñito, you’re so pale! I mean, you would be if-- you know what I mean. Oh, I’ll get you some cake!” she exclaimed. Héctor wanted to ask him how he felt, but he knew the kid was probably overwhelmed as things were, so he did not. As Rosita took him to the kitchen, he turned to Coco… as everyone else did, too, in a mute question.

Coco nodded. “He wants to see her.”

A long breath, and Imelda nodded. “Then he will. We will write back, and tell her to set a time and place - at the Department of Family Reunions, maybe. They have rooms for this sort of thing, and meeting on neutral ground would be for the best,” she said, settling the matter… to immediately raise another. “Who is going with him?”

“Huh?” Julio blinked up at her. “I thought we all were going.”

Felipe frowned. “Maybe that would be a bit… well…”

“Intimidating?” Victoria suggested, and nodded without waiting for a reply. “Makes sense. All of us lined up… it might be too much. Maybe we should discuss--”

“There is no need,” her mother interrupted her gently. “I am going with him. Papá?”

Héctor looked back at her, the question - “why us?” - almost leaving his mouth, but in the end he just nodded, and no one argued… not even Rosita, later, when they told her.

There was no need to ask or argue, after all. The reason why was known and understood, by him and everyone else in the room: it would be them to go with Cheque because it had to be them. Because they had been there, in a way.

Because for all of their family’s good intentions, they were the only ones who knew.

***

The knock came after precisely three hours of tossing and tuning in her bed, unable to sleep. Rosita sat up and turned on the light just as the door creaked open and a small figure in the doorway, clad in a tiny pajamas.

“Oh, pequeñito! Shouldn’t you be sleeping by now? Tomorrow is the big day,” she added, and smiled despite the stab of something she couldn’t quite define somewhere in her ribcage. The past few days had felt surreal, with all of them talking about the upcoming meeting and then pretending not to be thinking of it at all whenever Ezequiel was present.

Except that they did, of course, and the niño had hardly been left alone for a moment, because everyone could tell how anxious he was. He’d been shown new ways to work leather by Victoria, told riddles Óscar and Felipe seemed to have thought up all by themselves, taught a tune to play by Héctor, given brand new clothes by Coco and Julio and a pair of new shoes by Imelda, who claimed that his old ones needed replacing - a clear lie as they were still like new, but absolutely no one had mentioned it.

As for Rosita… she had tried her best to be there, to look after him and most of all to be happy for him because he had so wanted to see his mamá again, but it was hard. Yes, her letter said that she wouldn’t try to have custody of him, that she knew she didn’t deserve it, but… people change their mind, sometimes, and what if little Cheque wanted to go with her?

It was a real possibility, she knew. When she’d walked in his room to call him for dinner the previous say, seeing him staring down at his mamá’s photo had felt like a smack. And it was unfair - it was selfish - but it still hurt. There was a small part of her mind that kept asking if all she’d done meant nothing, what about her, what about me.

The thought made it back to her mind again, and she had to chase it away. Before her, Ezequiel holding up his whiteboard.

I CAN’T SLEEP. CAN I STAY HERE?

“Ay, mi corazón, of course you can!” Rosita exclaimed, and moved to make way for the boy, who climbed on the bed. She reached to turn off the light, and then stilled when Cheque suddenly clung to her, tight. He was still holding the whiteboard in one hand, and she could see the words written on the other side, too.

THANK YOU FOR EVERYTHING. I’M NOT GOING AWAY.

Suddenly, her non-existent throat felt very, very tight. “Oh, chiquito,” she choked out, holding him back tightly, and managed nothing more. She didn’t think it mattered, either; if Cheque had proven something, it was that a lot could be said without words.

“Yip! Yip!”

“Oh, look at that. Another guest,” Rosita muttered, and that got a silent snicker out of the boy as the tiny alebrije walked in through the still open door and jumped on the bed as well. She didn’t mind too much; she found Diablo adorable, if a little rascal. What had that man done to deserve such adorable alebrijes and great-great-grandson, Rosita would never know.

“No more barking, and you can stay,” Rosita finally said, and scratched him behind the years before she turned off the light and rested back down, letting Cheque snuggle close. “Now sleep, pequeñito,” she said, brushing back his hair. “You have a great day ahead of you.”

The next morning everyone would do their best to reassure the nervous boy. She would brush his hair until it shone, they’d hand him his brand new clothes and shoes to put on and, before he walked out of the door, Imelda would crouch before him.

“Chin up,” she’d tell him, and chuckle when Cheque nodded and puffed out his chest. Then she’d stand back, they all would, and watch the boy leave with Héctor and Coco. And then… then they would wait, and see. But it was fine.

Whatever the future held, Ezequiel was one of them and nothing would ever change that.

***

Celia hadn’t been so scared of someone’s hatred in a very long time.

She was used to pity, contempt, disgust and the vast array of emotions in-between, but hatred? That was a far too strong word. She had never made enough on an impact on anyone in her life to warrant strong feelings, one way or another. Her mother had been the one, true, shining exception to that rule.

Even at a young age, she had known that something about that woman was not quite right. Looking back now, she could tell she had been deeply unhappy; something in her had broken quite early on, or had never been whole in the first place, leaving her quite dedicated to sucking every semblance of joy out of the lives of everyone else around her. She had been like that to her first husband, to her firstborn, to her second husband and then to her – harsh to them as she was on herself.

Celia vaguely remembered her father as a submissive man who seemed always a few moments away from apologizing over his own existence; gentle, but distant. She didn’t remember a single hug, a moment of affection coming from the woman who had birthed her. The one who had told her stories, tucked her in bed and enthusiastically complimented her drawings as a child had been her brother – half-brother, her mother would point out, as though she wanted to take even that away from her, as if he didn’t have her blood as well.

But then again, if there was anyone his mother had seemed to despise more than her daughter – more than herself – it was her son.

Oh, if only he’d stayed. Dino - Bernardo, Bernardino, Dino; no one else but her had ever been allowed to call him that - had been the one presence in her life that could in any way contrast that of their mother. If she raised her voice, he would raise his own. If she moved to strike Celia, he moved right between them; he was much older than her, by about thirteen years, and by the time she’d been two he was tall enough to tower over their mother.

In the end, Agata had been afraid of Dino; the first time Celia had seen that, her brother hadn’t even raised his voice. He’d come to stand between then and then, when their mother had raised a wooden spoon, he’d spoken very quietly. “Try it, and see what happens.”

His voice had been so flat and his face so blank, and that had scared their mother more than anything he’d ever said or done before, of all the times he’d screamed right back at her. It had scared Celia, too, if only for a moment, because even at her young age she could tell what the meaning of his words was.

Don’t push me. I don’t want to find out what I could do, and neither do you.

Of course Agata has never admitted to being afraid of her firstborn, but from that day onwards she’d back off the second he stepped between them, or raised his voice.

“You brought my father to an early grave,” Celia vaguely remembered Dino saying. “You’ll find me harder to do in, bruja.”

But in the end, Dino had only been a boy; he could not, and should not, shoulder that responsibility. Eventually he had left, aged just seventeen, after giving her a hug that had stolen her breath. “If I could take you with me, I would,” she’d heard him saying over her own sniffles. “Hang in there. I’ll come back to get you out of here as soon as I can.”

Hang in there was typical Dino; almost a catchphrase, his answer to the toughest moments – hang in there. Better times are coming. Hang in there.

She’d hung on, or tried to, but things had been so hard; the mood in the house became bleaker than ever, with no mention at all of her brother – as though Bernardo del Rio had never even existed. In the end, it had been too much and Celia had ran away before Dino could return for her, if he ever had. She couldn’t hang in there – and she’d paid a high price.

She couldn't make it on her own. She couldn’t take care of herself, let alone of a child. When she’d known she was pregnant, after being hospitalized for almost going into overdose, she should have listened to the nurse who’d brought up the possibility of giving him up at birth… but she had not. She had wanted to cling to her child, thought that the fact she had to care for him would give him the strength to turn her life around.

Except that it hadn’t, and thinking otherwise had been foolish of her. She had almost dragged him down with her; her mistakes had cost him his voice. A year after the incident he still wouldn’t speak, she still wasn’t clean, and she had learned the lesson in the harshest way possible - sometimes, all the love in the world simply isn’t enough.

Taking him to her mother had been a desperate last resort before turning to the foster care system, fueled by the hope that, after so many years, she might have mellowed. She had not, and had thrown all the insults possible at her - but she could have accepted it all if it meant her Ezequiel could have a safe place to be. What she could not accept was the way Agata had looked down at her child and uttered one single word - bastardo.

That had been the last straw, what had tuly made her weep as she took Ezequiel in her arms and ran away from that house for the second time. Two weeks later she had ripped her heart out of her chest and left her little boy in foster care, handing him over as he slept, too drained to cry more tears.

Then she had left and never turned back, never asked for news of him. She knew that if she asked she may not resist and try to see him, and that would do him no good. He needed to be away from her, and if he hated her for it, so be it: anything to keep him safe. His hatred was a small price to pay for the knowledge he’d have the life he deserved.

Except that it hadn’t been enough, he hadn’t been safe enough. Except that a road accident had ended that life before he even turned nine and he might still be alive if only she hadn’t given him away, if only she’d been stronger and better and more resilient, if only she’d fought harder, if only if only if only--

A knock caused her to flinch and hastily stand up from the small couch in the room she had been bought to for the meeting, at the Department of Family Reunions. The thought - he is here, my Cheque is beyond that door - was staggering, and she had to work her jaw to speak… and even then, her voice was only a whisper. “... I’m here.”

They still heard her, or if not they decided to come in anyway. The door opened slowly, and there were two adults - a man and a very old woman - but Celia paid them no mind. As something in her chest cavity seemed to clench, she could only stare at the tiny figure with a whiteboard in his hands, looking back at her.

The little face she remembered was gone, replaced by a skull with markings of pale blue, silver and purple; her eyes traced the swirling patterns, paused on the tiny silver dots under his eyes - those amber brown eyes, so much like her own, staring at her from beneath thick black hair she’d stroked and brushed so many times.

After thirteen years, she was looking at her son.

*** 

For a few moments that felt like years, no one moved nor said a word.

It hadn’t been like that when Coco had met her papá. Back then, she’d barely had the time to process that she was about to see her family when suddenly he’d been there, holding her tight, laughing and crying at the same time. It had been… a bit confusing, really, and so fast. There had been no moment of stillness and silence like this one, with little Cheque standing by their side rigid as a statue, hands clenching around the black marker and the blank whiteboard, as he stared at his mother with wide eyes.

It was plain to see that, even if he could speak, he would have been unable to say a word… and the same went for the woman standing a few steps from them. She stared at her son, a hand over her mouth and a clenched fist pressed against her ribcage, where her heart used to be. Her expression was somewhere between horror and pain; not the reaction Coco had had when she had seen Victoria on that side again, but she couldn’t fault her. Coco had known her daughter was long dead.

Only a days ago, Celia del Rio had believed her son was alive. She had held onto the memory of a three-year-old child, imagined the young man he should have grown into… and now she faced someone who was neither, but still her child. Coco could see recognition dawning in only a moment before she lowered the hand she’d held before her mouth and clasped them together tightly. She had to work her jaw before she spoke and, when she did, her voice was hardly more than a broken whisper.

“... Hola, cielito.”

It was like a spell had just been broken. There was a sudden clatter as both the whiteboard and the marker were dropped on the ground, and Cheque moved so fast they could hardly follow. The next moment Celia del Rio knelt and the boy was in her arms, clinging to her neck, shaking so hard his bones rattled even in her vise-like grip as she held him tightly against her chest, leaned her cheek against his hair.

“Lo siento,” she choked out, rocking him. “Your mamá is so, so sorry. I should have never let you go, I should have never--” the words faded into wordless sobs, and over them there was another noise, harsh and strained and broken, like the muffled cries of a wounded animal.

There were no words - there would never be words, Coco suspected, and they may never hear it again - but even so, it was enough to make her and her papá exchange a glance. They had never heard Ezequiel make a noise like that.

They had never heard him make any noise at all.

“We should leave,” Coco mouthed, and with a nod her father closed the door, and they stepped back into the wide hallway. They would stay right outside, of course, but they needed some time on their own.

They sat on two small armchairs by a coffee machine, and even from there and through the door they could hear the sobbing inside slowly subsiding. There was a small table with magazines, but they were ignored. Her papá smiled a bit. “She’s as loud as I was.”

Coco chuckled. “I think you were louder.”

“Was I?”

“Just a bit,” she said, and held out her hand. He held it tightly in his own.

“She won’t let go for a while. I know I didn’t.”

“I don’t think Ezequiel wants her to let go. I know I didn’t,” Coco said, and gave his hand a squeeze before they both fell into a long, comfortable silence.

On the other side of the door, slowly, the sobs subsided. There were loud sniffles, words that they couldn’t quite catch, more crying - and then Celia del Rio’s voice again, still shaky, rising up in a song that was impossible not to recognize - Cielito Lindo.

“De la Sierra Morena Cielito lindo vienen bajando…”

“Cheque’s favorite,” Coco said, and she knew then that they had done the right thing.  Whatever happened next - whatever their misgivings, whatever the next step would be now that Cheque’s mother was there - it would be all right. They would deal with it at the right time. Right there and then, everything was exactly as it was supposed to be.

“Ay, ay, ay, ay Canta y no llores…”

*** 

“… Porque cantando se alegran Cielito lindo, los corazones.”

The last notes of the song faded in the small apartment, and Ernesto made a face, putting the guitar away. Over the years since disaster, it had become easier to make himself play and sing again… but he had to be careful, so that no one would guess who really lived there.

No one had actually listened to him in years except for his alebrijes and Cheque, and the boy hadn’t been heard or seen for almost two weeks now.

Of course not. He has his mother back. No reason to cling to me.

Something clenched in his chest cavity, and Ernesto made an effort to ignore it.

“Well, good riddance,” he said aloud. He sounded unconvincing to his own non-existent ears, and he reached up to rub his head with a groan. A drink, he thought, he should just have a drink and--

“Yip! Yip! Yip!”

Sudden barking, and the sound of the cat flap at the door opening and closing, announced Diablo’s arrival. As his fourth alebrije ran inside the room to start tumbling across the floor with the others, there was another sound - three quick knocks on the door, followed by a brief pause and then two slower ones.

Cheque.

Ernesto stood, and strode to the door with a scowl. Two weeks without a word, not even one of his letters - who did he think he was, just dropping him like that and then thinking he could waltz in when he pleased? Snorting, Ernesto threw the door open.

“Oh, look who suddenly remembered where I--” he began, only to trail off when he realized he wasn’t looking at Cheque at all. He was there, sure enough, but someone else was with him - a woman, with dark hair tied back in a loose ponytail and pale blue markings on her face, staring at him in bewilderment. Her hand was holding tightly onto Cheque’s own.

Well. This is awkward.

Very slowly, Ernesto’s eyes shifted from her to the boy, who just grinned up at him and held up the whiteboard with his free hand.

CAN WE COME IN? IT’S ABOUT TIME YOU MEET.

“... You say that like I have a choice,” Ernesto found himself saying, knowing full well that he did, and moved aside to let them in.

first kiss → r.d

pairing; kwon jiyong x rae dara

summary; jiyong finally confess their feelings and jara have their first kiss

warnings; jara fluff

note; i think this is a little shitty but there is something about it that I like, anyways ask for more scenarios, the requests are open <3

2007

People shouted and shouted her name, she smiled without believing it. Tian, her manager, squeezed her hand pulling her while the bodyguards tried to keep people away from her enough not to hurt her. Two minutes later they finally reached the building, Tian sighed in relief as he fell into a chair while Red began to remove the mask and sunglasses that covered her face.

“Ah, every day you become more popular. What a horror. "Tian was sweating like a pig because he had been overwhelmed for a moment thinking that they would never leave that immense ocean of people.

“I debuted three years ago, do you realize now that I'm popular?" The teen raised an eyebrow as she leaned against the wall closest to her manager, who gave her a look and then continued to pant.

"I know you're popular, but you were popular with children between ten and twelve years old now that you've grown up and changed teenagers love you, even the thirties love you!" Red wanted to laugh at his exaggerated movements, the man was so dramatic. She sighed and looked at the watch on her wrist. Tian raised his head to hear her sigh, frowned at the girl "What?".

"Do we have anything else scheduled for today or can I leave?" She replaced her mask, pulled away from the wall and started toward the elevator.

"I have to look it, why?" He got up and after buttoning his jacket again he approached her, who bit her lower lip before yawning and stretching her neck.

"I would like to rest. We just arrived from the tour, Tian. I'm tired. "The man looked at her with narrowed eyes, suspicious of her words. Red rolled her eyes and pushed the button to call the elevator.

"Sure it's not to see that guy from the new group, right?" The brunette started shaking her head but could not help but smile at the mention of her new interest "Tell me you're not falling in love with him, please, Dara".

"I'm not, but I like how he raps. Besides, I'm not only going to see him, I'm also going to see Youngbae, my best friend, remember? " She spoke with obvious tone as they got into the elevator. The manager still nodded somewhat uncertainly.

“Okay”.

“Good”.

For two minutes they both remained silent until Tian spoke again, Red dropped her head back "I do not believe it."

"Tsk, why not?" She clicked her tongue totally tired of his insinuations since it was not the first time since she had known Bigbang's guys that Tian did not tell her anything about Jiyong, yes, it was true that both got along well and that he always told her nice things that made her scream inwardly but there was nothing there.

Or so she thought.

"You are sixteen years old, your hormones began to stir at twelve so it is obvious that at some point you will like some guy" He began to move his hands trying to explain everything that the poor man felt but the only thing that seemed was that he was headache. He clung to her arm and looked at her with pleading eyes. "Please, D. Do not fall in love with him, or with any of the others, please."

"What's wrong with them so you do not want me to fall in love with one of them?" Curiously she looked at him. She took a quick look at the floor counter, wondering why they had not yet reached the studio floor and the answer was that none of them had hit the button, she sighed and pressed the button after she had got rid of Tian's grip.

"Everyone is older than you. Men are not good and much less if they are older than you when you are romantically involved "Tian continued looking at her with pleading eyes and she smiled amused, shook her head and left the elevator while mentally thanked that the doors had been opened at that time "Dara”.

"It's okay, Tian." She shrugged her shoulders still without erasing her smile and started walking down the long corridor in search of her studio while her manager let out a moan of defeat.

"They'll break her heart, poor girl." He sighed, approaching the panel of buttons, dialed seven and continued to watch the girl's figure until the doors began to close. "I hope she breaks their hearts first."

She opened her mouth to start singing the lyrics she had just written and which she was sure would be her next big hit but the melody of her cell phone indicating that she was being called did not let her say a single letter. She rolled her eyes slightly annoyed and accepted the call without looking at who was calling her.

"Yes?" She let out a hoarse sound of annoyance at the question.

"Woah, have you smoked four packets of tobacco?" Youngbae's laughter was quickly present on the other side of the line, she rolled her eyes again. "You sound like a truck driver, without offending."

"What do you need, Dong? I'm busy creating art. "This time it was Youngbae's turn to roll his eyes. Seungri, who was sitting next to him, began to vocalize not at all understandable words for the elder while pointing to the leader of his group. The older frowned while Dara, on the other line, began to kick the ground impatiently "Youngbae?"

"Wait a moment" He covered his cell phone with his other hand and attached it to his chest and then looked at the maknae, who raised his arms impatiently "What?

"Tell Red sunbaenim to come," Seungri whispered as the elder gave him a confused look, the younger boy sighed rubbing the bridge of his nose with annoyance "This hyung."

“Yah, kid”.

"Okay, okay. Do not you remember we have a plan to bring Red Sunbaenim and Jiyong hyung together? "Youngbae nodded at his question, ignoring the fact that Seungri had spoken slowly as if he were stupid." Well, tell her to come. "

"For what? They will not be able to interact much if we are here, especially if Daesung is here "He pointed out to the boy that at the same moment he was singing and dancing a song from Red herself. Daesung was a big reddish.

"That's my point, hyung." He smiled. "When Red sunbaenim comes, we will not be. Who will be here will be ... "

"Jiyong" The eldest completed. He nodded as his smile widened, brought his phone back to his ear "Darannie"

"What do you need now, Youngbae? I'm not going to cover you again with Jiyong. " She refused referring to the time when the vocalist broke some of his leader's shoes and Dara had to cover him saying that she had been by accident. Jiyong, of course, did not say anything, he just smiled at her and told her nothing was wrong. Of course, if she had said that Youngbae had been, things would have been different.

The man frowned remembering that event, shook his head "No, that's not it. Seungri and Daesung want to dance with you, Seungri says you have forgotten him and I miss my best friend. Please, can you come? We have not seen you for months and because of all the fuss of fans out there, we know you've arrived from the airport. Come, RD. "

The girl looked around making a grimance, hesitant to go and have a good time with them that would help her relax from the stress of the last moments of her recently finished tour or stay in her studio until the wee hours of the morning to finish the songs from her next album. She sighed and nodded, leaving the cabin to get her things.

"You better have something to eat or I'll be very angry" Taeyang smiled at Seungri raising his left thumb, indicating that the plan was beginning, the maknae nodded and ran to Seunghyun and Daesung to tell them what they had planned.

She knocked on the door again and sighed tiredly, it was the fifth time she knocked on the door "There are five people in there and no one hears the door, that useless" She pulled out her phone ready to call Youngbae but the door opened and behind it appeared the leader of Bigbang.

He smiled at the girl and she responded a little later, already suspecting the situation "Hi, Dara. What brings you here? Youngbae is not there. "

She frowned. "How is he not here? He told me to come. "

"They all left about ten minutes ago. Youngbae told me that they will not take too long, you want to wait for them here?" They both remained silent, somewhat shy and embarrassed because they did not know very well how to act one around the other. They liked each other, that was something that everyone knew, even the CEO knew it!, but they did not know that little detail and that was what made them so uncomfortable when they were together.

The girl opened her mouth but closed it and looked down at the floor. The eldest, however, did not move his gaze from her as he thought that she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen and how much he would like to kiss her, but unfortunately he did not have the courage to do so. Red sighed and entered the room leaving Jiyong in the door, which closed quickly and hurried to approach her.

The silence bothered lasted five minutes until the boy decided to break it "So ... How was the tour?"

"It was good. It was fun to travel around the world, I've gone to places I had never imagined I could be. It was incredible. "They were not looking at each other but by the tone of her voice Jiyong could say with all the security of the world that she was smiling and that made him smile. Listening to her talk about how great it was to have fulfilled her dream, made him feel even more anxious that the years would go by and that Bigbang would become a big group. It was really inspiring to hear her talk about that dream they both shared.

"I'm glad." Red nodded, making a positive sound. The awkward silence returned to reign between both rappers, the girl rolled her eyes and annoyed with the uncomfortable she was feeling and stood up making Jiyong look confused "Where are you going?".

The japanese continued walking towards the door "I have a lot of work to do and I can not waste my time sitting with the leader of Bigbang without doing anything" She went to open the door but then a hand rested against the door, pushing it before she could open it completely. She opened her eyes in surprise at the speed of the boy "J-Jiyong, what are you doing?"

"I like you, Dara. A long time ago and many people tell me that I can not be more obvious but I had not realized until a few months ago when you went to tour, when I missed you like crazy and I could not stop thinking about you. Please, do not leave” Dara closed her eyes tightly as her brain tried to process the information but it was costing her enough to resolve that great knot that had just formed, not only in her head but in her heart and stomach as well. With the older man's warm breathing in her ear she turned around even with her eyes closed, felt his hands on her face and her heart jump even faster. She sighed raggedly before opening her eyes, quickly visualizing Jiyong's brown and pleading eyes "Please."

She nodded at his last pleas and closed her eyes again pressing herself against the cold door. Not long after she heard the rapper's shoes moving against the floor to get closer to her, his giant left hand grasping her waist while the right kept cradling her face with delicacy. And finally she felt his lips against hers.

Formalities

Word Count: 6.2k Warnings: None Genre: Beginning fluff, angst and ending fluff. Royalty!au Pairing: Yoongi x female reader ft. a platonic Jimin

Summary: You were born to be queen; you enjoyed what you did and the people you could help. Yoongi, however, was not born to be king and begins to despise you when a decision you make forces him into your shadow. Will you be able to fix the crumbling relationship you had barely begun to form?

Masterlist

My Photo

The dark fabric fell against your form effortlessly, despite the heavy material. Flecks of silver dotted the dress from top to bottom and collected into a gorgeous lace crawling up your chest and the base of your neck. Although you had grown accustomed to the frivolous dresses many years ago, it never failed to bring a smile to your face every time you were told there was a ball to attend. Being royalty was a burden that some people with the title could not and would never be able to bear; you, however, relished in it. Yes, you had grown up more sheltered than others, and yes, your activities were, unfortunately, heavily monitored from the moment you arrived in this world, but you chose to see the sun behind the clouds. 

Apart from the fact that you lived a life far better than most of those around you, you also had immense power and standing in the world. This power gave you the opportunity to do what you saw right and just; if there were people in the village who were struggling, you had the power to make changes necessary to ensure them an easier way of living; if there were unreasonable wars being held in far-off lands, you had the power to assist the nobility and their quest to bring peace to the world; if there was anyone in your kingdom who was unhappy, you could brighten their lives with the snap of your fingers. 

So, you did. 

When you were eleven years old, it was brought to your attention that one day you would, in fact, be the next ruler of this kingdom. When you were thirteen years old, you made a vow to yourself that you would be the queen that your people needed and deserved. When you were sixteen, you proved to your father that you had a knack for politics when you advised him on a situation happening in the village, and your advice proved him successful in resolving it. Since then, you have attended most, if not all, royal meetings and have been granted the option to voice your opinions; sometimes they were dismissed, sometimes they were followed, but they were always heard because whether your advice was right or wrong, your heart and soul was in the good of the people.

 Now twenty-years-old, and nearing your twenty-first birthday, your parents had, of course, began to talk to you about inheritance. You weren’t keen on the idea of getting married anytime soon, but you weren’t completely against it either. A future husband would not be chosen and forced upon you; your parents were, thankfully, smart enough to realize that you could not properly lead your kingdom if the person ruling beside you was not one you wanted to be. Thus, the excuse for another extravagant ball, your parents were hoping you could meet ‘the one’ sometime soon.

“Is there anyone, in particular, you hope to see again tonight, Princess Y/N?” The servant girl wondered as she helped to perfect the bow on the back of your corset.

“How many times do I have to tell you, Monique? You know I don’t mind if you drop the title when we’re behind closed doors, you’ve become like a sister after how many years you’ve been attending to me.” The friendly scolding you had given the maid caused her to get flustered and choke out a laugh, causing you to laugh even louder at the look on her face. “Anyways, I don’t think so. A lot of the princes I’ve met so far have all been very kind, but none of them have really piqued my interest.” You shrugged your shoulders and sighed. You’ve met at least twenty princes, and at least fifty nobles and lords, and while they were as kind as you could hope for, they were cookie-cutters of each other.

“Well, perhaps tonight will be the night you find your prince charming.” Her optimistic words never failed to lift your spirits and help you hold your head a little higher.

You stood at the back of the ballroom, in your usual place to the right of your father, and watched as banner after banner of household names began to file in. The usual princes were there, as you were reluctantly expecting, and occasionally, a nobleman you hadn’t seen for some time entered the ballroom. So much for someone new, you briefly thought to yourself as the grand doors to the room were closed. Your father thanked the guests for attending and wished them a wondrous and exciting night. The music began to fill the room and it was now time for you to fulfill your duties as princess and make your rounds across the floor. First to ask for a dance was Park Jimin from the neighboring kingdom.

“How are you, Jimin?” Your voice almost being lost in your twirl, but he had heard you nonetheless.

“I’m doing well, and how are you, Princess Y/N?” You stifled a laugh and aimed to playfully hit his shoulder, but missed as he caught you in another spin.

“Jimin, we’ve known each other since birth, and you still dare to call me a princess? Don’t you remember when we were seven and you saw me eat dirt that day in the garden? Do princesses do that?” This warranted a deep bellow from Jimin as the two of you continued to glide across the floor.

“How could I ever forget that? Your mom was so angry that you were behaving so unladylike! Found a prince yet?”

“As if. Have you planned out your proposal to Minah yet?” Jimin’s love life was by far a better conversation topic than yours.

“Yes and no. I know what I want to say to her, but I don’t know when the right time is. I carry the ring around with me anytime I know she’ll be at the same place as me, just in case I work up the courage to do it.” He gushed, and you could tell how absolutely enamored he was with her. He began courting her over a year ago, and when questioned why he did so for so long, he simply said he wanted to make sure she was as in love with him as he was with her.

“Is she here tonight?” Jimin nodded his head and he titled his head slightly in confusion. “Propose to her tonight!” You squealed and Jimin began to shake his head fervently. “Oh, why not Jiminie? You love her and she loves you, there’s no better time to do it than at such an extravagant ball when she’s least expecting it!” But Jimin just chuckled and continued shaking his head. The song ended and another one began to play, meaning your conversation with your best friend has come to its end.

“We’ll see, we’ll see. Take care, Y/N, and don’t dance too much tonight!” You curtsied and bowed to one another and walked away waving and smiling at each other. Your mood had been lifted severely and you had a newfound energy to continue mingling with your guests.

You danced with a few more princes, each one more boring than the last before you decided to make your way outside for some fresh air. This was a task in and of itself as you were constantly stopped by the older lords and nobles; they all asked you to send their good wishes to your father as well as tried to make small talk about relations between your kingdoms. As you crossed the massive floor, almost making it out the balcony door, you caught a glimpse of an unfamiliar mint-colored banner with an unknown family crest. I will greet them later, right now I need to breathe. So, you continued your trek outside. It was not long, however, until you were being called back inside to continue your interactions.

“Y/N, there’s someone I’d like you to meet.” Your father had called to you the second you had stepped back inside the ballroom, almost dragging you behind him.

“Father, who can this person be to make you so excited for me to meet him?” Your words were lost to the sounds of the people surrounding you and, finally, you were in front of two people you had never seen before.

“Y/N, this is his royal majesty King Min.” You were almost taken aback by your father’s formality; your father held such good standing with the other kings that they hardly used their royal titles when addressing each other. Suddenly, the new king in front of you feigned a punch to your father’s upper bicep, “Don’t you know assaulting a king is a declaration of war?” The two stared intently at each other for a brief pause before cackling and howling, embracing each other in a hug shortly after. Leaving both you and the young man in front of you slightly confused.

“It has been far too long since I’ve seen you. I need to stop waiting so many years for my visits!”

“That you do, that you do. Y/N, you don’t remember Min here since he hasn’t cared to drop by since your fifth birthday,” your father took another opportunity to poke fun at his old friend, “but has dropped by to discuss some much overdo politics.” King Min bowed deeply to you and grasped your hands in his.

“I knew you were going to grow up looking like your mother,” he glances at your father mischievously before continuing, “it would have been a shame if you looked like your old man. Ow! Okay, okay, stop pinching me!” You watched their playful interaction with a smile forming on your face, it was refreshing to see that your father hasn’t lost his humility after being king for so long. Their friendship reminded you of yours and Jimin’s, and you knew that your father and King Min were still the best of friends. “Anyways, this is my son, Yoongi, he’s never visited your kingdom before so I thought it’d be a nice change of scenery for him to come with me.” The two of you exchanged an awkward bow and curtsey as your father led King Min away, arms making wide gestures as he perhaps retold an age-old story.

“May I have this dance?” A hand reaching for you interrupted your thoughts as one of the dull princes you had been trying to avoid all night finally found you. Quickly you looked at Yoongi, and back to the prince waiting for your answer.

“I’m sorry, I’m afraid I’ve already found my dancing partner for this song. You will have to find me again later.” You curtsied unapologetically and grabbed Yoongi’s hand, leading him to the center of the ballroom despite his protests.

The two of you moved in perfect rhythm as the sounds of violins, harps, and pianos rang throughout the room. There was not a single step missed, or a foot stepped on, only two people in perfect harmony. Being so close to Yoongi gave you a chance to really look at him; his features were soft, yet he gave off a hint of stoicism and strength. His hands were large and gentle as they held fast to your waist, and the shoulders you had placed your free hand upon were nothing but broad and charming. It was almost as if he had caught you admiring because the wide, gummy smile he was giving you had you lowering your eyes and blushing embarrassingly hard. The music seemed to end as quickly as it had started, and you felt a slight rise of disappointment at the idea of departing from the handsome prince you had just been acquainted with.

“Is there anywhere private to go, Princess Y/N?” The word ‘princess’ sounded like velvet as it rolled off his tongue. “I’m afraid that I’m not too fond of such a large crowd.” He smiled feebly and you could see him start to get antsy.

“Of course! Follow me, I know where we can go!”

The two of you strolled through the quiet garden, initially walking in comfortable silence. Night had fallen many hours ago and the moon shined brightly in the sky; causing both of you to stop in front of the little pond, admiring the white orb reflected on its surface. Yoongi let out a shaky sigh, barely loud enough for you to hear it, and had the wind been blowing you probably wouldn’t have. You heard him nonetheless, and you turned to face him with a hint of concern, pausing for a brief moment as you decided what to say.

“Is there something troubling you, Prince Yoongi?” The inquiry was meant to be sincere, but it made the man in front of you scoff and furrow his brows.

“I’m no prince, I’m afraid.” His words were said bitterly and you raised a brow in confusion. Seeing your reaction, he chuckled and continued, “well yes, by right and title I am a prince. But,” he stopped for a moment and inhaled deeply, “I don’t think I’m worthy of the title.”

“Prince Yoongi, I’m sure that’s not true!” Your protest came out quicker than you had originally intended. “You’ve no doubt received the lessons you need to be a great king.”

“That’s another thing, I won’t be king. Not likely anyways. I have an older brother who has the proper claim to the throne. So, I’m kind of just thrust to the side in everything. My advice isn’t even acknowledged during council meetings even when I’m right!” As Yoongi let out a grunt of frustration, you placed your hand on his arm in hopes to comfort him.

“I’m sorry you feel that way, Prince Yoongi, you deserve to have your voice heard whether you are right or wrong, it’s only fair.” Now it was you who was furrowing their brow, wishing there was more for you to say. Yoongi just smiled meekly and placed his hand on yours, squeezing it gently to let you know he appreciated the gesture.

“It’s alright, there’s no need for you to apologize, Princess Y/N. I should be the one saying sorry, in fact, you brought me out here to get me away from the crowd, yet here I am complaining to you about trivial matters that you probably don’t care for.”

“That’s not true, and please skip the formalities, it’s just the two of us out here. I do care, I care about what troubles the people I come across. I just wish there was more I could say to help you.” Your voice trailed off and you muttered the last part under your breath. To your surprise, Yoongi brought your knuckles to his lips.

“So, you really are as considerate and loving as the rumors say, Y/N.” You brushed off the compliment as your focus was still placed on the tingling sensation left on your hand.

“I try, you can’t rule a kingdom properly if your subjects resent you.” Your heart fluttered as you watched Yoongi give you another gummy smile.

“True that is. Now enough talk about kingdoms and duties, let’s make this conversation lighter, what do you say?” He held his right elbow out to you and the overly exaggerated look of poise caused you to laugh loudly. You fondly hooked your arm through his and continued your stroll through the garden.

The red roses had become engraved in your mind by the time you had walked past them for the umpteenth time. Conversation with Yoongi proved to be effortless and exciting. The topics discussed were far from the usual ones you held with the princes you had met previously. He told you of his hobbies and passions, and of the faraway lands he had seen. Each word that rolled off his tongue held great significance, even the ones that he mispronounced and stumbled over. Your laughter seemed to fill the empty garden on a repetitive cycle, and by the time your walk had come to an end you were clutching your stomach in joyous agony.

You weren’t exactly sure how long the two of you had been in the garden, hours perhaps. The original intention of escaping the ball was not to miss the entire thing but to get away for a moment. It was obvious, however, there was striking compatibility between you and Yoongi, and neither one of you wanted to go back inside to socialize. It was upon re-entering that you two realized that you had, indeed, missed the entire ball.

“Ah, there you two are!” Your father exclaimed as you and Yoongi made your way to where the two kings had settled near the thrones. “We were almost beginning to worry as to where you two had snuck off to!”

“Don’t worry father, I was just showing Yoongi the flowers in the garden.” You chuckled before kissing your father on the cheek. King Min and your father exchanged a look of amusement at your words.

“Fair enough. Anyways, there was something we wanted to discuss with you two.” A more serious tone took over your fathers normally playful one, and you and Yoongi glanced at each other nervously.

“Yoongi, I think it may do you well to see how other kingdoms are ruled. That’s why I want you to stay here with Y/N and hopefully take notes on how to grow fit to be a ruler.” Yoongi looked visibly hurt at his father’s condescending statement.

“Father, I don’t think that’s really necess-” his protest was cut off by a wave of the Kings hand, and for a moment you were disappointed by his lack of excitement at the opportunity to spend more time with you. “At any rate, I can’t allow myself to be a burden to Y/, I mean Princess Y/N and her father.”

“Nonsense my boy, it’d be a pleasure to have you as our guest here!” Your father dismissed Yoongi’s concern immediately, reassuring him that it was, in fact, not a problem. “I suppose this comes down to what my daughter wants. What do you think, Y/N?” You glanced between Yoongi and the kings as you weighed the two options in your head. If you said no, you would save Yoongi the discomfort of being forced into following your shadow, but you would not be able to grow closer to him. If you chose, however, to accept the Kings’ proposal, you would selfishly be putting your own feelings in front of Yoongi’s comfort and happiness. You smiled apologetically at Yoongi before giving your answer.

“Of course, father, King Min, it would be an honor to have Prince Yoongi join our castle for a while.” Your answer puts hope in your heart for your friendship and possible relationship with Yoongi, but that was quickly diminished when you saw the furious look on his face.

“That’s settled then, Yoongi, I will have someone show you to your living quarters that you will be using while you’re here.” Your father clapped his hands in one excited movement before calling over one of the servants. You excused yourself for the rest of the evening because you couldn’t bear having Yoongi’s once gentle eyes glare at you any longer.

The following weeks were torturous as you tried your hardest to hold the same energetic conversation with Yoongi that you had that night of the ball; to no avail, Yoongi only answered you with a cold shoulder and bitter shortness. Having him accompany you to council meetings proved to be the more tedious task as his lack of voluntary participation made it difficult to come to agreements on things.

“Perhaps we should place more soldiers throughout the village. Petty crime has been rising in tremendous numbers lately; food by the barrel has been coming up missing from the warehouses.” One member of the council said sternly, confident that his idea to solve the problem was through the use of authority and fear. “Wouldn’t you agree, Princess Y/N?”

“No, I would not.” Your mouth formed a thin line as you refused to encourage this idea. “Perhaps this is a matter that we could use Prince Yoongi’s opinion on.” You purposefully deflected the attention to the Prince sitting across from you and if looks could kill.

“Well, I-” he cleared his throat before restarting, “it would be unwise if we solved the problem by just giving food to the people who are stealing from the warehouses, as that creates unmotivated subjects. If we place more soldiers in the village, it not only leaves us with hungry villagers, but it will also bring out resentment and fear in them as well.”

“What do you propose we do then?” The council member whose plan was being refuted drowned his words in a mocking tone.

“There must be areas that are lacking in workers, wasn’t it just recently that some of your establishments were destroyed by the wildfire? Hungry men are hard working men, and giving them jobs and tasks to complete will give them a sense of accomplishment, as well as a reason to be rewarded with the payment of food.” The room held its breath as it stared at your father who had a look of deep contemplation upon his face.

“I think that sounds like a reasonable solution. William, start putting the word out around the village that there will be an opportunity for work and food. We cannot afford to have both hungry and resentful subjects.” Your father took Yoongi’s advice quite seriously and began making the preparations to make it a reality.

You could barely hold back your proud smile for the remainder of the meeting. After it was adjourned, you quickly ran after him to praise his logical thinking.

“Yoongi, that was a lovely idea! I hadn’t even thought about using the destroyed buildings as a tool in this issue!” You reached out for his arm, but he shifted to the left to avoid it.

“Perhaps, Princess Y/N,” the word princess was emphasized with anger and it made you wince, “if you had been more worried about your own answer instead of forcing me to give my own, maybe you would have thought of it!” He had raised his voice to you and it wasn’t the matter of disrespecting a royal that troubled you, it was how he was holding that much anger towards what you’ve done to him. Yoongi had swiftly turned on his heel to leave and it didn’t come to your attention that tears had begun rolling down your face until your loud sniffle had caused him to turn around and come right back to you. “Y/N, look I’m sorry for how I’ve been acting and I’m sorry for raising my voice to you, it’s just-” but you cut him off.

“No, Prince Yoongi,” You curtsied deeply as you used the formal title towards him, “I’m the one who should apologize. I’m sorry I was selfish enough to think that my presence could make up for the fact that this is not somewhere you want to be. I will talk to my father as soon as I can so that you may make your preparations to return home.” With that you turned around and walked away with your head held high, feigning an indifferent composure; you didn’t dare to look behind you, not knowing you had a left a trembling prince in the empty corridor.

“Father I don’t think you understand!” You managed to imply the importance of your words without daring to raise your voice to the king.

“That’s enough Y/N. If Prince Yoongi really is as miserable here as you say he is, he has every right and power to tell me that he wishes to return home. You are both adults and can act as such. Do I make myself clear?” Your father had a point, Yoongi can return home whenever he pleases, this is not your battle to fight. The king in front of you raised an eyebrow pointedly as he awaited the answer to his question.

“Of course, father, I will let the prince know.”

Your curtsy was not as deep as it should have been, but it was a curtsy nonetheless, and you were too conflicted to care. You hadn’t seen Yoongi in over a week since you last spoke to him, meaning that you had missed two council meetings in a row. This was not like you in the slightest, and rumor in the castle said that you were either sick or in love, and to be perfectly honest, both rumors sounded pretty logical to you. Apparently, though, Yoongi seemed to be doing a fine job in your place, giving countless words of wisdom. The thought almost made you smile as you started to think about Yoongi growing more accustomed to the role he was born into. Rounding the corner to the west wing, you ran into your handmaid whose face looked as if she had something good to say.

“Monique, please tell me that look on your face means you have good news!” So desperate for a change of mood, the statement almost sounded like a beg.

“Oh, but I do! Prince Jimin is here. He wants to see you, he said he’d be in the gardens waiting.” Monique smiled widely after seeing how excited you were to see your dear friend. Unbeknown to both of you was that Prince Yoongi could be found hiding behind a statue down the hallway, his fists forming into balls at the thought of you being excited to see another man.

You could see Jimin standing in front of the little pond, looking as princely and royal as ever. Quietly, you snuck up behind him and gave his sides a poke, hoping to scare him. He did not move or say anything, and for a moment it was if you were invisible. Suddenly, he turns around in one swift movement and yells at you.

“Jiminie! How dare you use my plots against me!” You scolded him while you clutched your chest, faking a horrendous heart attack.

“You love me.” Jimin’s warm arms engulfed you in a hug, and it seemed like your best friend had the power to melt all your worries away.

“Yeah, sure,” you muttered against his chest, “how are you?”

“The real question is, how are you? I’ve heard you’ve missed two council meetings in a row. What’s going on?” You rolled your eyes at his bluntness and silently cursed Monique because it was no doubt her who had pushed him to be so nosy.

“It’s nothing really, I’ve just had to take time to myself and be reminded of who I am and what I believe.” This earned, not one, but a two eyebrow raise from Jimin.

“And that would be?”

“That other people come before me. I must put the happiness and well-being of those around me before I indulge in my selfish desires.” Jimin stopped dead in his tracks from the short walk you had taken, turning to look at you with annoyance lining his face.

“That is the worst thing I’ve ever heard of, Y/N. You and I both know well how much you deserve whatever it is you want. It’s okay to be selfish sometimes, you’re a princess for crying out loud!” But you just shook your head.

“Not this time, Jiminie, not this time.”

“It’s the foreign prince, isn’t it? The one you ditched me at the ball for? I hear he’s been staying here for a while.” Jimin did not beat around the bush, and your cheeks grew warm as you recounted that wonderful night with Yoongi in the garden. “Ah, it is.”

“I just don’t get it. I only spent a few hours getting to know him that night, and he made me feel more alive than any boring prince I’ve known for years.” Your best friend was silent, which meant he wanted you to continue. “I made a mistake by agreeing to let him stay here, all its done is make him resent me, and all I want to do is shake those stupid broad shoulders and scream ‘you’re literally the best thing that’s walked into my life, please be my king and rule by side,’ or is that crazy?” Your question on your insanity had been lost to Yoongi’s prying ears, who had decided to peak into the garden to see which prince it was that you were seeing. All Yoongi had been able to hear was, unfortunately, the part where you confessed your feelings for the man in front of you. He continued to look on at the interaction unfolding before him, but he was only able to make out a few words here and there.

“What do you think his reply to that would be? Would he reciprocate the feelings,” Jimin proceeds to mockingly hold your hands to his chest, but to Yoongi it seemed like the prince had accepted your confession, “and say, oh Y/N, I love you so much!” To dramatize it even more, Jimin twirled you around and dipped you low getting too close to your face for Yoongi’s comfort. Deciding he’d seen enough, he begins to leave the garden with every step feeling like lead. “You have snot in your nose, Y/N, no wonder he wouldn’t like you back.” You hit Jimin’s arm as hard as you could, and the last thing Yoongi heard in the garden was the sound of your beautiful, heart-wrenching laughter.

Your afternoon in the gardens with Jimin had done well to lift your spirits, but as you sat at your vanity that evening, you couldn’t help but feel your heart squeeze a little more at the thought of Yoongi. Jimin’s dramatic representation of your confession to the prince you had become so quickly infatuated with, left your imagination running wild at the idea of it. A short, yet loud, knock sounded at your door, and you took your time to answer it; your peace and quiet was something that you cherished. When you opened the door, there was no one there, and peering into the hallway it was as if no one ever had been. As you began to shut the door, you noticed an envelope on the ground leaning neatly against the wall outside your door. Skeptically you picked it up and turned it over in your hands, immediately recognizing the wonderful mint color of house Min on the seal. You flew to your desk and the search for a letter opened seemed to be more difficult than it should have been. Once you had been able to tear it open, you opened the letter and began to read it, your breath catching in your throat at the first line.

Dear Y/N Princess Y/N

I am writing this letter to inform you that I will be making my departure home tomorrow morning. Your father had brought it to my attention that you thought it would be best for me to return home, and I am taking that as my hint to do so. I apologize with my entire being for my unwarranted shift in personality, and my cold demeanor towards you after that night in the garden. My behavior towards you has been nothing short of unnecessary and unwarranted. You are royalty in every sense of the word; from your heart to your policies, to your ability to make those overly-frivolous ballgowns look breathtaking. You are the kind of princess that makes people like me feel shamed for carrying the title of prince. I am deeply sorry for letting my insecurities ruin what had been the best encounter I’ve ever had with someone. I hope that you can forgive my harsh words and that you will find it within you to not let my arrogance interfere with political matters between our kingdoms. I suppose I can be thankful that my actions pushed you into the arms of someone who is much more capable and fit to rule by your side, the prince from the garden seems to compliment you well. I wish you only the best.

                                                                                   Sincerely, Yoongi.

Tears had initially begun to fill your eyes as you read the letter, slowly soaking in every word, every stroke of ink. When your eyes skimmed across the last few lines, panic began to set in as you realized that Yoongi saw you this afternoon. Pretending to confess your love to Jimin. Oh no. No. No. You frantically began pulling on a dress that would be deemed appropriate enough to be seen outside your bedroom, and you sprinted down the corridor of the castle without bothering to properly tie up the corset. I’m covered and that’s what matters. Please be where I think you’ll be, please. You sent up a silent prayer as you raced through the castle. It was unusually dark when you entered the garden, the light from the lamps only giving you enough light to see what’s in front of you; you noticed that tonight was the night of a new moon, meaning that Yoongi had been staying with you for a month now. Despite this, you could faintly make out the figure near the pond and you raced towards him as quickly as your legs could carry you. You surprised both Yoongi and yourself as you brazenly threw your arms around his neck and collided into him.

“Princess Y/N, what are you doing here?”

“Oh, don’t play coy with me, Yoongi, what is the meaning of this?” You held the letter towards him and all but shook it in his face.

“It’s exactly what I said it is. A goodbye. I’m leaving in the morning.” Your eyes had begun adjusting to the darkness and you could see the bags under Yoongi’s eyes, stress from the last week had physically taken a toll on him. “You told your father you didn’t want me here.”

“Damn my father and his inability to spread information correctly. No, Yoongi. I told my father I thought it would be best for you to leave because you don’t like it here. How can you think I don’t want you here when my selfish desire for your company is the reason why you hate me!” You huffed.

“I don’t hate you,” Yoongi mumbled, “it’s quite the opposite actually.” His voice trailed off.

“Then why have you been so cold!” You were almost yelling at this point.

“I told you! I’m not worthy to be held to any standard equal to you. Being distant and cold from the beginning hurts less than it would have if I had grown any more attached to you than I already am; I couldn’t stand the thought of you realizing how pathetic I am as a prince.”

“I didn’t realize it troubled you so much. I’m sorry for forcing you into playing the adopted prince,” Yoongi looked like he was going to say something but you stopped him, “but in a sense, I don’t think I am. You told me that night of the ball that your opinions are never heard, and I think that is a shame because I think you have a sound head on your shoulders. Not only that, but you’ve begun to gain confidence in yourself; people are boasting about how willing you have been to participate in the recent council meetings.”

“That doesn’t deem me worthy of much.”

“How hard is it for you to realize that if I didn’t think you were worthy, I would have ignored you like I have with every other prince on the continent?”

“But,” Yoongi’s lips formed a thin line of frustration, “the prince. In the garden. I heard you confess your love to him.” You flicked Yoongi’s arm, and he yelped at the sting. “You’re a madwoman! What was that for?”

“That was for eavesdropping, and this,” you closed the distance between the two of you and pressed a soft kiss to his lips, “is for making the wrong assumptions of a princess.” As much as you wished you could let yourself drown in his kiss, a point needed to be made. “He’s my best friend, Yoongi, we’ve known each other since birth, and he’s completely in love with my cousin, Minah.” The blush on Yoongi’s face grew even deeper as he turned away in embarrassment.

“This is awkward now, I’m sorry. I should’ve been more honest and not made assumptions.”

“You’re human, Yoongi, it happens.” Yoongi pulled you into his arms, and the two of you stood there silent as you both relished in the moment. The wall between you had finally been torn down, and perhaps something could be made now.

“Can we start over so that I can properly earn your favor and the chance to court you?” His question came with a shy smile after you parted from the embrace. The smile grew into a wide gummy one, as you nodded your head eagerly at his suggestion. The two of you bowed and curtsied, much more gracefully this time arrived. “May I have this dance, Princess Y/N?”

“Of course,” you nodded, “for the moment, I am no princess. I am Y/N, you are Yoongi.” Once again, he led you in a harmonious waltz as the two of you danced to the sound of birds, the wind, and your beating hearts. “And we are happy again. So please, skip the formalities.” 

I Ain’t Your Southern Belle

(so i’m trying to post this on AO3, but I thought I might give it a try here! Sorry if this sucks!)

If there was one thing Jesse McCree wasn’t, it was a coward. That being said, when he was suddenly tossed to the wild unknown that is the foster care system, he was a bit scared. Not cowardly, just… slightly scared. After all, it’s not every day that a family disowns a thirteen-year-old child simply because he was born the wrong gender. The night honestly had been a blur, but as there seemed to be no one in the place aside from Jesse the foster care system decided to give him to a rather trusted couple who had been hosting children for several years now. Morrison-Reyes was the family name, according to what Jesse had been told, and they consisted of a cop and a high school teacher. Why they wanted another kid to look after was something of a mystery to Jesse when the found out they already had three other kids in their home. Not only that but he knows they got the records of him from before.

Jessie Isabella McCree hadn’t the greatest past. He knew from a young age that had been born the wrong gender, and the tight feeling of shame of his own situation had only grown under the influence of his birth parents. They and his two older brothers had never approved of the idea, forcing him to wear dresses, and bows. Treating him more like a doll than a person with feelings and thoughts of their own. So, on the faithful night that they kicked him out, Jesse knew he would never be allowed back near their farm, not that he wanted to be anyway. So now at sixteen years old, three years after being kicked out, he was finally found by child services and forced into the system. It all happened too fast for him to really recognize what was going on, but perhaps that was for the better. He put up little fight, though when asked his name by the officer that got him, he did reply with Jesse, and though it has little difference in pronunciations, the drop of the I in his mind did wonders.

From there he was tossed around a bit for about two weeks, before it was decided he would be going to the Morrison-Reyes home for thanksgiving and Christmas to see if they would be a suitable match. Few days of paperwork later he arrived in front of a classic two-story brick home, modernized and decorated already for Christmas even though it was about a week before Thanksgiving. School, which he had to be put back into, would be out within the week, so he would be forced to spend time with the family. He did find out though that one of his foster parents was the Spanish teacher in his school, which turned out well since Jesse was almost fluent in the language. Probably the only good thing that had come out of living in a Spanish guys house for the past three years, was the immense pick up of the language.

Thus, he was introduced to Jack Morrison, and his husband Gabriel Reyes. Jamie was the overexcited and slightly loud Australian whom he would share a lot with and also the newest of their children, Hana being an original member of the family as she had been adopted first and was a baby even before the couple was married. Finally, there was Lúcio, a gifted youth who matched Hana in age, both being eleven, and excelled with music. Hana was a rising competitive gamer, and Jamie was an inventor. All of this information was thrown at Jesse within the span of about twelve minutes. Oh, and dinner was in ten.

“C’mon, put your bags down son, we’ll get your settled.” Jack stated with a smooth voice that honestly suited the whole golden boy look he fitted in. Blonde hair, blue eyes, perfect smile, and a toned body. Not that Jesse was really looking at the last thing, but hey it was obvious why the man attracted Mr. Reyes. Gabriel Reyes however was a dark skinned, and hard edge sort of man. He looked like the kind that would quiet literally snap some one’s neck in half if they so much as looked at him wrong. Jesse was not a coward, just a little scared.

“Yer uh… my Spanish teacher…” Jesse mumbled looking at the hulk of a man.

“And you’re the child that’s been skipping class since you got put in my class.” He answered back simply raising a brow that Jesse ducked down at.

“Uh… yeah about that-” Jesse laughed uneasily before yelping as he was pulled into the kitchen by an overly enthusiastic Hana.

“Scare him later papa, I want dinner and dad said we’re not having it till we’re all there!” She called back towards the man, who just shrugged behind the kids and followed in line.

“So Jesse, you’re sixtee right?” Jack asked and received a nod. “When’s your birthday?” He carried on the conversation.

“Oh uh, it was like July 28th or somethin’… I ain’t got a good memory for dates.” Jesse answered slowly edging into a seat that was offered up by Jamie who seemed to be eyeing him down curiously.

Mr. Morrisons brows furrowed in confusion as he turned and handed a full plate of food to Hana. “You don’t remember? Now how do you forget your own birthday?” He tried to joke, but ended up only making Jesse duck his head down more.

“I aint celebrated it in a… a while.” Jesse answered truthfully as Jack just nodded and cut of his awkward laughter.

“Well maybe we can change that.” He offered up a plate to Jesse, who hesitantly took it and put it down on the table as quietly has humanly possible. Dinner continued on in this manner with Mr. Morrison trying to find out some stuff that had already been on Jesse’s files from Jesse himself, and the teen giving a half answer since he didn’t even know most information on himself anymore. Once he was done pretending to eat and pushing food around on his plate, he stayed and helped Mr. Reyes clean up.

“You know kid,” The man started. “You’re only gonna make this awkward if you keep dancing around and keep it awkward like this. I suggest you just give up and try to make yourself as comfortable as possible in this situation.” Reyes advised as they finished up, Jesse drying off the last dish and putting it onto a pile he had made. Seeming to be done talking, Jesse was lead to his room by Jamie. The room was right across from the couple’s room, with the remaining three upstairs if he needed them. A simple full bed, and dresser it was obvious the room was for guests. Reaching down and touching the quilted blanket on the bed, sighing as he dropped his single bag of clothing he owned. Most of it was worn down and ratty but it’s what he had so that’s what he’d wear for the remainder of his stay he supposed. Flopping onto his bed Jesse sighed and tried to curl up to get some sleep after he kicked off his shoes which thumped onto the floor.

The following morning was a Saturday, and while normally Jesse would be rejoicing the lack of school, it meant he had to spend time with his new foster family. He was up late in the morning, around 10 am was when he woke up. Wandering into the bathroom connected to his room he firstly relieved himself, and then focused on looking presentable. Popped a few zits, and rummaging through his bag for some bandages he taped up his chest. He knew this was a bad thing to do, but it’s all he could afforded and no one ever stopped him, so bandaging it was. He dreamed of having enough money to own a proper binder in all honestly, but with how things were before and the now lack of any money at the moment, he knew this was a dream for another day.

Brushing his greasy hair, he decided he would find out how to take a shower later, and headed out in the same clothes he had worn the day before. Jack was standing in the kitchen when he came in, sending a kind smile when he noticed the new comer in the kitchen. The home had been remodeled to have an open floor plan Jesse suspected, as the kitchen wall was blown open so it included the living room. An island separating the living area from the kitchen area and at the island sat a very sleepy looking Jamie and Hana who both were eating cereal with varying degrees of success in getting the fruity loops into their mouths. By Jesse’s judgment, currently Jamie was winning in getting the most in his actual mouth. Hana meanwhile was making a nice collection in her long hair.

Jesse subconsciously touched his own hair as he thought about when it was down to his waist. His mother refused to let him get it cut, and eventually he took a pair of scissors to it and fixed the problem himself. It was sloppy, and a little long in the front now, but it was above his shoulders and that’s all he cared about. “Morning Jesse.” Jack greeted him, snapping Jesse from his thoughts and the man gestured towards the breakfast bar. “Want some cereal?”

“I’m good actually.” Jesse declined not wanting to take even more of their food. “What’s everyone doin’?” He drawled out looking to the living room where Lúcio and Gabriel were decorating the large fireplace located on the adjacent wall to the door and stairs. Stockings and other items being hung up with care and lots of command hooks.

“Oh they’re just finishing up decorations.” Jack explained as Jesse mindlessly nodded along. “You can join them if you like and aren’t hungry.” He offered up as the teen nodded once more and moved into the living room watching till Gabriel noticed him and grunted to Jesse.

“Here, help him put these up on the tree.” He spoke out as the teen jolted into movement to help. Lúcio was humming while they did this, and slowly Jesse worked himself into a rhythm of handing the younger an ornament for the tree, and waiting patiently with the next one while it was hung upon the tree. This same rhythm soon seemed to follow Jesse into his life style with the Morrison-Reyes household. He would wake up, deny breakfast, help decorate or another small task/chore, then laze around for some time, claim he had eaten lunch, laze around some more and then eat dinner before showering and bed. This provided as sense of security in his routine, and when school started on Monday he simply fixed it so he would talk with Mr. Reyes during Spanish class (He was no longer aloud to skip it) and then go about his other classes. He was behind in most things considering he missed three years of schooling, though they simply threw him behind a grade and called it good enough.

He learned a lot about his fellow foster and adopted kids while he was going through the first week. Hana regularly had nightmares about her birth mother who had died while trying to get to America. Lúcio didn’t even know his birth parents, and grew up in the system from day one. Jamie however, Jesse grew particularly close too, as he found out he was also transgender. The boy offered all sorts of advice and things Jesse didn’t even know existed. He had started some hormone therapy while he was still on the streets, but he didn’t half the information Jamie had told him about it. Apparently, Reyes and Morrison had been paying for Jamie’s treatments for the better half of a year and they didn’t plan on stopping any time soon. Binders were also another topic brought up, and when Jamie found out he was using bandages to bind the boy nearly threw a fit inside of class (They both had history together as it wasn’t Jamies strongest subject). The following period Jesse was dragged to Reyes classroom who was just as appalled to find out. One doctors trip later he learned that the pain he had been feeling when putting them on was caused by a fractured rib. Jamie freaked out.

With his chest now exposed to the world, doctor’s orders, they left the office and Jesse received several looks as he tried to adjust to the sudden freedom and lack of pain he felt. He was ordered to not bind or even attempt it again for six weeks till the rib had healed properly. Left with no other choice than to follow orders he then spent the remainder of the week, god it was only Wednesday, to staying home and cleaning up the place as an excuse to explore the house fully (Jack knew but didn’t say anything. Humans are curious after all).

Thanksgiving turned out to be relatively quiet after he arrived, as far as Thanksgivings go, with just the six of them eating together happily. Jesse was slowly speaking more and more, his shyness melting away easily with the group as he happily shoveled down the delicious multicultural food. Gabe had made delicious corn salads and salsa with chips for his contribution, Hana absolutely enthusiastic to shovel down the burning kimchi that Jesse could only stand a bite of before he was coughing, Lúcio providing some relief with his sweet rabanada while Jamie and Jack both gobbled down several people’s servings of turkey. Overall Jesse couldn’t remember a time he felt so stuffed and warm when he was wrapped up in a giant quilt with a snoring Hana on his shoulder afterwards. The girl having fallen into a peaceful food coma while Gaberiel and the others were busy fighting over what movie to watch.

Jesse came to find out that they did this often, the family dinner type deal, as he was continually surprised at the warm food which always seemed to be piled onto the table every night. Once school was called back in, Jesse reluctantly got up with Mr. Reyes (who now insisted he be called Gabe) in the morning, avoiding everyone’s questioning glances as he skipped his normal classes (He didn't feel like going to them and Gabriel didn't say anything in protest anymore) and sat in the Spanish room. Conversation flowing so easily between the pair that most of their discussions ended up on the quizzes that Jesse helped grade with Gabe. It took him several days of silent contemplation in the class room however before Jesse finally got the nerve to ask Gabe if he could borrow one of his or Jack’s large hoodies to help make him feel more normal. The bandaging around his torso did little to hide his chest, and with how he looked now it just made Jesse feel weird. The man of course obliged, taking Jesse out the next day and getting him several sets of safe clothing until he was allowed his binder back.

He almost started to have a small panic attack at the thought of Gabe spending so much money on him, but luckily Jamie had gone with them and simply said he’d wear some of the clothing as well so it wasn’t just money on Jesse. He didn’t know why those words helped, but the pain in his chest gradually eased away as he found a sweat shirt he couldn’t help but ask for. ‘BAMF’ printed on the front along with two little pistols in a deep red color that Jesse found absolutely hilarious. Gabe happily obliged in his wish after laughing his ass off as well.

Jack took Jesse back to the doctors about three weeks into his stay. He learned, sadly, that no binders were allowed still, as his ribs themselves were allowing to expand free and heal up properly. While this was a downside he did learn from Jack it just meant he could eat more ice cream and blame it on his ribs, so they both gladly raided the freezers contents and ate half a gallon each of chocolate chip. Jack came to surprise Jesse with a similar taste in movies, as they were the only one’s home currently, pulling out several classic Clint Eastwood movies that had both of them raving about the action qualities immediately. While Jack enjoyed his own action and hero movies, he did love westerns for their heroes and dramatic situations. It made Jesse full out laugh when Jack tried to ask how these situations even arose back then, the teen just shrugging and claimed all of them were bored without TV.

The answer pleased Jack it seemed, as the Indiana native just smiled at Jesse, ruffled his hair, and stole a scoop of his ice cream. With the movie playing, both of their attentions were split between watching and repeating the dialogue both knew by heart, and actually just talking. “So, what do you want for Christmas?” Jack asked as he took a sip from his Coke on the table.

Jesse paused in getting a scoop full of chocolate chip, to look at him. “I thought this was my Christmas gift. Yah know stayin’ with ya’ll?” He asked resuming the motion popping a spoon full of the cold treat into his mouth happily.

“Well in a way yes, but that isn’t it. You still have to ask Santa for something.” Jack teased softly gesturing over to the mile-high stack of papers Hana had filled to the brim with gift ideas for most of the family (mainly herself however).

“Uh… hell I don’t know… didn’t think Santa came to punks like me. Naughty list and all.” Jesse shrugged back simply with his attention back on the TV at this point.

The officer scoffing softly as he looked towards the teen. “Santa and I are very close, and I’ll have you know he has you on his Nice list. So, what does the cowboy want?” He asked again with a small smile playing at his lips.

“Shucks… I don’t know Mr. Morrison. I just usually got dresses and dolls back home….” Jesse mumbled rubbing his chest lightly to ease a small itch.

“Well you aren’t getting dresses, unless you want them for some reason, so think of something else okay? Just make a list or something.” Jack suggested softly, reaching over to the table and picking up a smaller stack of paper off the table Hana had taken up. “Or at least tell us if Hana is close to what you’d like or not.” He gently offered it up to the teen to hesitantly took it.

Jesse nodding slightly to acknowledge him as his eyes quickly scanned over the items listed underneath his name. “All this stuff seems kinda…. Yah know… expensive.” He mumbled before taking an offered pen and scribbling out the items which he deemed too extravagant. “Maybe just like… I don’t know some warm socks or a blanket…?” He suggested handing the list back for Jack to inspect.

Jack sighing softly as he found most of the items not crossed out were under 10 dollars each. “Jesse, you do know both Gabe and I work for a reason, right? We can afford to get you a real gift, and if you don’t pick it Hana will. And I know for a fact she can find more expensive items.” He gently combed a hand through the teens hair, smiling when Jesse leaned slightly to the touch letting out a soft huff.

“I know… still don’t mean I wan’ nothin’ expensive…. Maybe a cowboy hat or somethin’?” He tried once again, Jack seeming to accept his answer now with a nod and his smile growing.

“Cowboy hat it is! Juuust make sure to send your letter in to Santa okay? He gets cranky if you wait till the last minute.” The officer chuckled as he casually stole a bite of Jesse’s ice cream, the teen yelping as he tried to move it away in time. “What??” Jack laughed, feigning innocence as Jesse pouted.

“Fine then… I’m gonna take a nap instead ice cream thief.” Jesse huffed, but still smiled as he put the ice cream tub back into the freezer, and his spoon in the dishwasher. Jack still snickering as he turned his own attention back to the movie at hand. Jesse meanwhile headed into the guest room he’d been calling his own. A large red blanket with a geometric design stitched into it laying at the foot of the bed, one of the favorites of the blankets they had given to him to use in Jesse’s opinion. Changing into a slightly more comfortable pair of pajama pants and sliding underneath the warm covers, pulling the blanket up over his shoulders snuggly.

Sleep found Jesse quickly, taking his mind into a dark and endless abyss where he floated softly in the warm pleasure of the bed around himself. His thoughts gently drifted about, wondering from recent events, thinking of students who populated Gabe’s class room during the day. Eventually his mind wondered how his brothers were doing, before a jab of pain resonated into his chest from the idea. They were fine. Of course, they had to be fine, he was gone after all, something they wished for greatly.

Thoughts slowly swirled down from this point until Jesse was whimpering pathetically in the real world, twitching and shaking despite the blankets on his frame. He had only managed to dose for an hour before he woke up, sucking in a surprised breath. His chest lit up in flames, pulling tightly at the warm sweatshirt he had on till Jesse slipped the material off himself in an attempt to make the tugging stop. He was left in a short sleeve t-shirt he had snatched from Jamie some time ago, along with his sweat pants which he begrudgingly noticed felt wetter than usual. “Fuck….” He hissed out slowly getting up and shuffling into the bathroom. As fate would have it, his period had started. Wonderful, this stupid thing again.

He had thought the hormone treatments had stopping it, but having been off them for a while apparently brought them right back on when the hormones had been flushed out his system. Jesse begrudgingly slapped on a pad and tampon, holding his cramping middle as he shuffled out to change pants and lay down to try and control the tightness in his chest. He was a little shocked however to see his room wasn’t empty when he came back in. Jamie was standing over by his bed, gathering up the sheets from his bed and looking over with a smile when he saw Jesse. “’Ey! Wanna come up in my room?” He offered as he continued to strip the bed down, Jesse now seeing there was a blood spot staining the perfectly white cloth.

“U-Uh… yeah sure…” Jesse nodded looking at his feet as Jamie passed him, dumping the sheets in the laundry room before both teens shuffled into his room.

“Sit down, I gotta find som’tin.” Jamie instructed as he started to search through is mess of a closet, Jesse looking and sitting down on the stuff animal filled bed. It was the weirdest thing one wouldn’t expect when thinking of Jamie, but the boy loved stuffed animals. Whenever the family went anywhere he always got a stuffed animal from there that in some way represented the place they had gone.

When the teen returned, he dumped a clothed pad of some kind on his lap, before plugging the device into the wall. “Heat Pad. Always helps with my cramps.” He explained sitting across from Jesse with a bounce of the bed’s springs. “I thought’d you like it and maybe I could tell you a little bit about my fine specimen collection!” He asked gesturing to the stuffed animals, plucking up a stuffed Pig. “This one is my bestest one! I got it from my best mate back ‘ome, and lovingly named it Roadhog! Cause that was ‘is nickname ya see-“ Jamie began his giant tale of the animals Jesse laughing as he went on to tell a story about how he and this ‘Roadhog’ character had played around, almost blowing up an ant hill.

This is how the evening evolved, with Jesse laughing or leaning on the edge of his seat as Jamie chattered the world away with the seemingly endless tales of his stuffed animals. He found out Jamie had a slight concussion when he was younger causing him to have a slightly harder time forming new memories. So, the stuffed animals were like a touchable journal or memory bank. If he wanted to remember a time better, he could pick one of them up and it helped him remember. Without realizing, as the two teens chatted, eventually even swapping stories, Jesse’s chest unwound itself till he was laughing so hard he was gasping for breath.

Hearing the commotion Jack peaked on the pair, smiling softly as he saw Jamie pretending to be attacked by a stuffed Crocodile while telling the story of the families first zoo trip with Lúcio. Jesse looked perfectly at ease with him, both of them unknowingly leaning slightly on each other for comfort and support. Quietly shutting the door again Morrison walked back downstairs where Hana and Lúcio were playing video games. He dropped a kiss on both of their heads as he passed the couch, sitting down at the dining table and going back to scribbling away at some forms for work.

His phone lit up with a text, a maraca shaking sounding out to alert Gabe had texted him.

‘How did the doctors appointment go? -G’

Jack smiled as he looked down at the message and typed back the reply.

‘Perfect. -J’