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pastelwitchling · 4 years ago

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Kyle talks to Michael about Alex.

Kyle had had a strange pain in his chest since he’d accepted the surgeon’s offer, but as he stepped into the Wild Pony and saw Alex at their usual table, looking everywhere at once and tapping his fingers on his beer bottle, clearly uncomfortable with being alone, it was like a window suddenly opened to his heart.

A smile tugged at his lips. Alex saw him and smiled himself, raising a hand in greeting.

As Kyle slid into the booth, he said, “I have a raging headache in four corners of my mind, and only one of them is from my hospital shifts.”

Alex huffed a chuckle. “I get the feeling.”

“Right,” he nodded. “I keep forgetting that you’re in the club, too.”

“The club?”

“The We’re-Pretty-Much-On-Call-All-The-Time-Because-Someone-Always-Needs-Something Club.”

“Ah,” Alex leaned back in his seat, and handed Kyle the second bottle he’d ordered. “That club. It’s not so bad, being useful.”

He raised a brow. “That bad? I thought you liked your new job.”

“‘Liked’ may be a strong a word,” he confessed. “It’s definitely interesting.”

“And your boss?”

He sighed. “I’m still trying to crack him. What about you? Have you heard back from that hospital in California?”

Kyle looked down, and huffed a chuckle. “I think you’re the only one that’s asked me that. Come to think of it, I think you’re the only friend I have that doesn’t just call me for rescue.”

Alex’s smile dimmed. “So you have heard from them.”

He nodded. “And I accepted their offer.”

Alex said nothing, and Kyle looked up, expecting disappointment. But Alex wasn’t looking at him. He was staring off into the crowd of cowboys drinking by the pool table, his lips pursed, his brows furrowed.

“Do you hate me?”

“I’m sad,” he confessed, the corner of his lips tugged up in a soft smile. “I’ll miss you.”

Kyle felt a lump in his throat. For two days, he’d been deliberating his choices, wondering if it was the right thing to do. Everyone here, after all, needed him for one thing or another. He was worried he’d be letting people down. But Alex . . .

“Are you disappointed?”

He shook his head. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he hesitated, “I’m the resident alien doctor. What’re are they going to do if I’m not here?”

Alex raised a brow like it was obvious. “Manage.”

“Come on, Alex,” his shoulders fell. “You can’t fool me into thinking that you don’t care what happens to Michael.”

“All I’ve ever cared about is Michael,” he said simply, without doubt or pause. “But they’re not alone. I’m here, Liz is here. And you’ve done enough.”

“But you’ve always advocated for – for friendship, and being there for the people you love!”

“And you have been,” Alex chuckled. “And you will be. You’re moving to another state, not another planet. If it gets really bad, and I really can’t think of anything else, I’ve got your number.”

Kyle clenched his jaw. “But –”

“Kyle,” he leaned in, smiling. His eyes were glassy. “Take it from someone who built a career out of the military, and moved on. It’s time to tap out.”

Kyle didn’t know what to say. He didn’t have another argument, not with Alex’s eyes and words so sincere. Alex shrugged. “It’ll just be Roswell’s loss.”

He stared, searching for any sign of mockery or sugarcoating. But this was Alex. He didn’t lie, not for anyone.

He opened his mouth to speak, found the words lodged in his throat, then tried again. He really hadn’t realized how badly he’d needed Alex’s permission.

“Coming from you, Manes,” he confessed, “that means everything.”

On his way home that night, and after a hug from Alex and a promise that he would come over the next day to help him start packing, Kyle realized there was one more thing he couldn’t leave without doing. One last duty that he owed his best friend.

So instead of going straight home, he turned a road and into the junkyard. Michael Guerin sat in front of the bonfire with a beer in hand, that stupid hat on his head, and raised a disinterested brow at Kyle as he stepped out.

��Well,” he said, “this is a surprise. The good doctor needs something from little old me?”

“Actually,” Kyle said, “yeah, I do.” Michael just stared, and he shrugged. “More of an order, actually.”

Michael started to smirk and leaned forward on his knees. “You’re gonna give me orders.”

“Just one,” Kyle said, hands in his pockets. He supposed he should’ve been more hesitant, more afraid. Michael, after all, was a dangerous loose wire even when he was sober, and he’d been on edge for whatever reason for the past few days.

But then Kyle remembered the dark circles around Alex’s eyes, the slight twitch of his fingers, the way he seemed to be struggling with the weight of Deep Sky and everything that came with it on his shoulders. And Michael. Always Michael.

“I need you to look after Alex.”

Michael’s smirk faltered. “Pardon me?”

“You heard me, Guerin,” he sighed, not in the mood to play back-and-forth. Not anymore. “Look after Alex. He’s not okay.”

That got Michael’s attention, and his eye twitched. “What’s wrong with him?”

Kyle tilted his head. “Oh I don’t know, why don’t you ask him? Or is it only that Alex is allowed to help you, and never the other way around?”

He stood. “Watch it, Valenti.”

“I have been,” he said. “For the past couple of years, I have been careful around you, Guerin, because part of me knew that whatever you broke in Alex, I can just fix. But I’m leaving town, and honestly? I’m scared for him. He’d never ask for help, but there has to be someone who cares enough about him to offer it anyway.”

Michael clenched his jaw and swallowed. “And you think that’s me?”

“I need it to be,” Kyle admitted, “because Alex doesn’t want anyone else.” Michael’s face fell. “He’s never wanted anyone else. So it’s either you, or I find some way to take him with me.”

Michael’s eyes flared, but Kyle held up a hand to silence him. “I’m not, Guerin, but I would. I can’t leave him here alone knowing he’s just going to keep being used.”

“I don’t use Alex,” he growled.

“No?” Kyle scoffed. “Did you know that he left the Air Force just last week?”

Michael looked like he’d been shot.

“With full honors?” he went on. “Did you know that he’s been recruited by the same secret organization that shot Max and drugged Jenna? Or that he’s already been given a mission? Do you have any idea how exhausted he is?”

When Michael didn’t answer, apparently too consumed with taking in all of this information, Kyle shook his head.

“You wouldn’t, would you? Because it’s all about you, all the time.” He shrugged. “Alex doesn’t mind, so why should you?” He shook his head, already starting to walk back to his car. “He deserves better than that.”

Leaving Michael standing in the desert, Kyle got into his car and drove away, finally feeling like he’d wiped the slate clean with his best friend.

Michael didn’t know why he was here. He walked the length of Alex’s porch, waiting for Alex, not having a clue as to where he could be. He realized there’d been a lot of that since that year away dismantling Project Shepherd. He had less and less to do with Alex, and it gave him a headache beyond anything else had.

How could he not know where Alex was? How could he not have asked? How did Kyle know?

Because Kyle pays attention to Alex, a voice in his head scorned. You don’t.

Michael clenched his jaw, still a little tipsy from his self-loathing beers, and ran his fists through his curls. Alex’s porch started to upend itself, the hardwood floors battling against the nails keeping them down, and Michael gasped, settling everything back in its place.

Just then, Michael caught a pair of headlights and squinted only for a second before Alex parked and turned off the car.

His heart started to rattle and his breaths came out quicker at the sight of Alex in his flannel and jeans. He missed him. He had no idea how badly he had until he’d come back, until he got to talk to him that first night a few days ago – drunk then, too – but he missed him. He missed him every second he was away, and somehow missed him more when he was here.

Alex had a brow raised, but Michael was studying his face. He saw it clearly now. The dark shadows under his eyes, his hollow cheeks, his hair sticking up in perfect, messy strands like he’d been running his hands through them all day, his stubble. How could he have not noticed?

“Uh oh,” Alex sighed at the look on his face. “Something’s wrong, isn’t it?”

Michael swallowed. Right, he thought. Because Alex only thought he showed up when he needed something.

He pushed past the ever-present lump in his throat and asked, “Why would something be wrong, Private?” He purposely used the nickname. “Can’t I just come say hi?”

Alex glanced down at the word Private, and back up again. He smiled and moved past Michael to open his door. “Not in my experience. Seriously” – he stood by the door, and nudged Michael inside – “what’s wrong?”

Michael didn’t budge, still smirking though it felt hollow. “Why didn’t you tell me about the Air Force?”

Alex looked startled that Michael knew. Did he really just never expect Michael to care about what was going on with him at all?

He shrugged. “It – uh – it was recent. Who told you? Max?”

Michael stared, then started to chuckle incredulously. “Did everyone but me know?”

Alex was not humoring him. “I told Greg and Kyle. They’ve both been spending time with Maria, and she’s been spending time with Max, I figured one of them must’ve mentioned it to her, and she must’ve mentioned it to him – look, would you please just come inside?”

Michael’s laughter faded and he pressed his lips together. He was still smiling, but his eyes burned. Alex seemed to realize he wouldn’t move on his own, and he gently took Michael’s jacket sleeve, tugging him in.

Once they were both in the living room, Alex set to work on a pot of tea. As he handed Michael a mug, Michael saw the light glimmering off a silver ring on his finger. His brows furrowed.

“That’s new.”

“Oh,” Alex glanced at it. “Yeah. So –”

“Wasn’t that the same ring Long had?”

“Yep.”

Alex was clearly avoiding his eyes. Michael was relentless, a burning in his chest forcing the words out.

“He gave it to you?”

“No,” Alex said. “This one’s mine.”

“Is this about that secret organization you joined?” Michael demanded. “Or was that recent, too?”

Alex smiled as he straightened, understanding dawning. “So Kyle told you. No wonder you’re wound so tight.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning it’s one thing when my own brother knows a secret about me before you do,” Alex said, taking a seat at the end of the couch. “But Kyle knowing it first?” He scoffed and shook his head.

Michael leaned forward, glaring. “So I’m jealous,” he spat. “So what? Why does Kyle get to know more about you than I do?”

“He’s my best friend,” Alex said simply. “We just talk about ourselves around each other.”

“But you don’t talk about yourself to me.”

“Not usually,” Alex agreed.

“Why?” he demanded. “I’m more important?”

“Yes,” he said simply, and Michael clenched his jaw.

“That’s really what you think of me?”

“I think the world of you, Michael,” he said, and Michael faltered. “You’re everything to me.” He smiled. “You think I don’t tell you about what I’m doing because I don’t think you care? I don’t tell you because you’re all I care about. I was going to tell you about the Air Force, I swear, just . . . not yet.” He looked down at his hands, his thumb rubbing the backs of his fingers. “Some of this stuff hurts to talk about, and I just don’t . . . I don’t want to think about it yet.”

Michael’s brows furrowed. “You’re . . . sad about leaving the military?”

He scoffed halfheartedly, slumping against the couch. “My whole life was the military. I had a family. Now I . . . don’t. I just need a minute to adapt.”

Michael tried to consider that, to be sympathetic, but he couldn’t be. For one obvious reason.

“But I’m your family.”

Alex huffed a laugh, and sniffled. He nodded. “I know.” He exhaled shakily, glancing at Michael, then stretched his arms high above his head. Michael was so distracted with his shirt riding up and revealing smooth, delicious skin that he didn’t notice Alex was lying down until his head was on his lap.

Michael froze, not knowing what to do.

“Hold still,” Alex murmured, his eyes already closed. “I haven’t slept in days and I’m exhausted.”

Slowly, Michael set a hand down on Alex’s waist, the other in his hair. His own heart hammered when Alex’s body melted under his touch and he seemed, for the first time since he’d seen him back, relaxed.

He leaned back on the couch, unable and unwilling to look away from Alex. “Then sleep, Private,” he whispered. “I’ll keep you safe.”

#alex manes #michael guerin #kyle valenti #malex #malex fic #malex fanfic #malex fanfiction #roswell new mexico #roswell nm #malex angst #malex fluff #tyler blackburn #michael vlamis

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daydreaming-in-letters · 4 years ago

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Three Nights (Unconditional sequel)

Night One

05/21/2021

Pairing: August Walker x fem!reader (3rd person)

Word Count: 1,457

Warnings: soft!August, fluff to smut (at least a bit), cockwarming

Summary: August has kept his promise to side with Hunt and his team against Lane. Now he is eager to check whether they kept their promise as well.

A/N: So here it is, the sequel to Unconditional so many of you requested. To prolong your enjoyment, I decided to split it up into three parts. We're starting out slow with the first one, but I promise there is much more to come.

If you like my story, you are very welcome to like, comment or reblog. Please don’t copy, repost or share my work on other platforms.

Neither of them had spoken a word since they had gotten into the car at the airport. But now, as Hunt slowly brought the black coupé to a stop in front of a lovely little house, August couldn’t hold back the question any longer that had been pressing on his mind ever since the moment the plane had left its point of departure.

“Is she here?”

He stared out into the darkness, trying to get a better look at his new home, but it was too dark to make out any details. There was a palm tree in the front yard, softly swaying in the breeze, and a small path that led up to the door, that was all he managed to identify in the pitch black. Not one of the windows was illuminated and there was also no other sign of life in the house. And the longer it took Hunt to answer, the more worried he became.

He was almost furious, lips pressed together in a tight line, when he pulled his eyes away from the house and looked over at his driver.

“Is. She. Here?” he repeated through gritted teeth. God, he wanted to punch that pint-sized son of a bitch so much, but just when his fist was starting to clench, Hunt nodded.

“Here are your keys and the code to deactivate the alarm system.”

There was nothing left to say, only the desire remaining inside of him to leave the car and finally begin his new life with her. But as usual he could count on Hunt to interfere with his plans.

“You know, you really should thank her on your knees, Walker. If it hadn’t been for her, I would have made it my personal duty to see that you received your just punishment. But I’m afraid a deal is a deal and you’re a free man now.”

Kneading the keys in his hand, a rush of triumph settled in the pit of his stomach. And with a jubilant smile on his lips, August stated, “Oh, the things you need to endure to save the world if you’re one of the good guys.” And with that he stepped out into the mild night air and waited until the car pulled away.

He inhaled deeply, taking in the salty air of the sea and the heavy scent of lavender as he made his way over to the front door. Smiling to himself, he remembered the last time he had smelled those fragrances and he couldn’t help but wonder if this place had been chosen incidentally or if she had somehow succeeded in persuading them to pick it.

Careful not to make a noise, he let himself in, first disabling the alarm she had actually set like a good girl and then enabling it again for the night. He didn’t know how often he had told her that she needed to stay safe and use the bloody alarm, but she never listened to him. She must be quite frightened if she decided to finally use it now. His heart clenched violently at the thought.

And so he didn’t waste another second before he made his way upstairs.

It wasn’t really hard to guess which room was the bedroom. Obviously, it lay behind the only closed door, for she couldn’t sleep when the door wasn’t neatly shut. Sneaking over, he quietly mouthed a profanity when one of the floorboards creaked violently under his foot. But as he finally pushed down the handle and stepped into the room, it seemed that she was still sound asleep.

She had chosen the right side of the bed for herself, facing away from the door - and from him. And so he rounded the bed, looking down at her sleeping form. Why did it have to be so impossibly dark tonight? He could hardly make out any of her beloved features that he had been looking forward to seeing again so much.

God, it seemed like an eternity since that morning in London. She had still been fast asleep when Hunt had come to get him, and he simply hadn’t found it in himself to wake her. It had broken his heart to leave without looking into her beautiful eyes one last time, and so he had at least allowed himself to caress her soft cheek once more.

And as he recalled the memory, he found his hand drifting towards her face now as well. Overwhelmed by the sensation of her warm skin underneath his fingertips, he needed to close his eyes for a second to contain himself.

“Did they treat you right, my queen?”

He knew that she couldn’t hear him and still he wanted to finally release the thought that had tormented him for so long. Of course he had been separated from her before, but never had he been forced to leave her in the hands of his enemies, not knowing if they would actually keep their word and protect her. A feeling he never wanted to experience again, and he would make sure of that.

Tenderly, he caressed her cheek one last time before he drew away. By the foot of the bed he discarded of his clothes in a hurry, leaving them where they landed. She would probably scold him for that in the morning, but he couldn’t care less. He needed to feel her, skin on skin, that was paramount now, nothing else.

And so he dove underneath the sheets, scooting closer towards her warm form carefully until his chest was firmly pressed against her back. Possessively, his arm snaked around her middle, pulling her just a little closer, while his nose dove into her hair to inhale her sweet scent.

“You know you’re lucky I can distinguish your footsteps from millions of others, my love. Otherwise I would have slit your throat the moment you set foot into this room.”

A deep chuckle rolled from his chest. “I should’ve known you were awake all along.” Her ferocity sent a bolt of lightning straight down to his groin, and there was no doubt that she would actually keep her word should anyone else ever try to invade her private space without permission.

“Now give me that knife, princess. You won’t need it tonight.”

With a soft groan she turned in his arms, and despite the darkness he could clearly see the shine of the metal blade in front of his face. A pleased smile on his lips, he took it from her and disposed of it on his night stand without taking his eyes off of her. If he had, however, he might have noticed the white plastic object she had left there for him, to find as soon as he got home.

But he didn’t, eager to be close to her. And so was she, wrapping herself around him as soon as he had settled in properly beside her again. With a hunger that hadn’t been fed for weeks, her lips found his and she felt herself melting into him as soon as she could taste him on her tongue. Eagerly her fingers dug into his silky skin, her nails marking him as hers as she pulled a heady grunt from his chest. The vibration shot right down into her core, causing a wave of heat that spread through her whole body.

“I can’t believe they didn’t tell me when you would arrive,” she gasped at his lips.

“Probably for safety reasons,” he hurried to give back before he engaged her lips in another searing kiss.

“I missed you so much, Augie.” Her forehead leaned against his as she caught her breath.

“I know, my sweet angel. I missed you, too.”

He didn’t know exactly what about his words had been so funny, but somehow they made her giggle sweetly.

“I can tell.”

And when he suddenly felt her hand around his hardening length, he understood.

“Let me take care of you.”

Her fingers had already started to move, pumping him just in the right pace and it would have been so easy to give in. But instead, he heard himself say, “No. It’s late, darling, and you need your sleep. But - “ he was quick to add before she would start to pout, “I appreciate the effort. So, how about I let you keep daddy’s cock warm until morning?”

His sinful words alone were enough to make her juices flow freely in anticipation of being filled by him the whole night through. And as he pulled her closer to adjust himself, sinking into her with an agonising slowness, his exact choice of words left her wondering if he had probably seen the positive pregnancy test on his night stand after all.

Part 2

***

Tag List: please let me know if you want to be removed or added by either ask or DM - thank you!

@summersong69 @myloveforhenrycavill @dorothea-hwldr @omgkatinka @ashesofblackroses @amberangel112 @madbaddic7ed @icarusblinders @zealoushound @asuni921 @agniavateira

#august walker x reader #august walker #august walker x you #august walker imagine #august walker fic #august walker fanfiction #august walker fanfic #henry cavill #henry cavill imagine

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teawaffles · 4 years ago

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Louis and the Aquaria: Chapter 3, Part 1

It was now the afternoon three days after that, for a total of seven days since the fish had arrived at the mansion.

“Oh, how’re the fish?”

Moran strolled jauntily into the hall.

Although he had left the matter of their names unfinished, since that day, Moran had gotten thoroughly hooked onto watching the fish, often stopping by the hall whenever he had spare time. Of course, it was the same for Fred: he frequently came to visit, and with Louis’s permission, had fun helping to feed them and so on.

As soon as Moran stepped into the room, he peered into the guppies’ tank near the entrance, and broke into a cheerful grin.

“Yo, ‘Fred’. Energetic as always, I see.”

The guppies were kept as a school rather than individually, and at this point, it was no longer clear which one had been named ‘Fred’. As such, that had become the name of the entire group.

After saying hello to ‘Fred’, Moran moved on to the tank with the pufferfish.

“I’m glad you’re doing fine too. Having the entire tank to yourself — it must feel pretty great.”

Perhaps it was because he’d given his own name to that fish, for Moran spoke to it in a remarkably familiar way.

“Compared to the rest of them, it might seem like you’re rather lonely, being alone like that. But I don’t mind that way of life.…… because, I also lived like that once.”

He lowered his eyes, his thoughts flitting back to the past.

“After I was deemed killed in action, I sought revenge on the bastards who put me through that, and lived in the underworld of London. All by myself, that is.”

At this sudden talk about his past, the little pufferfish looked somewhat puzzled.

But Moran ignored that, and continued in an impassioned voice.

“Back then, I’d been prepared to live alone for a long, long time. But then I met William. It feels cliché to say this, but I’ve truly found friends that I can trust.”

He pressed his face up against the tank.

“What I’m trying to say is…… Even though you’re living alone right now, one day, you’ll surely meet people whom you can trust from your heart. So even though you’re alone, that’s no reason to feel down. If you live on with determination, you’ll definitely——”

Moran stopped. In the glass of the aquaria, the figures of two men were reflected back at him.

With a nasty sense of foreboding, he quietly turned around.

There, standing with poise, were Louis and Albert.

“……How long have you two been standing there?” he asked cautiously.

Looking uncomfortable, Louis cleared his throat before replying.

“Um…… Sorry, but — ever since you walked in front of that tank, Mr Moran……”

Beside him, Albert broke into a puzzled smile.

“How should I put this…… To be able to speak so candidly with a fish, Colonel: your communication skills are truly marvellous.”

“Really……?”

Hearing that, Moran held his head in his hands. He’d given a heartfelt speech to a fish — it was an utterly embarrassing sight, and his high spirits had come crashing down in an instant.

“That’s unfair, you know: not saying a word, so you could make a fool of me.”

“No, in this case, you really were digging your own grave……”

“I suppose you’re right…… It’s no wonder you pretty much spend all your time here, Louis. To be unbothered by such simple things: is this the magic of tropical fish?”

“No…… Well, yes — if you say so, Mr Moran, then I’m sure it is……”

In reality, to have made Moran commit a blunder that was so unlike him, it might not have been entirely wrong to call it “magic”. Taking his feelings into consideration, Louis conceded the point.

Then, Albert spoke up in a terribly gentle voice.

“Colonel. If you’re exhausted, I could put a word in with William to give you a break from your duties.”

“Please don’t actually take pity on me……”

Albert had not taken his usual teasing tone with him; instead, his kindness was genuine, and Moran responded in a thin voice.

“……Well, I can’t help it, now that you’ve seen that.”

In truth, Moran had suffered enough mental damage to make him want to sleep through an entire night. But somehow, he pulled himself together, and resumed watching the fish.

As he did so, the other two men whispered to one another with serious faces. Even as the tips of his ears turned red, Moran pretended not to notice.

Then, as he walked around the room, he realised something.

“On a closer look, isn’t there a big difference in the way they're being treated?”

Earlier, Louis had been concerned for Moran; but now he reacted in dismay.

“What’re you saying? I do my best to care for them equally.”

“Then, what’s this?”

Moran gestured to a tank with his chin.

It was the aquarium that housed the very last few fish to be given names the other day — in other words, the three angelfish named after the Moriarty brothers.

Louis tilted his head slightly.

“What about them?”

“No matter how you look at it, isn’t their tank somehow more luxurious than the rest?”

Moran narrowed his eyes. As he’d pointed out, the other tanks were furnished simply, containing only the bare essentials for their inhabitants’ upkeep. In contrast, the angelfishes’ tank had an elaborate layout: it contained a variety of aquatic plants, and the lighting had even been adjusted to maximise the attractiveness of the display.

“Oh, Louis told me about that bright red one before: isn’t it an Alternanthera reineckii?”

“Besides that, I’ve also planted some Echinodorus tenellus.”

“I told you to stop that, didn’t I?!” Moran snapped.

Albert and Louis’s jargon-filled discussion immediately ground to a halt.

“In any case, I don’t see those fancy plants being grown in the other tanks.”

“Aren’t you overthinking things? I obtained some new aquatic plants recently, so I just placed them in an appropriate tank.”

“I don’t know: maybe you got attached to them, since they’ve been named after the brothers you look up to so much. In fact, it has felt that way for a while now.”

Actually, it hadn’t just been this time: ever since the angelfishes were named after the three brothers, Moran had gotten the feeling that Louis had become strangely devoted to them.

However, Louis seemed irked by that suggestion.

“Even for you, Mr Moran, such remarks are inexcusable. To me, these fish are nothing more than a means for my brother’s plan to succeed — I hold no special affection for them.”

Louis’s tone was severe: a product of his devotion to the duty he’d been assigned. But Moran seemed unmoved.

“No matter how you try to spin it, the present state of things says it all. But I’m not trying to accuse you of playing favourites. So you treat them a little better, since they were given William and Albert’s names. That’s a normal feeling to have, innit?”

At that, Albert — who’d been worried about Moran up until earlier — agreed.

“The Colonel’s right. The plan is simply to bring the fish to Stapleton alive; as long as your methods of rearing them aren’t causing any harm, you’re free to act as you like, Louis.”

“…………”

Even though they were living things, Louis wanted to deny outright that he held any unnecessary affection for what were mere tools. But now that he’d been admonished by his older brother, he fell silent, and said nothing more.

“Anyway, we’re getting closer to the day William wants to make contact with the target. Keep up the good work, Louis; you’re doing great.”

Leaving those appreciative words behind, Albert left the room.

“Well, it’ll be fine as long as you don’t let all of them die. It’s alright to have fun in moderation, y’know.”

Then, after a brief look around the tanks, Moran left the hall as well. But as he stepped out the door, he glanced back at Louis.

Seeing the man’s earnest expression, all of a sudden, a slight unease fluttered in his chest.

T/N: Moran is actually quite a sentimental guy… And Albert -not- teasing him for once kinda warms my heart… :3

#moriarty the patriot #yuukoku no moriarty #yuumori #english translation #a study in scarlet

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onecanonlife · 4 years ago

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In which Tommy travels back in time and tries to prevent a nightmare from happening to everyone he knows. Everyone else, meanwhile, is highly concerned.

(fic masterpost w/ ao3 links)

(first part) (previous part) (next part)

(word count: 3,960)

--------------------

Part Ten: Wilbur II

Wilbur wakes the morning of the election as President of L’Manberg, and he ends the evening of the election as President of L’Manberg, voted back into office by due democratic process.

There are things in between, of course. He reads out the results for all the SMP members to hear, as well as for those who have been following the event from different servers. He makes a speech, promises protection and safety for his citizens, promises renewed growth and prosperity and above all else, freedom from tyranny. He makes a good case for it all, he’s fairly sure, though he forgets the words that he speaks as soon as he leaves his podium.

There’s a bit of a celebration, after. Impromptu, unplanned, but those are the best kind. They all pitch in, scrounge up food and drink and games to play for when they get a bit tipsy, and it’s good.

He smiles through it.

He smiles when Tubbo claps him on the back, hooting and hollering. He smiles when Niki runs up to him and throws her arms around him in an embrace, even though she was running against him. He smiles when Eret sidles up to him, murmuring congratulations and briefly pressing his hand. He even smiles when a few citizens of the Greater SMP come to join in, Sapnap and Punz and Ponk and Karl. He smiles and smiles and smiles, and why shouldn’t he smile?

This is what he wanted. To know that his people continue to have faith in him, that they still believe him best for the job. To hold on to power, but to do it the right way. To be given full permission to assure the safety and freedom of those he loves, and the land that he has made.

The smile only slips twice.

Once: meeting Fundy’s eyes across the way. Fundy breaks his gaze just as quickly, glancing to the side, and he doesn’t come to speak with him. He’s not sure what to do about that. He’s not so blind as to not notice the tension that’s sprung into place between them lately, though he still can’t ascertain its origin. And it’s only gotten worse now, of course—but what did Fundy expect, that he would just let him commit voter fraud? He’s disappointed in his actions, and he can’t disguise that. Shouldn’t have to disguise that, because Fundy ought to know that wasn’t the right thing to do. But that means that his son steers clear of him. And he’ll admit that it hurts. Both for that, and for the fact that Fundy would do such a thing in the first place.

So the smile slips, when no one is looking.

But that is once, and twice comes now: Tommy bounding up to him, grin bright and wild, eyes shining with a light that he hasn’t seen there in—too long. Far, far too long. That light has been present all day, ever since he stepped up to the podium and announced the results, and Tommy let out a whoop and a holler and pumped his fist into the air like he was trying to punch the daylight from the sky, and it was so very Tommy that in that moment, he could feel nothing but relief. In general, Tommy’s seemed very relaxed. Celebratory, jubilant. As he should be.

And now, here he is, beaming, staring him in the face, gripping his arms. Eyes shining.

“How we feeling, big man?” he asks, loud and carefree, and it’s obvious from the way that he asks that he expects a certain kind of answer. Wilbur is more than happy to give it to him. He reaches out to ruffle his hair, and Tommy ducks away, but even that scowl doesn’t last for long.

“I’m on top of the world,” he says, and feels his own smile widen. For the first time in a while, he can look at Tommy and not feel pressing worry, not feel a tightness in his chest and a certainty in his bones that something is very, very wrong, that something has happened, and that in some way, he has failed. “We fucking did it, man.”

“We sure fucking did!” Tommy crows. “You and me, best fucking—best fucking day ever. We’re gonna make sure that L’Manberg’s the best country in the literal history of everything. And you’ll be the best president.”

“Of course I will,” he says. “That’s why they’ve elected me.”

Tommy nods sagely. Still grinning. Still bright-eyed. “It’s all going to be alright,” he says, voice lowering just a little. He sounds so very sincere. “Everything’s actually gonna be alright. You’re gonna do so great. You’re gonna do great, right?”

Of course he will. He will not settle for anything less. This duty has been entrusted to him once again, and he will not let his city fail, nor his people fall. He is the one they look to. He built this nation, and he must protect it. He will be great. He has more than just his own hopes riding on his back, and anything less than greatness is unacceptable, both for his own sake and for that of everyone else, for his own legacy and for the seeds planted in the present.

“We’re gonna do great,” he says. “You and I, and all of us.”

“Hell yeah,” Tommy says, and glances around him, at the celebration, still under full swing. Quackity has somehow obtained a stripper pole, and both Karl and Sapnap are looking on in great interest as he displays his talents in that area. Wilbur finds himself watching for a moment too long before tearing his gaze away. But Tommy doesn’t pay mind to any of that—which is good, because he is a child, a little baby man, and maybe he should go over to Quackity and talk about him toning it down, actually, while the minors are here—and instead brings his focus back around to him again.

“They all love you man, y’know?” Tommy says, voice going softer still. He finds his own expression gentling to match.

“They love this,” he agrees. “They love L’Manberg.”

“Because what’s not to love?” Tommy says, nodding in satisfaction. “Really, though, man. You’re gonna be alright. You’re gonna do great. No reason to worry about anything, y’know?”

“Okay, that’s a little concerning, coming from you,” he says. “Are there any shenanigans I should know about?”

“Oh, fuck off,” Tommy says, swatting at his arm. “I’m gonna go find where Tubbo got off to. But just, have a good night, yeah, Wil? You’ve really earned it. Future’s looking up.”

“I will,” he says. “And you too, Tommy, you’ve earned this just as much as I have. Maybe even more. Go have fun.” He pauses. “And if there do happen to be any shenanigans, let me know, would you? It’s been a while since I took part in any good old-fashioned shenanigans.”

Tommy casts him one last grin, brilliant as any sunrise he’s seen. And then, he’s off, weaving through everyone else. It’s good, that he’s happy. It’s been so long since he’s seemed truly happy. It gives Wilbur hope. Whatever damage was done to him that night, when he chose to give up his discs, maybe he really will bounce back. And he’s noticed that he and Tubbo have been closer again, so maybe that will help, too. Tommy will be okay.

Then, a wave of exhaustion hits him, apparently out of nowhere, and his smile slips.

He brings it up again in the next moment. But the fatigue remains—and he supposes it makes sense. It’s been a long, rather stressful day. Perhaps it’s time he turned it in.

Niki’s the first one he finds, and she smiles at his approach. There is still an air of tension about her—lingering frustration, he imagines, at the stunt Fundy tried to pull. He believes her when she says she was unaware. But she doesn’t seem to have any qualms about him, thank goodness, because he bears her no ill will for the incident. Or even Fundy—he is disappointed to be sure, but he doesn’t love his son any less. Nothing at all could make that happen. Perhaps he ought to make sure Fundy knows that.

Later, though. When they’ve both cooled down a bit.

“Hey, Wil,” she says. “Good party, huh?”

“It is,” he says. “I’m sort of beat, though, so I think I might go hit the hay, as it were. Just wanted to tell someone before I left, in case anyone wondered.”

“Okay,” she says, and her eyes pinch around the edges a little bit. “Are you feeling alright?”

“Oh, yeah,” he says. “I’m fine. Just tired.”

She nods. “It’s been a long day,” she says, echoing his thoughts. “I’ll let everyone know, if they ask.” Her smile returns, full force, and she steps forward and takes his hand in hers. “Really, though, congratulations. I’m really proud of you. Anyone can see how much you care about this place, and that’s why they want you to keep leading it.”

His mouth has, unaccountably, gone slightly dry. “I do care,” he says. “But we all do. I mean, you literally made our flag. I don’t think I’ve told you enough how cool that is.”

“I wanted to,” she says simply, though she’s obviously pleased. “You don’t have to thank me for it. Every country should have a flag.”

“And every country should have someone who cares enough to sew it,” he says. “I’m glad it was you.”

“And I’m glad that this is you,” Niki replies, making a gesture toward the festivities around them, and the empty stage over to the side. Her eyes sharpen. “Even if I kind of wanted to be vice president. But you’re a good leader, Wilbur, and you’re a good man. A good friend. You deserve this. So go get some sleep, alright? Make sure you’re taking care of yourself.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, saluting, and she rolls her eyes, pushing him away.

“Go on,” she insists, but there is laughter in her voice and a crinkle at the corners of her eyes, and she looks happy, too. Everyone looks very happy. Even Fundy seems to be involved in things by now, and Quackity, his fiercest competition, appears to be enjoying himself.

Everyone is happy. So is he. There’s no reason at all for him not to be.

He tells himself that he’s going to go get some sleep, but his feet take him back to his office, instead. It’s empty, cast in a dim haze until he switches on the light, and just like that, the darkness is gone. His eyes flit across his desk, his chair, his shelves, all the paperwork that he’s definitely going to have to deal with, now that he knows for sure that he will continue to lead. He also has a potted plant, though he can’t quite recall who gave it to him. Might have been Tubbo, but he’s not sure.

He doesn’t sit. He goes to the window, presses himself up against it close enough to see the outside rather than his own reflection in the glass. Torchlight flickers, illuminating the country before him, and the walls are looming giants in the deepening night. He can see the cluster of lights where the others are, too, and he can see their dancing shadows, glimpses of their faces, far away echoes of their laughter.

Maybe he ought to go back. Some part of him wants to. He’s not sure why he’s holding himself away.

It’s probably because he’s tired. Because he is. Tired. Very tired.

It has been a long day.

He watches for a moment longer, and then closes his curtains, shutting out the world beyond this room. He turns to his desk, then, and his paperwork, though he’s loath to actually work on anything tonight, despite the fact that there’s a million things he could be doing. Drafting a formal missive to Dream, for instance, in light of his official election to power. Ensuring continued good standings between their nations—because as little as he likes the man, he’s not going to provoke him again, if it can be helped.

Especially not with Tommy—the way that he is. Not until he’s gotten to the bottom of that, and probably not even after.

So, he should write to Dream. He should also write to Phil. Tell him about what’s been going on. He’s been considering asking for advice on the whole Tommy situation, actually—Phil’s old as balls, so maybe he might know what to do, or even what this could be about. It’s a long shot, of course, but it’s worth a try.

Except he doesn’t particularly want to do either of those things. Not at the moment. But then, that doesn’t leave him with a whole lot of options, so why did he come here in the first place if he didn’t intend to do something? He ought to go to bed, like he said he would.

But then—

“Hey, Wilbur,” Quackity says, and he looks up, blinking. Quackity’s leaning against the door frame, arms crossed. Somewhere along the line, he’s regained his clothes. “Knock, knock.”

“Quackity,” he says. “Good to see you. Here, come in, pull up a chair.”

Quackity quirks a brow, but that seems to be all the invitation he needs. He all but saunters in, grabbing one of the chairs and tugging it right up against the desk.

“I actually did want to speak with you at some point,” he continues.

“Then this works out, doesn’t it?” Quackity says. “I had the same idea. I figured we should clear the air or something like that. If it even needs clearing, I dunno. What do you think?”

“It certainly can’t hurt to talk,” he agrees.

“Right,” Quackity says. “Well, I guess I should start off by saying good job. Congrats on winning.” He smiles, and there’s something sharp in it, something of a challenge. Wilbur can’t say that he hates it; it’s good to be challenged, every now and then. And now, there’s less danger in it, his position secure. “Though I really gave you a run for your money, didn’t I? And Jack, of course.”

Jack’s name is added as an afterthought. He’s always had the impression that Quackity would rather have picked someone else for his running mate. But he left it fairly late, and by the time he decided that he definitely wanted one, there weren’t many people left to choose from. Tubbo wouldn’t have joined him, and Eret stayed out of the whole affair, and in terms of L’Manberg citizens, that pretty much just left Jack Manifold.

He wonders who Quackity would have chosen, if he’d had free reign of the SMP. Somehow, he’s glad that didn’t happen. Good foresight, on Tommy’s part, to add that restriction. And a good idea in general, too.

“You did,” he says with a nod. “It was a good showing. You were the one I was worried about, to be honest with you. If anyone could have beaten me, it would have been you.”

“You’re damn right,” Quackity answers. “We got close. But no cigar, I guess. There’s always next time.”

Next time. Next time.

Right. Elections are a fairly regular thing. He’ll have to do this again.

Right, no, that’s—fine. It’s fine. And it wouldn’t be for a while yet, so he doesn’t even have to think about it right now.

“But I just wanted to make sure there were no hard feelings between us,” Quackity says. He leans back in his chair, tipping it so that only two legs rest on the floor, and he regards him. “I mean, I meant what I said on the campaign trail, and I still stand by it. I don’t know that you’re taking this country in the best direction, Wilbur. I don’t know that it’s not gonna—stagnate, under you, or that Dream won’t come up and declare war again. I meant all of that. But it’s not like I don’t like you as a person, and you’ve won fair and square, so I was hoping we could put our differences behind us. Let bygones be bygones and all that.”

He’s heard everything that Quackity has to say on the matter of his leadership, and hearing it all again is a bit—irritating. But the honesty is refreshing, was then and still is now, and he’d rather these things be said to his face than whispered behind his back.

And also, there’s the fact that it’s Quackity. It was Tommy who convinced him to let him join in the first place, but the man’s grown on him, he’ll confess.

“I would have trusted you to lead,” he admits, and meets Quackity’s gaze squarely. “I disagree with you on quite a few matters, but I believe that you have L’Manberg’s best interests at heart. So as far as I’m concerned, it’s all water under the bridge.”

He speaks nothing but the truth. Quackity is—not precisely the vision he has in mind for L’Manberg’s future. But he cares about this place, that much is obvious. So if Quackity had won, he would have bowed out gracefully, would have established himself some property and entered a graceful retirement, at—at peace. Surely at peace, all of his questions answered and his guidance unneeded. His person no longer required.

His stomach turns, a gut-churning combination of longing and revulsion flooding him, impacting him so intensely that it’s a half-second scramble to make sure that none of it shows on his face, to lock everything back down again, to be interpreted later or forgotten about, depending on his mood.

“That’s great to hear,” Quackity says. “Friends?”

Quackity sticks out his hand.

“Friends,” he agrees, and takes it.

“Fantastic,” Quackity says. “I guess that’s all I wanted to say. I’ll let you get back to whatever you were doing.” He gestures broadly, lips twitching upward. “Niki said you were gonna get some sleep, so I’d do that before she finds out you’re not.”

He can’t help but laugh, and Quackity stands. “I’ll take that under consideration,” he says. “Good night, Quackity.”

“Night, Wilbur,” Quackity says, and turns to go. But then, he stops in the doorway, looking back. “I just gotta ask, though, why all of this? Why have an election at all? Why risk losing? If you wanted to stay in charge, why not just stay in charge? No one would’ve questioned you, but instead, you put on all of this. Just to keep a position you ended up keeping anyway.”

Ah. His mind blanks for a moment, because he doesn’t know how to describe to Quackity the fact that people were already questioning him, if he didn’t pick up on that. But surely, he must have; Quackity himself built his entire campaign around questioning him. His right to lead, his capability, his intentions. And those sentiments could not have come from nowhere.

To be honest, he’s not certain that he has the words to explain it to himself, either.

“I could ask the same of you,” he says, “in regards to your running.”

Quackity stands there for a moment. And then tilts his head.

“I think we both know the answer to that, Wilbur,” he says, and his next smile is a wry thing. “See you tomorrow.”

And then, he’s gone.

And Wilbur does know.

He is not blind to Quackity’s desire for power. His desire to do something good with it, to be sure—he’s never caught any malice in his seeking. But what he seeks is power, and there is no mistaking that. Sometimes, Wilbur looks in his eyes and sees a reflection of himself. Paler, different, slanted, but a reflection nonetheless. He has heard the siren’s call of ambition and heard it well, and he recognizes that in Quackity, and Quackity recognizes it in him.

But it’s not just about power. Not for him, anyway. Or rather, it is power, to be sure, but it’s the power to keep safe. To protect. To be free. And to build something great, something that will outlive him, something that will make him worthy of the looks in people’s eyes when they meet his. That’s what it was about. And that’s why the election mattered.

Though for a moment, he lets himself picture it: retirement. A house, with plenty of room. Time to spare, for everyone and everything. A guitar, finally tuned again. A warm summer’s day, and a crisp autumn’s evening. No pressure, few responsibilities, and an hour or several to sit under his own vine and fig tree.

But he doesn’t think he’s made for things like that, really.

And even besides, these idle speculations don’t matter. Quackity didn’t win, and he remains president of this nation. There will be no quiet retirement, not yet. There is so much work that he has to do, and he can feel all those future tasks piling on his shoulders, weights stacking on his skin, clinging like barnacles on a weathered, abandoned pier.

And it’s all alright, because it’s what he wants.

Without this, where would he stand? With himself, and with the others? They all look to him for a reason, so what would happen if that reason were gone?

No. Best not to let his mind wander down that path.

His ambitions are realized. The elections are over. His people are happy, and they still want him. They still believe he can do right by them. They are celebrating his victory even now. Tommy was smiling, and there was none of that strange, terrifying darkness in his gaze.

He has everything he wants.

He checks his communicator, idly. There’s a few messages from people on the server, those who aren’t at the party. Most are congratulatory. There’s Dream, asking for a meeting already, but he anticipated that. There’s even a few messages from people off-world, and he raises an eyebrow at those—inter-server communication costs a pretty penny, so he’s a bit surprised that Technoblade put the effort in to send a message that just says lame. Or maybe he shouldn’t be surprised at all. And Schlatt’s sent him some snarky congratulations, and he supposes he should answer him, since he went through the trouble. Though he’s not going to invite him, still, no matter how nice it might be to catch up. Not until he figures out what Tommy’s problem with him is, and whether it’s solvable.

But he types out a response to both, a quick Like you can talk, Potato Man to Techno and something a bit longer and properly sarcastic to Schlatt, wincing at the cost of shooting the messages through the void, across worlds, and then sets his communicator to the side. Stares at his desk, then at the covered window. He can still hear them.

He stopped smiling at some point. He doesn’t know when.

He picks up his pen, then sets it back down again. Drags a paper closer with his index finger, and then pushes it back. Slips his hand into his pocket to find his glasses, and then brings it out again, empty of everything but dust.

There’s work to do, and he should either get started or he should go to sleep, but his brain doesn’t seem to want to get the memo. So he sits.

He’s tired. That’s why he’s in this kind of mood. He’s tired, so he’ll just sit here until he feels ready to get some true rest, and it’ll all look better in the morning. Not that it doesn’t look good now.

But he is very tired.

#mcyt #dsmp #dream smp #wilbur soot #tommyinnit #quackity #nihachu #dsmp fic #/rp #cat writes fic #long post #time travel au #if this fic were divided into acts #this would mark the end of act 1 :)

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latte-fairytaekwoon · 4 years ago

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𝑀𝑎𝑓𝑖𝑎! 𝐴𝑡𝑒𝑒𝑧: 𝐿𝑜𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝐴 𝐺𝑎𝑚𝑒 𝑇𝑜 𝑇ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑟/𝑆/𝑂'𝑠 𝐶ℎ𝑖𝑙𝑑

Little continuation to this post.

Disclaimer: In no way am I condoning, supporting, justifying or encouraging mafia activities or lifestyle. This is all fictional and not meant to represent real life scenarios.

❥𝓚𝓲𝓶 𝓗𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓳𝓸𝓸𝓷𝓰

You found yourself no longer being afraid of him. Sure things started off completely bad, but he redeemed himself through the care and protection he gave you both. And little by little, your son started to warm up to Hongjoong, eventually becoming quite attached to him. Even though you guys hadn't exactly placed a label on your relationship, it was more than clear you were obviously more than friends.

He enjoyed spending time with you and your son. He especially enjoyed taking him out, with your permission of course. It was in one of those times he took him out to eat. While waiting for the food to arrive, your son took out a deck of cards to pass time.

"Hyung! Wanna play poker?" The little boy asked so innocently it made Hongjoong chuckle.

"Do you know how to play?"

Even with the boy's enthusiastic nod, Hongjoong wasn't actually expecting a game of poker. After all, he's a child. But to entertain him, he decided to play along, even pretend to lose just to make him happy.

But Hongjoong was really surprised when not only does the kid indeed know how to play, but actually won the game. Hongjoong just laughed, thinking it was because he wasn't really trying, but another round, and the boy still beat him.

Hongjoong just blinked slowly, trying to face reality: a 5 year old boy actually beat his ass at poker...... yet he couldn't be prouder.

"Not bad at all." Hongjoong ruffled the ball hair.

"Aww is he your son?" The waitress asked when she set down the plates of food in front of them.

Hongjoong looked over at your son, who had a hopeful twinkle in his eyes. Hongjoong smiled before confidently stating:

"Yeah, he's my son."

❥𝓟𝓪𝓻𝓴 𝓢𝓮𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓱𝔀𝓪

If you thought Seonghwa wouldn't leave you alone before, now it is 10 times worse. He was always showing up at your house, and you couldn't exactly tell him to leave. One, he's your boss and he's still terrifying, and two, your daughter adores him and is always running to him when he comes.

So you have to constantly put up with him being around, although before it was because you didn't want to get involved with him. Now it was because you were getting too attached to him yourself and you were afraid of that.

That didn't stop Seonghwa. Sooner or later you'd officially be his, but for now, he resigns himself to just helping you with your adorable princess, as he likes to call her.

"What are we going to play today?" Seonghwa asked her, expecting her to take out her dolls or her Candyland board game.

He most definitely was not expecting her to bring out a mini sized roulette wheel to the living room. He looked over at you with a raised eyebrow.

"What? She wanted it and it's not harming anyone." You shrugged.

Seonghwa saw this as an opportunity to get something from you and actually decided to bet: if he won, you'd have to officially go out on a date with him. If your daughter won, he'd buy her anything she wanted, and in this case, she just really wanted ice cream which she'd been craving since she got sick. It was a done deal and Seonghwa thought he'd win. He's played the game so many times in his work, he felt confident.....

But after so many rounds, somehow that tiny girl in front of him seemed to accurately guess the winning number, leaving him stunned. You just laughed as he had no choice but to admit defeat.

"Well it was worth a shot......but a deal's a deal."

Picking up the girl, he kissed her cheek and smiled at her.

"Now let's go get you that ice cream you wanted princess. At least you're willing to go on a date with me."

You couldn't help rolling your eyes at his statement. Maybe one day, you'll say yes.

❥𝓙𝓮𝓸𝓷𝓰 𝓨𝓾𝓷𝓱𝓸

Seonghwa's words ended up becoming a reality: Yunho and you had been married for over a year now and you were still much in love with him as ever. He was happy and proud to finally call you his wife and to show off his son anywhere he went now.

He especially loved taking him with the other guys and their kids to their weekly game nights. Usually the kids would simply run around and play with each other while they sat around the table and play a round of Blackjack. More than one of the kids got interested one night and the men started to teach them how to play.

"So basically, if you get close to 21 without going over, you win." Yunho explained to his son.

"I wanna play!" The little boy exclaimed enthusiastically.

Seonghwa mixed the cards up and handed them to Yunho. Yunho set up the game and turned to the boy.

"Ready?"

To his surprise, and everyone else's, his son beat him in the game. Nobody was really expecting it since he'd never played it before. Yunho was astonished himself.

"Play another round. I wanna see the outcome!" Wooyoung encouraged them.

And after Seonghwa shuffled the cards again, they took turns flipping the cards over. Yunho thought for sure he was going to win since the boy decided to call stop at 16. But when he flipped his card over, it totaled to 28, meaning he automatically lost. Everyone erupted into laughs.

"You just got owned by your own son." Mingi chuckled.

Yunho wasn't upset though. He was happy that his son won. Seeing his giddy smile when he won made him feel content.

"You know, if it had been someone else, you would have been mad that you lost." Seonghwa said to him once they were cleaning up.

"Yeah, but how can I get mad at him? Not with that sunshine smile he gets." Yunho smiled.

"Yeah that's exactly what I thought....which is why I rigged the cards when I shuffled them." Seonghwa confessed.

Yunho turned to him in shock.

"You what?"

Seonghwa began laughing at Yunho's expression.

"Thank me later." Seonghwa winked at him.

"Wait! How many other games have you rigged?!"

❥𝓚𝓪𝓷𝓰 𝓨𝓮𝓸𝓼𝓪𝓷𝓰

Some things never changed: Wooyoung and Yeosang were still close as ever. After all, they were not only best friends but also brothers in law. And Wooyoung loved coming over to play with his little niece, who was now nearing 5 years old.

She was such a curious little girl. Like her father, she hardly talked, but would always seem to poke around whenever Yeosang and Wooyoung would play a game amongst themselves. She especially was interested when they would play Roulette, she loved watching the wheel spin.

Sensing her curiosity, Wooyoung picked her up and sat her in his lap.

"All right baby girl, wanna help out Uncle Wooyoung? Pick a number."

That's how it ended up going: the little girl would point to a number, not sure what it would do, but for some reason, Wooyoung would end up screaming in victory.

"I'm telling you! This kid has powers or something!" Wooyoung said, holding her up higher and kissing her cheek.

You came in the room just as he was parading her around.

"What in the world are you doing with my daughter Wooyoung?" You asked, knowing your brother was up to one of his shenanigans again.

"Celebrating the fact she helped me beat your husband and now he owes me 500 dollars. Haha!" Wooyoung released his unique hyena laugh.

You turned to look at Yeosang and gave him a questioning gaze.

"Did you just teach our daughter how to gamble?"

Yeosang raised his hand to argue.

"In my defense, it was all Wooyoung's fault."

❥𝓒𝓱𝓸𝓲 𝓢𝓪𝓷

San felt so proud of his son. Not only did he just beat him at poker, but he never even taught him how to play himself. He simply learned by watching him play with Mingi whenever he came over.

"Do you know what this means Y/N?!" San of course had to tell you about this accomplishment.

"That you're sleeping on the couch for teaching our son to gamble?" You replied, not at all happy with this information.

"It means our son is a genius! Y/N! You and I created a really smart kid! Isn't that amazing! Aren't you proud of him?" He exclaimed.

"Choi San, I'd be proud if he had won a spelling bee, gotten straight A's or won a soccer match, but knowing our son can play poker at 6 years old is somewhat concerning to me."

You crossed your arms over your chest.

"Honestly San, how could you teach him those types of games?"

San gasped.

"Were you not listening? I told you! I didn't have to teach him! He learned himself by watching me and Mingi play!" He repeated himself.

You squinted your eyes at him before walking away from him.

"You're still sleeping on the couch." You said.

San began to whine.

"Oh come on Y/N! It's not that bad!"

"Why not teach him to play monopoly instead? Family friendly games?" You called out from the kitchen.

"Monopoly?! Are you insane?! That devil game destroys relationships!"

❥𝓢𝓸𝓷𝓰 𝓜𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓲

Mingi knew that he was screwed the minute he allowed his daughter tag along with him to Yunho's house. But he couldn't say no to her when she was looking at him with those doe eyes and pouting lips.

"I want to go with daddy." She begged, tears threatening to spill out.

So there Mingi went, bringing in a 4 year old to his best friend's house, where the other mafia members were also gathered.

"Stuck with babysitting duty?" Yeosang asked him when he came in, his tiny daughter on one of his arms.

"Don't make me say something in front of her." Mingi warned.

"Ok ok, settle down you guys. And let's try to keep it PG for the princess here." Yunho said, trying to keep the environment safe.

Clearly Jongho and Yeosang didn't understand that since they took advantage of the fact Mingi was occupied in a phone call to teach his daughter the basics of blackjack, which she caught on quick. Mingi came back to the scene and was shocked.

"What the hell are you two doing?!" Mingi screeched.

"Language." Hongjoong reminded him.

"Sweetheart, what are you doing?" Mingi picked her up from Jongho's grasp.

"Playing! Want to play with me?" She pleaded with him.

Mingi thought that one round wouldn't hurt her. They'd play, they'd leave and he'd pretend like this never happened. But it did hurt. It hurt him when his daughter beat him, not once, but 5 times! Because she liked the game so much and kept asking him to play again and again.

"Can we play with mommy when we get home?"

Mingi's heart sank as he realized how you were going to react when you found out he took her to Yunho's house and she might have become a blackjack enthusiast.

"Uh.....sweetie how about we don't tell mommy about this? Hmm?"

❥𝓙𝓾𝓷𝓰 𝓦𝓸𝓸𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓰

"Are you ready to get your butt kicked yet again son?" Wooyoung smirked at his 7 year old son.

"I'll beat you this time old man!" The little boy held up his fist, making Wooyoung chuckle.

Although Wooyoung had wanted a little girl, he loved his son to death. He was his best friend, his playmate, his new partner in crime, and more often than not, it resulted in both of them getting in trouble with you. He was the exact replica of his father, personality wise that is. Physically, he resembled you more.

You were disappointed when you found out Wooyoung had been teaching his son to play, not just poker, but every single card game known to man. But boys will be boys, and your son was just as competitive as his father and vowed that one day he'd beat him in one game.

"Keep dreaming buddy." Wooyoung would usually respond to him.

But the day finally came. Your son beat his own father and mentor in a card game. Wooyoung just stood there for a minute, contemplating if this was reality.

"What the fuck just happened?!" Wooyoung completely forgot that he shouldn't swear in front of his kid. As if he didn't forget almost every day.

"I beat your sorry ass old man!" The kid began running around with joy.

Wooyoung stared at him in disbelief.

"You cheated didn't you?! I demand a rematch you little demon."

Wooyoung began chasing the little boy down. You came in the room, wondering what all the fuss was about. You managed to scoop up your son in your arms.

"What is going on around here?" You demanded to know.

"Boomer here can't accept the fact I kicked his shitty ass." Your son stuck his tongue out at Wooyoung.

You widened your eyes.

"Where on earth did you learn those words?"

Wooyoung looked at your son, silently begging him to blame Mingi or Yunho. But the little boy grinned at him evilly before responding:

"Daddy did of course."

You whipped your head to Wooyoung, who just started laughing nervously.

"Kids say the darnest things these days....right?"

❥𝓒𝓱𝓸𝓲 𝓙𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓱𝓸

You absolutely refused to at first. But you gave in and started bringing your daughter to work with you because Jongho kept insisting. The other people would often fawn over her cause she was just the most adorable and precious being they've ever seen.

Jongho doted on her the most. People were shocked to see him hold her in his arms, gift her endless presents and overall just show a side of him they'd never seen before. You were surprised yourself. How on earth was this young mafia boss so good with kids?

You hated to admit it, but you actually felt more relaxed than before. Now you knew Jongho would never use your daughter against you and spent time with her because he found her cute. So you had no problem leaving her alone with him at times.

During one of these times, you were busy making several calls to different people and checking certain 'materials' that needed to be looked over to make sure it was what Jongho ordered. Having been satisfied that it was, you went back to the office and found Jongho and your daughter sitting across from each other, cards displayed in front of them.

When Jongho saw you, he smiled.

"Hello there Mrs. Choi." He'd often call you that just to tease you.

"Jongho, I swear if you are teaching my daughter poker or any card game-"

"Relax baby. We're actually just playing speed. I'm not dumb enough to teach a 3 year old girl any sort of those things. That's something Wooyoung or San would do." He interrupted you.

During his conversation with you, he didn't realize the little girl had already finished up all her cards, making her the winner. Jongho looked down at the 5 cards he still had left. He turned to you and frowned.

"See? Now you made me lose."

He sighed and looked at your daughter's smiling face. It was contagious and it made him smile as well.

"But since it's you I don't mind at all." He cooed at her, cupping her cheeks in the process.

He then turned to you.

"You however, it was your fault I lost. You should make it up to me." He said as he lifted your daughter in his arms as if she were only a feather.

You rolled your eyes.

"And how do you want me to make it up to you?"

Jongho smirked at you. Since the beginning, he had been asking you constantly to be his, and this time, it was no different.

"Say yes."

Gifs not mine. Credit goes to their respective owners.

#ateez #ateez reactions #ateez mafia au #mafia!au #mafia!ateez #ateez scenarios #ateez imagines #ateez hongjoong #ateez seonghwa #ateez yunho #ateez yeosang #ateez san #ateez mingi #ateez wooyoung #ateez jongho

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liquorisce · 4 years ago

Text

i’ll leave my heart in your hands

ao3

rating: m (some sexy stuff under the cut)

summary: The longer he stays, the harder it is for Sasuke to leave. (sasusaku, sasuke-centric, baby sarada)

// "... If it were still a couple of years ago, she would have insisted that she comes along.But things have changed for them now, and even though Sakura is the same woman with enough determination to follow him and demand to stay by his side... they now have Sarada to consider. "//

A/N: i just wanted to write sasuke being emo about leaving his wife and child. happy valentine's y'all :)

He feels it when Naruto shows up at his door, blue eyes sombre, telling him that Kakashi needed to see him.

"... I need to watch Sarada," he states, trying to ignore the dread that uncoils in his stomach, "... Sakura's shift doesn't end for the next two hours."

"Sasuke," Naruto murmurs, "... I don't think this can wait." His blue eyes linger on Sarada, where she sits on the floor, trying to assemble a tower of blocks taller than her. "... I'll take care of her while you talk to Sensei," he murmurs as he walks past him to say hello to the little girl.

"Sarada-chan," he says, distracting her with his big grin, "... Shall we go play with Boruto-kun for a while?"

She scrunches up her nose. "... Boruto never shares his toys with me," she begins to complain, as Naruto laughs good-naturedly. "Don't worry, I'll make sure he does," -

Sasuke tunes out the banter behind him as he leaves towards the Hokage office. Despite Naruto's urgency he doesn't rush, he walks at his own pace, taking in the sleepy streets that he's gotten used to over the last two years, because something in the way Naruto spoke makes him suspect he might not be seeing them much longer.

"... You said you needed to see me," he states, opening the door to Kakashi's office without knocking, ignoring Shikamaru's annoyance at being interrupted.

"... Ah sorry, Shikamaru, do you mind if I speak to Sasuke privately?"

...

He finds Naruto waiting for him outside when he is finished with Kakashi.

"Hinata's making dinner for the kids," he says, hands in his pockets, blue eyes looking at Sasuke anxiously. "How'd it go with Sensei?"

"You clearly know about the mission already, so why bother asking?"

Naruto winces at the sharpness in Sasuke's tone. "... Sasuke," -

"The leads we've been following up on have some truth to them, after all. The Otsutsuki will be back, it's just a matter of time."

"When do you need to leave?"

"Tomorrow morning."

The silence hangs heavy in the air, and Sasuke, unlike Naruto, doesn't care to interrupt it.

"It doesn't just have to be you alone, you know," he's speaking fast, and Sasuke knows him well enough to hear the guilt in his voice, "I can pick up from where you've left off in a couple of months, you don't need to," -

"And? You intend on traveling through dimensions to find these monsters, as long as I pass you the leads I get?" Sasuke looks at him point blank, "... Is this a new power you've acquired in recent months while you were playing Daddy to your son?"

When Naruto doesn't say anything, he continues, "And sure, I guess I can just press a button whenever I want to come to Konoha and pass on the baton to you. Sounds like a good plan."

The sarcasm in Sasuke's tone is biting, and Naruto doesn't blame him. But regardless, he mumbles, "... But you can tell Sensei, it's not fair to you... Sarada-chan is so small, and this kind of mission... I don't - You don't know how long it will take!"

"You think I don't know that?" Sasuke snaps, "... Some of us don't have the luxury of being asked to stay in the village for 'Hokage-training'," -

"That's not fair," Naruto flares, angrily.

"... I'm a shinobi. And I said would protect this village. I don't intend to go back on my word."

They arrive at Naruto's house and as Hinata goes to get Sarada, Sasuke murmurs, "... Protect them with your life. Promise me."

"Of course!" Naruto says immediately, "... But Sakura-chan's going to get mad if she hears you saying she needs protection..." He laughs, "She's scary, you know?"

"... My wife is perfectly capable of getting through any situation," Sasuke says simply, as he sees Sarada waddling to the door, her grin large and gleeful (just like her mother's) having grabbed one of the cookies that Hinata baked for her, "... But she shouldn't have to be in those situations in the first place."

...

Sakura returns home, tired after a 12-hour turned 14- hour shift, to find her daughter passed out on her husband's stomach on the couch. "... Sorry, I'm late," she whispers, not wanting to wake Sarada, and dropping a brief kiss on his head. She can sense that Sasuke is awake, despite his lack of a response, but that isn't really out of character, so she proceeds to the bedroom to get changed and take a shower.

Flushed from the hot shower with nothing but a towel around her body, she steps into the bedroom towards her closet only to trip over a small bag. Curiously, she picks it up and looks inside. The contents make her heart lurch.

Spare clothing, scrolls, essentials. Sasuke always packs light.

Before she can confront her racing thoughts, she senses Sasuke's presence right behind her. When she turns to him, she finds herself flush against his chest.

His eyes are unreadable (they usually are) in the dimly lit bedroom, and when he dips lower to catch her lips in a soft kiss, she welcomes the distraction. But when he deepens the kiss - a nip on her lower lip for permission, always, always so polite - she murmurs, "… You're leaving."

He doesn't answer, and she didn't really ask him a question, but she feels him sigh against her lips. "… When?"

"… Tomorrow morning," he murmurs, fingers tracing the tops of her turkey towel, his touch featherlight against her flushed skin.

She looks at him with questions in her eyes, Where will you go, Sasuke-kun? How dangerous is it going to be? How long will you be gone? Why do you have to be the one to go?

Of course, she'd want to know what it was about. Of course, mission details are meant to be classified... Especially something of this magnitude. Of course, he wanted to tell her anyway.

"... Sasuke-kun..."

He sighs. "... It's more of the same, Sakura. What we faced in the War - it isn't over yet." But she knew that already.

And if it were still a couple of years ago, she would have insisted that she comes along.

But things have changed for them now, and even though Sakura was the same woman with enough determination to follow him and demand to stay by his side... they now have Sarada to consider.

So, she doesn't ask her questions out loud. Instead, she states her assumptions. And if her voice quivers, she does her best to hide it. "... So, I guess you don't know how long you'll be gone?"

Sasuke doesn't say anything, and she didn't think he would anyway, so she continues, "... And this mission is dangerous and difficult enough that Kakashi Sensei specifically asked you?" She inhales, "Even though, it's peace time and half of our Shinobi force is in need of a job..."

"... I don't have answers for you, Sakura." And he really wishes he did, because he knows he'll leave and face whatever it is he'll need to face, but she'll be here, with no assurance, and only worry to keep her company.

She plops on to the bed, and her face betrays her dejection, her soft features crumpling. "... I guess I was getting kind of spoilt, huh?" She smiles, bleak, "... Having you by my side for so long, now... It got me believing this would actually be our life."

It's a simple thing that she utters, but it shakes him, because the lone avenger, the solo agent that he used to be, is no more. He hasn't been without her for the last 3 years almost, and he's begun to take her presence for granted.

He sees the tear rolling down her face, and he's by her side, cupping her face and wiping it away before the next one forms, cursing to himself because he has come to loathe that expression on her face, and loathes himself even more for somehow always managing to cause it.

"... If you don't want me to go, then you can say it." The words are out of his mouth, barely a soft whisper, before he realizes it. It's a small plea (without real consequence), and it makes him realize how much he wants her to say it, like the times she has tried to stop him leaving in the past, only this is probably the first time he would actually stay for her.

She laughs, through her tears. "Of course, I don't want you to go, Sasuke-kun." Her fingers twine into his, "... But I can't stop you," - and even though Sasuke winces at the sentiment behind that statement, he knows Sakura isn't referring to the past at all - "... I know this is to protect us. To protect Konoha. To do your duty. And I have no right," -

He kisses her before she can finish her sentence. In part, because he just wants to hold her close to him, and also because he doesn't want to hear her say that she doesn't have the right to ask him for anything. "... You're my wife," he reminds her, a soft murmur on her lips, "It's your right to demand more of me."

And in that moment the irrational part of him reminded him that it wasn't impossible - she could ask him to stay and he would… other ninjas did it. They prioritized their families, and he could too.

But Sakura's love wasn't demanding, it was giving, and that's all she'd ever asked him for, to be able to give him her love, to stand by his side, to make him happy.

And she knows the vows he's made in his heart, and that he will honour it, no matter the moments of weakness that pass by him.

So she kisses him back, winding her hands into his dark, unruly hair and pressing herself closer to him. "... Sarada and I will wait for you, Sasuke-kun.

"I'm sorry," he breathes, apologizing again, a multitude of apologies in two words, that only Sakura can understand and accept, kissing her fervently.

He hadn't intended to take her to bed that night, she is tired from work, and he has to leave early, but he finds himself hooking his fingers into her towel and unwrapping her body to him. Sakura's fingers ease him out his shirt first, and his trousers second, and when he lays her on the bed beneath him, and sinks into her embrace, the feeling of her bare body pressed against him burns against his skin, imprinting itself into his mind.

He kisses all the little parts of her body, the nooks, and curves that he's grown to love, the little pieces that make up Haruno Uchiha Sakura. He takes his time with her, pretending in that moment that they do have time, all the time in the world, for him to taste the different ways her body tells him she's excited, for her to respond enthusiastically, dipping low and using her mouth to please him.

He makes love to his wife tenderly, achingly slow and filled with passion, until he is rewarded by the sight of her under him, lost to her pleasure, spent and sobbing his name.

In the moments after when he's catching his breath, the scent of sweat and sex surrounding them, Sakura has a sated smile on her face and whispers that she loves him, so very much.

She says it happily, and he's grateful for it because he knows how many times he's heard her say it with pain in her voice, begging and pleading to him to stay with her, and he'd promised himself a long time ago that she'd never sound like that ever again.

He wants to say it back, but pretty words don't come as easy to him as it does to Sakura, so the words catch in his throat, constrained by all these feelings that take over him, without warning.

He'd known he would miss her terribly since the moment Kakashi told him there was "a mission", but it suddenly hits him that he isn't going to hear her i-love-yous or feel her warm hugs, or her sasuke-kuns and anatas thrown at him whenever she feels like it, whenever she wants to show her love. He wouldn't hear her voice for days and months, and maybe even years, and the loneliness grips him instantly, before he even leaves her.

And because he's reminded that she's still right next to him (by her fingers intertwined softly with his), he kisses her again, but this time greedily. He wants to take the feeling of her, the sweet pressure of her against him, her taste and her smell, along with him to keep him company. He spreads her legs for him before she can catch her breath, his fingers stroke up and down her folds, only to find her wet and sticky with his own release from a moment ago.

Sasuke doesn't care for it, and Sakura doesn't protest (she likes it when he demands so much from her) and slips into her, groaning from the heat, from the tight pressure, the blissful feeling of being inside of her. He fucks her this time, hard and unrelenting, lifting her legs onto his shoulder and angling himself as deep as he can possibly get. And when that isn't enough for him, he flips her over, onto her knees, taking the smallest second to appreciate the sight in front of him before thrusting into her.

There's a desperation with which he takes her this time, she recognises it and she wants to soothe him, whisper into his mouth that it'll be okay, but right now her mind is blank, and the only thing that spills from her lips are mindless noises urging him to fuck her harder.

"I want to hear you," he murmurs roughly, as he pauses his punishing pace, breath warm against the back of her neck. He doesn't really know what he wants to hear, but Sakura knows what he likes, so she doesn't bother restraining herself any longer, and when he drives into her and makes her lose her mind with feeling, she tells him how good he feels, buried inside her, gasping. And after she's come twice and told him how sensitive she is, he squeezes her breast roughly from behind and mumbles, "… I'm gonna come." And she coaxes it out of him, moving her hips back to meet his thrusts, cooing his name, begging him to come inside her, and fill her up, until he does.

"... I love you," he pants harshly against her skin, thankful that the words have been pulled out of him, because he needs her to hear them. Because he doesn't want to leave her with any doubt of that, unlike every time he has left her in the past.

This time he wants to leave her with the promise that he will be back… that even while he is away he will think of her, and dream of her, and love her.

...

In the morning, he wakes up Sarada even though it's too early for her, because he wants to say goodbye.

But she's barely two years old, and doesn't really comprehend it when Sakura tells her, "Sarada-chan, Papa will be going away for a while.

She falls asleep in Sakura's arms after blinking up at him and saying "Come back soon, Papa," and because Sasuke isn't much of a talker and doesn't really know what to say to her, he just smiles softly at the sight of his daughter sleeping in her mother's arms.

Sakura walks him to the central gates as he gets ready to leave.

He clears his throat. "... If she asks about me" -

"Not if, Sasuke-kun, of course she will ask about you, you're her Papa" -

"... Tell her the good things, Sakura."

Sakura looks at him, green eyes honestly surprised to hear this from him. He doesn't know what these good things are, to be honest, but Sakura has never had trouble seeing them, so he wants selfishly, for his daughter to hear nothing else about him.

There will be a time for truth and Sasuke hopes that he will be back home for that, for Sarada to hear everything from him.

"Sasuke-kun, why are you behaving like the world is going to end?" She teases, "You're just going on a mission. I know you'll be back soon."

Sighing, he realizes he might as well go along with Sakura's attempt to keep this lighthearted. Her green eyes are steely and resolute, and so full of love, he is reminded that she really is the braver of the two of them... and always has been.

In any case, they'd discussed this already last night, and reality will soon be along to remind them of their distance. "You're right, just a casual mission where I beat up the Otsutsuki mob, and come back in time for dinner, I guess." His lips quirk up into a smile, as he pulls closer to tap her forehead. "See you soon then, Sakura."

And as he turns to leave, he commits the sight of his wife to memory, faint blush on her cheeks, smiling eyes, and their sleeping daughter nestled in her strong, loving arms.

- fin -

A/N: i've seen a lot in this fandom, read a lot of fanfic and metas and opinions that think Sasuke showing emotions is OOC. imho, pretty much all of naruto was about sasuke being an emo brat and showing his emotions quite blatantly. i think older sasuke is definitely more controlled, but i still think emotions are the core of Sasuke's character. He is a gorgeous, emotional guy who is crazy about his partner and his family, and also emotionally attached to his ideals and his vows. So if you made it this far, did you think Sasuke was OOC in this fic? I personally don't, but let me know what you think! :)

#sasusaku #uchiha sasuke #uchiha sakura #uchiha sarada #liquorisce fanfiction #naruto

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amethystroselilith · 4 years ago

Text

If Lost Return to the 11th Harbinger (Babysitter Childe ft. Chilumi)

Finally, I get to write my first Chilumi fic! Hard to find a peaceful time to write cause of family demanding attention haha

~~~

SUMMARY: In which Childe has to babysit 3 girls that means a lot to Lumine

Can also be read in ao3: here

“You know, sometimes, I think he’s doing it on purpose.” Childe sulked, wrapping his arms around Lumine’s waist in an attempt to ditch her plans for the day and spend it with him instead.

The bed looks cosy right now and Childe would pretty much like for Lumine to get back in there with him and maybe lure her into various activities they can play on the sheets.

Lumine chuckled, “I’m sure Zhongli doesn’t mean that.” before running her hand through his hair, letting him hold her for a while, a warm feeling blossoming on her chest as she watched them cuddled together in the mirror she was using to get ready for the day.

She wouldn’t admit it, but feeling Childe’s bare chest against her back makes her just want to stay with him a bit longer, but unfortunately for her lover, she knows how to control herself.

“Yeah? You really think he didn’t plan to tag you along with whatever rites he has to prepare whenever I’m in Liyue?” Childe huffed, burying his face against her neck.

“People don’t schedule when they’ll die, Childe.” Lumine rolled her eyes.

“Can’t he find someone else to help him?” Childe pouted up at her, displaying the best puppy eyes he could put on.

“Hm, didn’t really ask.” Lumine shrugged, earning a whine from her clingy lover.

“You mean we could’ve thrown someone else with him? But you didn’t ask?” he huffed.

“He invited me to help. I accepted. Besides, he helps me a lot during my stay here, it’s just fair to help him back. May I remind you he also pulled some strings to have you here without any Milleliths watching your every move?” Lumine hummed.

Childe rolls his eyes, “I’m pretty sure you could’ve convinced them to leave us alone, you’re a hero here, they know you kicked my ass, they trust you and all.”

“Same hero that’s dating the same man who almost destroyed their city.” Lumine rolled her eyes, “I’m pretty sure they’re a bit wary of me as well ever since you decided to shout we’re officially together in public.”

“First of all, that’s to declare I won against all my rivals and they should fuck off.” Childe shrugged, “Second… I mean, how could they blame you? I’m charming as fuck.” Childe snickered.

“Right. I’m out.” Lumine said as she unwraps Childe’s arms off her.

“Ojou-chaaannn…” he whined as he tries to pull her back, “It’s the truth, come back.”

Lumine was about to say something back, but a knock on the door caught their attention.

“You think he’ll take Paimon if I throw enough mora on them?” Childe tried, to which Lumine just chuckled and walked to the door.

“Good morning.” Lumine greeted their guest as she opened the door, “Oh?” her eyes widened in surprise when not just Zhongli appeared, but also three little girls.

“Qiqi brought friends.” Qiqi simply said.

“Onee-chan! Klee and Diona found you!” the excitable girl in red waved, “Diona said she missed you! Me too so we looked for you!”

Diona freaked out, “I-I did not! I don’t care! If she doesn’t want to return to Mondstat and see me then that’s her problem!” she huffed, looking away with a red face.

“You went all the way to Liyue?” Lumine’s eyes widened, “Does… anyone know you two are here?”

“Yea! Kaeya-oniichan!” Klee smiled.

“Oh,” Lumine breathed out in relief that they’re not alone, “So, where is he?”

“I dunno, he was sleepy when I asked him, but he said ‘yes’, so Klee is good, no?” she smiled.

“He’s passed out drunk outside of Angel’s Share,” Diona mumbled.

“But we still asked permission and he said ‘yes’!” Klee argued to avoid getting in trouble.

“No need to worry, Ms Lumine, I have taken care of that. Rest assured that their guardians are aware of their little ones’ whereabouts.” Zhongli intervened when he saw the blonde’s about to have a heart attack.

“I’m glad you found them before anything bad happened.” Lumine sighed in relief, while she knows Klee and Diona aren’t helpless when it comes to fighting, she still can’t help but worry. She’s especially fond of the 3 little girls, protective of them as a mother would be of her child.

“Yea, I recognised Mister during your visit in Mondstat and Qiqi as well! So Klee is good with not following strangers.” Klee nodded with a proud smile.

“Good.” Qiqi agreed, it may not be seen, but she’s also excited with the thought of playing with her friends again, “Play with Qiqi and friends?” she looked up at her with hopeful eyes.

“Ojou-chan, what’s taking so long?” Childe emerged, now wearing a shirt, “Oh?”

“Qiqi brought friends,” Qiqi informed once again.

“Hi! Will you join us in playing too?” Klee asked excitedly.

Childe caught a glint of mischief in Zhongli’s eyes, “Unfortunately, Ms Lumine and I can not join you, but Mr Childe here will be playing with you for the whole day.”

“Eh?!” everyone looked at him with wide eyes, additional pouts from the 3 little girls.

Zhongli just chuckled before kneeling at the little ones’, “Ms Lumine and I will need to take care of some urgent errands, but we will try to finish them as fast as possible, but for now, will you be good for Mr Childe?”

~~~

And just like that, Zhongli had dragged Lumine away for whatever errands he has to do, leaving Childe with 3 innocent eyes looking at him curiously.

Childe hasn’t been around much whenever Lumine visits Mondstat, it’s always been the usual party of Lumine, Qiqi, and Zhongli since Childe still has duties to fulfil for his Queen. Duties that would make things complicated for his relationship with the Honorary Knight, but he believes that as long as they work together, not hiding dirty secrets from one another, they may be able to find a peaceful resolution for all parties.

But that’s something he has to think of for another day, today he has to entertain three little girls.

Three little girls that Lumine holds dearly, and for some reason, Childe feels a bit pressured in trying to win their favours, well Qiqi should already be won with coconut milk and the fact that they both work together in Lumine’s main party, but he’s not too familiar with the other 2 besides Lumine and Qiqi’s story.

Klee seems to be easier to win over because of her energetic and friendly nature, Diona however, may take a bit of work with her shy and independent personality.

But they’re still kids. Childe has experience with kids, his siblings love him, so this shouldn’t be too difficult, right?

“So, do you guys have any games you want to play?” he asked after watching the 3 finish the last of their breakfasts.

Klee pursed her lips, “Well, we were supposed to play house but, Mr Zhongli and Lumi-oneechan are gone so we don’t have a mama and papa anymore.”

“Ahaha, why are they mama and papa?” Childe laughed through gritted teeth.

“Are they not Qiqi’s mama and papa?” Klee tilted her head.

“No.” Qiqi answered, “But Lumine can be.” she hummed, “No papa though.”

“Ah, well, ojou-chan and I are very close-”

“But I guess Zhongli can be papa, he gives Qiqi flowers.” the zombie child hummed.

A vein popped in Childe’s forehead, “Ah, Qiqi-chan, I give you coconut milk too, remember?”

“But you’re always gone.” Qiqi shrugged.

Childe frowned.

“Ah! Kaeya-oniisan can be our papa?” Klee added, “He’s the bestest!”

“He’s always drunk, he won’t spend time with us.” Diona huffed.

“Diluc-”

“No.” Diona hissed, ears and tail raising.

“Yeah, he’s weird.” Klee nodded, “He doesn’t smile. Weird.”

‘Just how many men does ojou-chan know?’ Childe’s eye twitched.

“I guess Zhongli is papa?” Qiqi proposed in their little meeting.

“Ahaha, I mean, what about me?” Childe smiled since apparently not smiling will make him weird according to Klee’s logic.

The three looked at him, eyes focused, judging him thoroughly until Klee perked up.

“Does Mr Childe have a huge crush on onee-chan?!” the red girl gasped excitedly.

“Ah, you caught me, you’re a very observant girl.” Childe went along, just glad that he’s getting acknowledge as a potential papa for their mama.

It doesn’t really make sense since he’s the one dating Lumine, but being ignored by the three girls as a candidate as a papa just doesn’t settle well in him. Especially losing to Zhongli… he may have tricked him once, but there’s no way in hell Childe’s going to lose to him again.

Even as a hypothetical father figure to these girls.

“Hm, well if you want to date Lumi-oneechan, then you have to go through us!” Klee declared with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“I suppose you’ll be a better boyfriend than that drunkard captain and evil Diluc.” Diona shrugged.

“If you become Qiqi’s papa, then will I get more cocomilk?” Qiqi asked with hopeful eyes.

“Eh?!” Klee protested, “We have to give him tests first! Like… like how the prince has to go through challenges to get the princess’ hand!” she huffed.

“Okay. A cocogoat, please. Thank you.” Qiqi nodded.

“A giant Jumpy Dumpty!” Klee’s eyes sparkled.

“Destruction of Mondstadt wine industry!” Diona requested.

‘What the actual fuck…’ Childe gulped.

~~~

Childe likes to pride himself as an ‘amazing storyteller’.

His finest work is “Snezhnaya’s Greatest Toy Seller”.

He just released 3 new stories;

“Unfortunately, the Cocogoats have to be Kept in a Special Cocomilk Production Place to Spread Cocomilk Joy”

“Oh, Have You Not Heard of the Secret Survival Rule? A Giant Jumpy Dumpty, Leads to Confinement Solitary”

“Destruction of Mondstadt Wine Industry Will Make The Good Lord Barbatos So Mad He’s Going To Destroy Us All”

The 3 girls are in awe as he tells an elaborated story, each nodding in understanding, though he’s pretty sure Qiqi will most likely still look for her cocogoat, Klee will still create a huge bomb, Diona will still try to destroy the wine industry in Mondstadt.

Childe wonders what kind of environment Mondstat is that turned Klee into a pyromaniac and Diona having such strong ambitions…

He’s going to beg Lumine to take him there soon.

“That’s so pretty, Mr Childe!” the three awed as Childe finished weaving a flower crown made of Violetgrass.

“A pretty flower crown for a pretty princess.” Childe smiled placing the crown on Qiqi, who was beaming at the new hair accessory, hugging her hat tightly to her chest.

His little sister had always loved flower crowns, and with some random flowers he found nearby, Childe had made one in hopes of impressing the girls. He was testing it on his head when it immediately attracted Qiqi’s attention. With some spare Violetgrass she has with her, she shyly asked if Childe can make her one too. The pretty little crown on Childe’s head had also caught Klee’s and Diona’s attention by the awed look on their eyes, and Childe offered to make one for them out of the flowers that catch their eyes.

“Thank you…” she smiled shyly, carefully checking if the crown is secured on her head.

“Me next! Me next!” Klee jumped, plopping some silk flowers she gathered around Wangshu Inn on Childe’s lap.

“Oh, these will be very pretty as well.” Childe complimented, earning an excited squeal from Klee, “Have you found some flowers you like as well, Diona?” he asks.

The catgirl blushed, turning away, “I don’t want one anyway.” she huffed, crossing her arms.

“Hm?” Childe frowned a bit, he was sure Diona was also excitedly looking around, but then it hit him, there was not a lot of choices for flowers around Wangshu Inn, and it looks like she wants a unique one as well and with only Silk Flowers nearby, she came back to him empty-handed and disappointed.

She can also feel the disappointment coming from Qiqi and Klee, who had been talking about taking pictures with their flower crowns with Childe’s Kamera.

Childe’s face softened, “Is it because there are not enough flowers that you like nearby?”

Diona just looked down in embarrassment, ears flat on her head and tail wrapping around her leg.

He just chuckled, “Well, don’t worry, there’s a village here with some glaze lilies nearby, maybe you’ll like those?”

“T-that’s still far though…” Diona mumbled.

Childe chuckled, “Don’t worry about it, I know a fast way to get there.” he said hydro vision glowing.

~~~

Despite Diona’s displeasure with water, she ended up having fun sitting on Childe’s shoulder as he literally rode the waves to Qingce Village, the other two clinging on both sides of his waist, secured by his arms wrapped around them protectively.

The girls giggled as Childe softly landed them on the flowery field. Their entrance would’ve given them weird looks, but Childe had already done this a couple of times with Lumine. It’s one of his favourite moments to spend with Lumine, they would just chill in the flowery area, Childe’s head on Lumine’s lap, his hair being played with while Lumine sings softly, Glaze Lilies blooming beautifully.

The thought sends a warm feeling in his chest, smiling softly at the thought of being lucky that the blonde made him a bigger part of her life.

“They’re beautiful!” Diona’s excited gasp pulled Childe from his thoughts.

“Well, then go and pick them while I’ll work on Klee’s crown.” Childe smiled before sitting down on the flowery field.

The three nodded and began collecting the flowers. Childe checked his surroundings first to make sure everything’s safe before taking his eyes off them.

Childe was halfway done with Klee’s crown when he noticed that it suddenly got too quiet. His head raised, heart stopping when the 3 girls are nowhere in sight.

He rose to his feet and began searching through the fields, hoping that they’re just hiding within the flowers.

He started panicking when he can’t find them. Not only are these children his responsibility right now, but he’s sure his beloved ojou-chan will murder him if there’s even just a small scratch on them.

“Qiqi, Diona, Klee!” he shouted as he searches, cursing under his breath when there’s no villager nearby to help him.

A patch of frost caught Childe’s eye.

Qiqi and Diona are cryo users, and it’s a high possibility it’s from them. There’s a burning patch just ahead of it, and Childe’s certain it’s from Klee.

The relief within him didn’t last long when a realisation hit him.

If they’re using their vision, it must be because they’re fighting someone.

And Childe needs to move fast.

~~~

Childe followed the tracks, his pace increasing as soon as he heard even the softest sound from the three.

As soon as he reached closed enough, his hydro daggers appeared on his hands. It has to be treasure hoarders.

He jumped in the area, a clever phrase in the tip of his tongue.

“Mr Childe!” Klee cheered.

His eyes widened, there was no treasure hoarders insight. Just the 3 girls with a mora weasel in Qiqi’s hand.

“...Wha…?” he stared at them in shock as his daggers slowly disappeared.

“We caught a mora weasel!” Diona said proudly.

“Oneechan always runs after them so we thought we’ll help her,” Klee explained.

Childe took a deep breath, relief washing over him as he lives for another day for escaping his lover’s wrath, “I understand that you want to help her, but please don’t run off like that without me, okay?” he gently smiled as he walks to them.

“It runs too fast,” Qiqi said, raising the animal to Childe.

“Are we in trouble?” Klee asked in worry, “We just want to help.” she said looking down.

Childe chuckle, “I’m just glad you all are safe, but please let’s avoid doing that next time, alright? Liyue is a bigger place than Mondstat so it’s quite easy to get lost.” he explained before patting her head.

He then took the weasel from Qiqi, retrieving the mora before letting the animal go, “Now, why don’t we get back and finish your crowns, yeah?”

They smiled and followed Childe back to the field.

~~~

It was late at night when Lumine got back to Wangshu Inn thanks to Zhongli’s high standards when picking the materials for the rites. Paimon hadn’t even bothered staying around when it started getting late, making an excuse about meeting Xiangling for an important taste testing.

Though the whole experience wasn’t bad, she was just worried about how Childe can handle looking after the three alone. Zhongli assures her that Childe is probably experienced looking after children since he’s from a big family. Which worked and all, but she also remembered how busy Childe could be from that experience with Teucer, what if they run off when Childe wasn’t looking?

Zhongli shut that down by reminding her that the three are vision holders and Lumine just huffed and pouted, but agreed.

She opened the door to their room, careful with her steps assuming Childe must be asleep.

When she opened the door to their room, she can’t help but have her heart melt at the sight.

Three little girls are asleep on their bed, a sleeping Childe sat on the chair beside the bed, a forgotten storybook on his lap.

With a soft smile, she made her way to Childe, chuckling softly when she caught glimpse of a photograph on the side table.

It was of them 4 posing for the camera, each has a flower crown adorning their heads.

“Ojou-chan?” a tired voice called softly.

“Look like you all had fun.” she smiled warmly.

Childe returned the smile, pulling her gently on his lap. His arms quickly wrapped around Lumine’s waist, face nuzzling against her neck. Lumine sighed in relaxation, leaning back and running her fingers through his hair.

“I’m guessing they liked you a lot they decided to sleep over?” she teased.

Childe chuckled, “More like the Knights were a bit busy to get them, and sent a letter to apologise for the inconvenience. Klee and Diona don’t seem to mind though, and I’ve never seen Qiqi excited for having her friends stay for longer.”

“Hm, well that shouldn’t be an issue, we can bring them home ourselves tomorrow, I do have some things to go over with Jean.” Lumine hummed at the thought.

“Do you think they’ll welcome me warmly?” Childe teased.

“If you behave.” Lumine rolled her eyes.

“Shame. I was planning on picking a fight against the Cavalry Captain and the Dawn Winery owner.”

The blonde shifted to face him, her eyes glaring, “You will not. Why would you want to in the first place?”

“I heard they’re great opponents.” Childe just smiled, hiding the jealousy from Klee’s story about how these men had also shown interest in his beloved ojou-chan.

Lumine rolled her eyes, “I’ll make sure to tell Zhongli to keep an extra close eye on you.”

“I’ll fight him too.”

“Promise me you’ll behave and I might just invite you in the shower.”

“Bold of you to assume I won’t do it anyway,” Childe smirked.

“Behave and you’ll be thoroughly rewarded after.”

“Oho, what reward are we talking about?” he grinned.

Lumine just chuckled before unwrapping his arms off of her, “Depends on how good you will be.” she smirked before heading to the shower.

Childe grinned before following after her.

Deciding that he’ll just pick a fight with said rivals another time.

#chilumi #genshin impact

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clonemando · 4 years ago

Note

Mmmm sure it's niche af but how about Jaster/Plo + "Reuniting after being apart for a while" for the prompts?

Thank you for this prompt! Jaster and Plo both have similar energy so I can definitely see the appeal of the pairing. I actually have a Jas/Plo fic in my bookmarks right now I have been meaning to read. So I was really excited to explore this. I have decided to have this take place in an AU where Jaster is brought back by the force at the beginning of the clone wars. Jaster and Plo were a couple while he was alive and this is them reuniting after the years since his death. I hope you enjoy it!

Plo looked up as Wolffe walked into his office wearing an oxygen mask and couldn’t help but smile slightly. His troopers were such amazing people. They had insisted once they found out his quarters had the option to change the gasses that he make himself comfortable while inside. They argued he wore his mask all the time outside the room, he should be able to be comfortable in his own quarters and they didn’t mind doing it just for the short stretched they would need to come in and speak to him.

“Sir. We have a vessel requesting permission to land on the ship. It’s… well it’s the Slave One, Prime’s ship. We don’t know the person flying it but they claim Boba is with them and they mean us no harm.” Wolffe spoke up once Plo had turned from his desk to give him his attention.

“Boba?” He asked not sure he had ever met anyone by that name. “Prime’s son. He was the first clone, unaltered so he aged normally. Prime raised him as his son even if he didn’t consider the rest of us his kin. He was on Geonosis when Prime was killed. We worry this might be a trap. Boba used to be close with some of us command batchers and a few of the Alphas but as we outgrew him he got bitter. I can’t image he’s here because he missed me.” Wolffe explained and Plo rose from his seat and grabbed his mask, fitting it over his face with practiced movements.

“If they do come in peace we can not just turn away your brother. You and I will greet them n the hanger and if they have less savory motives, we will stop them from causing any harm to our crew.” Plo said calmly. The force wasn’t sending him any warnings about this course of action, but it also wasn’t around to hold its children’s hands. He hoped that this young Boba was simply seeking familiar people after such a loss and whoever was with him was just trying to help a lost child return to their family.

Wolffe gave the order to allow the ship to land once he and Plo were in the hanger with a squad of brothers Plo insisted not hover. “We do not want to instigate a fight that was never coming Wolffe. I respect your worries and fears, if Boba already doesn’t trust us then having so many warriors on edge waiting for him to make any wrong move will only lead to him lashing out from his own fear and causing the reaction you expected. We will give them the same trust they are expending to us in coming to a ship full of what he might see as enemies.” He said crossing his arms and hiding his hands in the sleeves of his robes and Wolffe had given the crew some close-by tasks instead.

As the ramp lowered Plo couldn’t help the smile at the sight of the boy that had Wolffe so on edge. He was smaller than Plo had been expecting even with the warning he had aged normally and his hair was a fluffy mess of half curls. He was just a child and no matter what happened Plo wouldn’t let harm come to him by his men. He couldn’t. However, he was soon distracted by the guardian whose hand Boba was holding.

“Jaster? How is this possible?” He murmured in shock as Jaster and Boba walked down to greet them. Boba’s eyes flickered around the room on edge but he seemed to relax a little when he saw there wasn’t a firing squad waiting for them, just as Plo had hoped.

“Plo, Riduur, it has been too long, hasn’t it? Trust me, it’s a hell of a story but first things first, Boba?” Jaster looked down at his grandson who bit his lip and stepped forward towards Plo carefully and reached for his pocket. Wolffe tensed beside him and almost reached for his blaster but Plo put a claw on his arm.

“Peace Wolffe.” He murmured and knelt to accept the data stick from Boba.

“This is some… stuff… I sliced from Kamino. About the inhibitor chips they put inside the other clones and also recordings of them meeting with Dooku and Sideous. I think there’s enough face shown in one of the frames for you to figure out who Sideous is. Just… be careful. He can hurt the vod’e.” He murmured quietly, unsurely. Plo was celebrating internally at what this sort of intel could do to save the men he had come to see as sons if what boba said was true and the force was ringing out with a feeling that told him it was.

“Thank you, Boba. I will make sure this gets dealt with immediately once you and your… Ba’buir I believe the word is, are settled into your rooms. You both are planning on staying, correct?” Plo asked and Jaster nodded.

“Boba and I will share a room please and we will be honored to stay in your care Riduur.” He said and Boba stepped back to cling to Jaster’s arm again while Wolffe made a face.

“General… care to explain? I thought Jedi couldn’t get married?” Wolffe asked and Plo chuckled.

“A common misconception. We are allowed and even encouraged to love and bond with others. However, we are not allowed to enter into relationships that will compromise our duty to the force or that are based around possessive ideals. Mandalorian courtships are based on equality and it is expected for them to have other ties that may come above their tie to their spouse. I can not swear to their creed which expects you to put the Mand’alor’s call at the highest level but marriage is perfectly fine.” He explained easily and he laughed at Wolffe’s sudden devious look.

“Yes, commander, you may go call Bly and tease him over his crush on his general. However, I would encourage you to remember that we are in the middle of a war and any relationship a General has with a subordinate would be inappropriate. Not that they can’t love each other, but I know that no Jedi would act on those feelings until they were no longer in a position of power that might interfere with a healthy relationship between them and their beloved.” He pointed out “Oh, it wasn’t Bly I was planning on teasing sir. But thank you for the reminder. Hopefully, with the intel the Runt brought us the war could be over sooner rather than later.” Wolffe said and Boba growled. “I’m older than you and I could kick your sheb!” He said and Wolffe met his gare head-on.

“Then why don’t you come to the training rooms and prove it, Runt?” He said making Plo and Jaster roll their eyes at the same time.

“They really are a bunch of Jangos. I thought one was hard enough to deal with, now there’s over a million? Maker save us.” Jaster sighed and Plo finally couldn’t resist any longer stepping forward and pulling Jaster into a gentle mirshmure'cya.

“I missed you. I am sorry I couldn’t save Jango from the pain that followed him after your death. I should have taken him in. Ni cera ner cyare.” Plo murmured quietly but Jaster just sighed.

“It was not your fault. We were all being played from the very beginning in ways that no one could have seen. All that matters is that the force is giving us another chance. I’ve made peace with my son and he is at peace now in the manda. We will right these wrongs together and build a stronger safer future for the aliit we have now.” He said seriously and Plo pulled away so they could both watch Boba tackle Wolffe and the pair start wrestling in the hanger floor.

“But you can start making amends for Jango by dealing with them. They’re your issue now.” Jaster said walking away while Plo huffed fondly.

“I think I can accept that.” He said and finally, he really had hope for what the future would hold for all of them.

#Jaster Mereel #Plo Koon #Star Wars #Jas/Plo #Young Boba Fett #Commander Wolffe #Fan Fic #Requests #TCW #Anonymous

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peaceoutofthepieces · 4 years ago

Text

you were my crown

chapter 4

Ao3

~^~ The scrape and swoosh of curtains opening followed by a blast of light to his face woke Jens up. He winced and jerked away, raising a hand in front of his face before he came to his senses enough to shoot up and look around in bewilderment.

Lucas stood watching him by the window with his arms crossed over his chest and head cocked, completely unimpressed.

Jens pulled the covers up over his chest with a sputter. “What are you doing?”

“My job,” Lucas said bluntly, rolling his eyes slightly at Jens’s gesture and pointedly turning away. “I didn’t pick you for the modest type. Does this mean I won’t actually have to be involved in your bathing?”

It was too early. There was too much in that little bit of speech to parse through with his sleep-addled brain. It was too early to be reminded of Lucas’s heavy sarcasm and persistent disrespect. He did not have the energy to step up to the taunting, nor was he awake enough to fret over Lucas connecting him and modesty and bathing all at once and how that made him jittery.

Jens let the covers slip away from him carefully, ignoring the sleep still clinging to his limbs to step out of bed, ambling his way to the table. Faux confidence carried him to where Lucas had laid out his breakfast. Well, ‘laid out’ was generous. He saw Lucas look over his shoulder at him as he lifted the plate and drew it with him to the head of the table. Only when he sat down did he allow himself to look back at Lucas, finding the boy’s gaze quickly glancing off his stomach.

“These are, obviously, private chambers.” Jens raised a brow. “You’re supposed to knock.”

Lucas met his eye and raised a brow back. “I did. Multiple times. And I called your name. I thought someone might have offed you in your sleep, and the door was open, so.”

Jens sunk slightly in his chair and repeated, “You’re supposed to knock. Wait to be invited. You’ll lose this position right away if you don’t obey basic courtesies like that.”

“Pity,” Lucas said dryly.

“It will be, when you’re dead.”

Lucas’s expression went blank at that, and he turned away to neaten the curtains. Jens glanced at his breakfast, then returned to watching Lucas’s back.

“The carriage was waiting for you?” he asked. “You found it okay?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Lucas replied calmly, his tone clipped with mock politeness. As he turned around and slowly came closer to Jens, however, some of the usual passive aggressive emotions slid from his expression. “It was better than walking would have been, I imagine.”

Jens tilted his head and failed to hide a small grin. He knew the chances were high that such a response would simply shut Lucas away again, but he couldn’t help it. “Is that a thank you?”

Lucas scoffed and rolled his eyes, but didn’t retreat, which Jens took as both a positive answer and sign.

“You’re off to an okay start, otherwise,” Jens offered. “I mean, you’re here, and you managed to bring breakfast. Sander’s tour must have been worth something.”

Lucas hummed. “Sander met me at the door,” he admitted.

Jens laughed. Lucas’s lips twitched at the reaction, and Jens thought, pleaded, Maybe. Maybe, hopefully, eventually. It seemed unlikely that they would ever be friends; it seemed impossible that they wouldn’t have to be something.

Jens had earned himself a new companion, someone who would be able to take the edge off the loneliness of his life, and he had doomed himself to one less possible friend. It wouldn’t be a real option even if Lucas didn’t hate him—because Lucas was his servant and had his own friends, and Jens couldn’t really have any.

It cut his laughter down abruptly, and he had to remind himself that it didn’t matter. It wasn’t about him. He couldn’t have let anything happen to Lucas, to any innocent, and that was all.

He managed to keep his smile, and gestured at the seat next to him, nudging the second plate towards Lucas. “Come eat.”

Lucas blinked at him. Then he pursed his lips. “I don’t need your scraps.”

“Well, good, because I usually try not to leave any. But you should eat your own breakfast before it goes cold.” Jens pushed the chair out with his foot, making Lucas step back.

“My own breakfast?”

Jens nodded at the plate, smile twitching. “What else was that supposed to be for?”

Lucas hesitated. “I don’t know,” he finally admitted. “I thought…”

“You thought I was going to stuff my face while you’re expected to starve?” Jens guessed. When Lucas pursed his lips again instead of replying, Jens huffed in amusement. “The servants also get meals, Lucas. Usually they eat breakfast earlier, though it depends on the job. You would be expected to eat yours first before coming to me, so you’d be ready to start your duties.” His smile widened. “Here I was thinking you’d simply wanted to eat with me.”

There was a slight flush to Lucas’s cheeks, but he still managed a derisive huff at the statement. However, he finally moved, carefully taking the seat Jens had offered at his right hand. He pulled himself close to the table as Jens pushed the plate in front of him, then hesitated. “I had something to eat before I left home,” Lucas said.

Jens poked at his egg, then took a bite. “What did you have?”

“Just...some fruit,” Lucas mumbled.

“If you don’t want to eat it, that’s alright,” Jens said. “But it’s for you.” Then, “I can’t imagine fruit is all that filling. Have more when it’s available to you, Lucas.”

Lucas appeared as if he was going to argue again, then swallowed the words down and dug in. Jens watched him only long enough to make sure he didn’t actually dislike the food or wouldn’t change his mind, then politely glanced away and focused on his own meal. It was rude to watch someone else eat, is what he’d always thought, but he couldn’t help shooting occasional looks at Lucas, couldn’t help but notice the way he quickly devoured the food once given permission.

When he paused a moment to rub at his chest and clear his throat, Jens wordlessly poured a cup of water and handed it to him.

Lucas took it with a small, surprised ‘thank you’, and gazed at Jens for a moment before finishing off his food. It was, admittedly, less than Jens’s and probably not entirely as appetizing, but it was mainly down to Lucas’s speed that he was finished when Jens still had a quarter of his plate left. Lucas grew a little awkward at the realisation, but simply shrunk back in his chair and sipped at his water before asking, “What should I do, now?”

“Let your food sink,” Jens said. “There’s no rush. I won’t personally need you much today. You might be asked to do the polishing, but don’t let anyone bully you into cleaning anyone’s things but mine. That isn’t your job, and if anyone tries to make it one, tell me. Likewise with the stables and the horses. You can help out in any cases you want to, but we already have people doing those things, so just tend to whatever is mine. Okay?”

Lucas nodded hesitantly. He looked a bit nauseous; Jens wasn’t sure if he was overwhelmed or had just eaten too quickly.

He found himself trying to be reassuring regardless. “Sander will guide you around for the day, anyway.” He furrowed his brow, looking around at the door as the realisation occurred to him. “Isn’t he supposed to be here, anyway? And weren’t there supposed to be guards stationed outside my door?”

Lucas shrugged. “Sander said if it was my job to get you your breakfast now there was no reason for him to traipse after me. I guess the guards idea hasn’t been implemented yet.”

“My mother might not be happy,” Jens said, swallowing thickly. Trying to eat faster so Lucas wouldn’t have to sit and watch him was not working well. “But it’s her own mistake, so I guess we enjoy it while we can.”

This made Lucas quirk a brow at him, but this time he did not seem annoyed at Jens’s smile. In fact, it almost looked like he wanted to return it. Instead, Lucas looked away, taking in the room. It only lasted a moment before he was inevitably drawn back to Jens’s bare torso.

Jens sat back in his seat, and Lucas’s gaze flickered up to him. “Ask,” Jens said.

Lucas shook his head. “I won’t. If you want to tell me, then you will. It’s not any of my business.”

It wasn’t a surprising response, really; not from Lucas. Jens considered him, then prodded at the jagged scar on his stomach, cutting through the muscle like lightning. “I’m not modest,” he said eventually. “I’m just never sure of how people will react.”

“It’s just a scar,” Lucas replied. It wasn’t dismissive, nor was it comforting; it was fact. There was no judgment or pity in Lucas’s voice, none of the usual irritation or sarcasm. He showed a faint curiosity and nothing more. “I have one on the back of my shoulder from falling out of the bed when I was seven. One on my foot from where a calf stood on me. This—“ he brandished the inner side of his left arm at Jens “—from when I fell off a cart with Kes and broke my arm. Should I go on?”

Jens huffed, shaking his head. But he leaned his arms on the table and accepted the truths for one of his own. “I was stabbed when I was ten. They would have sliced me in half if they could’ve. Probably should have died, honestly. My father did.”

Lucas’s eyes darkened and he pressed his lips together.

It was something everyone knew, the trajedy that killed the King. It had been more of a battle than a war, because it had done nothing but silently brew until that single fight. The culprits had all died in the process or been caught in the aftermath, at least, and the kingdom had mourned and rallied together.

But then there was this.

“I didn’t know anyone else had been involved,” Lucas said, quietly. “I mean, with the rest of the family. I thought they were only after the King. No one ever said any different.”

Jens shrugged. It wasn’t as heavy as it once would have been. “I guess they thought I would just be the next King if they didn’t do something about it. And I would’ve been, if I hadn’t almost died. It was the only reason my mother took over.”

“You were ten,” Lucas said, dumbfounded. “You were a child. You couldn’t have been a leader or a threat.”

“I still don’t think I could be,” Jens returned with a slight laugh. “But different people will always expect different things.”

Lucas stared at him as if he had never seen him before, or was seeing something new. He leaned forward as if to settle on the table with Jens, but was interrupted by a knock and the door swinging open.

Jens whipped his gaze around, expecting to see Sander or one of the boys again, and instead catching sight of his sister.

Lies strode over to them with all her usual elegance, the pale green lace of her dress sleeves flowing around her arm as she lifted her hand in a greeting. She made a thorough examination of Lucas and no attempt to hide it, before settling an unimpressed look on Jens.

“You know,” Jens told her, “the purpose of knocking is completely defeated when you don’t wait for an answer.”

“I was worried you were being murdered,” Lies said, too loftily to be serious. She looked from Jens to Lucas. “But he’s harmless, isn’t he? Aside from the killer looks.”

Lucas snorted in surprise, then immediately covered his mouth with his hand. Jens blinked at him before staring sharply at his sister.

Lies rolled her eyes. “Don’t give me that look, you know he’s not for me. A little...delicate, for my taste. Surely someone’s catch, though,” she quickly added in Lucas’s direction, who dismissed the assurances with a flick of his hand and an amused smile.

“Did you want something?” Jens asked, brow raised.

“I brought gifts,” Lies said, gesturing behind her to where two guards now stood in the doorway. Lucas sat up in his seat at the sight and shifted his shoulders uncomfortably, and Jens shot another sharp look at his sister. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m just following orders to take care of my little brother.”

“You’re not even ten minutes older than me, Lies.”

She, predictably, ignored him. “I also have orders to give.”

“What, so you aren’t just here to stick your nose in?”

“Well,” she shrugged, looking at Lucas again. “I had to see what you’ve made all the fuss about.”

“I haven’t made a fuss.”

“Are the orders for me?” Lucas asked, interrupting their bickering with an unusually polite tone and patient expression.

Of course, he would even like Jens’s twin better.

Lies indulged him with one of her most winning smiles. “No, no. For you, I simply wished to introduce myself.” She stepped further into the room, rounding behind Jens to Lucas’s side of the table. He rose to meet her, and her smile widened. “I’m Lies.”

Lucas bowed and held out his hand. Lies slipped her own into it easily, and Lucas brought it to his lips in a gentle kiss. His eyes flicked past Lies to Jens, pointed and mocking, and Jens felt himself bristle again. The understanding he had thought passed between them just moments ago slipped through his fumbling fingers as if it had never truly been within reach.

“It’s an honour to meet you, Princess,” Lucas said. Jens really might kill him himself, eventually. “I’m Lucas.”

Lies hummed, amused. “How chivalrous. You’ll have to be careful where you take him, he might be new competition.” She winked over her shoulder at Jens.

“I don’t go anywhere,” Jens said, confused. “Nor do I compete for anything.”

Lucas snorted again, and this time something thrummed in Jens’s chest.

Meanwhile, Lies sighed and ruffled Jens’s hair, finally parting from Lucas’s careful hold. “Pardon, Lucas, it seems like I do have an order for you. Try in some of your time here to make this one less boring, will you? This is joyless.”

“I’m not sure it’s possible, Your Highness, but for you I’ll try.”

Lies beamed at Lucas, clapped her hands once, then pointed sternly at a scowling Jens. “And, for you, mother dearest has ordered a family lunch.”

Jens blinked. It wasn’t entirely unusual that they would have such family get-togethers, but it wasn’t entirely usual either. They were reserved for special dates, birthdays and anniversaries and the like, or for announcements their mother wished to break to them before anyone else. It was certainly no one’s birthday, and as far as Jens knew, it was not an anniversary either. “Moyo and Aaron are still here. I’m supposed to meet them for lunch before they leave again.”

“Don’t argue with me, Jens, I’m just the messenger. Take it up with her if you want.” Lies shrugged, already on her way back out the door.

Jens looked back to Lucas, who had already returned to facing him with his arms crossed. Jens tucked his own arms around his stomach, his thumb absently rubbing over the scar there. He was not modest, and likewise, he was not self-conscious, but then again, he never had anyone looking at him that wasn’t his family or Robbe, with Senne and Sander being the odd exception. None of the maids have ever really seen him in such undress, even, despite readying baths and bedsheets and the more complicated clothing he was so often forced to wear; this was outer garments or just the buttons, laces and ties he could not manage himself.

He felt barer when it was Lucas. This wasn’t exactly embarrassing or scary or uncomfortable. He wouldn’t have sat with Lucas so long if it had been, and he wouldn’t have mentioned the marring of his skin himself. But it was unfamiliar; it was new. He felt twitchy and hot in the face of it. Unsure.

Thankfully, Lucas was as unaffected as ever and spoke up first. “I can see the similarity.”

Jens raised a brow. “We’re not identical.” Lies’s hair and eyes were lighter, and she wasn’t quite as tall, and her face seemed both softer and more delicate than Jens’s at once. There were similarities amongst all of them, but they bore no closer resemblance to each other than they did to their mother or Lotte.

“No, far from it,” Lucas agreed. “She is much more likable.”

Jens resisted the urge to throw food at him.

Lucas’s lips twitched as if he could tell. “Does this mean I won’t have to bring you lunch?”

“No,” Jens sighed. “It also means I won’t be able to guide you through anything until after that. But I’m sure that doesn’t disappoint you.”

Lucas simply shrugged.

“I’ll tell Sander. You could have lunch with the boys, if you want,” Jens suggested.

“Could I?”

It wasn’t hopeful. It was not a request, not curiosity, not to seek permission. It was dubious, deadpan disbelief. Jens supposed Lucas was right not to expect the offer to be casual or genuine; servants were there to serve.

“You would have been there with me, anyway. You are expected to stick with Sander for the most part. And you have to eat, regardless. Join them with Sander, if you want to.”

Lucas considered this for a moment, then nodded. “Okay. What until then?”

“First,” Jens rose to his feet, “you’ll help me find one of these ridiculous shirts my mother likes and then help me get it on.” He moved towards his wardrobe, and looked over his shoulder when Lucas did not follow.

Lucas blinked at him. “Seriously?”

Jens huffed a laugh. “Welcome to the life of a Prince.”

|*~^~*|

The only saving grace about having lunch with his family was Lotte. She had beamed at Jens when he came in, then immediately scowled as he ruffled her hair. Now she was perched next to him at the table, one foot hooked up onto the chair out of sight of their mother who, of course, sat at the head. Lies sat across from him, managing to look both bored and completely composed at once.

It was becoming concerning. They had gotten through the first half of their food on idle chit-chat, and Ellis hadn’t told them why they were here.

Lies, like Jens, kept flicking looks at her. Like she was waiting, but not like she was curious. Like she knew.

“Care to fill us in?” Jens eventually prompted.

His mother looked up at him as Lies faltered with her food. “Pardon?” Ellis asked.

Jens flicked a hand between them. “Whatever it is we’re all gathered about. Whatever you’ve already obviously talked to Lies about.”

Ellis sighed, considering her plate before passing a hand over her mouth. She folded her arms over each other and looked at him steadily. “You are going to need to start preparing to take over the throne.”

Jens blinked.

“Isn’t Jens already doing that?” Lotte asked, with the easy, childish curiosity Jens didn’t feel he was allowed to have.

It made their mother gentle, which shouldn’t have been a relief. Jens knew how much she adored her youngest daughter; even if she didn’t have much time to show it. “Of course,” she began to explain. “It has always been the path he’s been on. But I mean, really start preparing. Deciding what kind of leader you will be...and who you will have by your side.”

“But…” Jens hated how small he sounded, so he cleared his throat and tried again. “Why? You aren’t going anywhere. What’s the sudden change?”

“You can never be too prepared,” Ellis said lightly. “Besides, you can assume the throne any time. It is not always a passage that only follows death.”

“But there’s no need. And I don’t want to.”

Lies huffed. It sounded considerably less amused than when she’d been trading teases with Lucas in his chambers this morning. “You know this isn’t about what anyone wants, Jens.”

Jens frowned at her, feeling shame and irritation bubble in his chest at once. It didn’t dissipate when his mother covered his hand with her own.

“She’s right. You’ve always known your duty.” She took a breath that turned into a sigh. “And the kingdom has always been restless under the rule of a single queen. You know it was never supposed to be my throne.”

It threw him back in his chair. Of course he knew—he’d admitted the same fact to Lucas just this morning. The realisation made him dizzy now.

The kingdom was restless about their Queen?

It seemed impossible. Since his father’s death, there had never been an attempt on the throne. The kingdom had never been more cohesive, more peaceful. It had never run smoother than it has while guided by the flick and flow of Ellis’s hand. They loved her. Jens heard the nasty comments about their family in general, about any kind of royalty, but even those people always held a grudging respect for the woman after meeting her.

But Jens didn’t go anywhere. He didn’t see anyone, not really. No one that wasn’t already close to their family.

If there were rumbles of disloyalty, how would he know?

If those people existed and discovered Ellis had somewhat stolen the throne, what would happen?

How stupid and reckless could Jens be, and why did Lucas specifically seem to bring it out in him?

He realised immediately and with abrupt clarity that he absolutely could not admit this to his mother, and pressed his lips tightly shut.

Lucas didn’t even care. He didn’t say anything about that. You chose to trust him only a day ago. Don’t change your mind now. He hasn’t given you a reason to yet.

He didn’t bother acknowledging that by the time ‘yet’ arrived, it might be too late. It wouldn’t help.

“I...I wouldn’t rule any differently,” he said, swallowing. “And Senne would just move into his father’s position, right? He and Sander would be there, and Robbe.”

Ellis smiled, but it looked more like a pursing of lips. “Of course, I assumed as much. But that’s not what I mean, darling. A single king may be an improvement, but the ideal kingdom is run by a king and his queen.”

Jens stared at her. “Hang on. You’ve arranged this to tell me I need to get a wife?”

Lotte sunk away at the snap in his voice, and he glanced at her in apology. Lies seemed entirely unaffected, sitting with her chin propped on bridged hands.

“You’re the Prince, Jens,” Ellis said, stroking his hand gently. “And you’re beautiful, and charming, and the people love you. Everyone has already been waiting years for you to find your Princess.”

“Hoping they’ll be the lucky one,” Lies added, with only half the sarcasm Jens was sure she wanted to use.

Jens shook his head. “It’s not my fault I just haven’t met anyone like that.”

“Well.” His mother drew her hand away. “That’s why I’ve invited King Ackermans and his daughter.”

Oh. Oh, no. No way.

Lotte understood just as quickly. “Wait, Jens doesn’t even get to choose?” She seemed appalled at the idea, leaving Jens feeling very justified in his own anger.

“It’s not set in stone,” Ellis said. “But I think it is a good match.”

Jens’s fury must have been showing on his face. She hastened to add, “You and Jana used to be such lovely friends when you were children, Jens, surely you remember.”

Yes, Jens thought, when we were children. The last time he had seen Jana was before his father died—a good ten years ago. The last time she had come from the bordering kingdom was for his father’s funeral, when Jens hadn’t even gotten to see her, still on his own deathbed.

“You’re lucky that it can be this simple,” Lies said.

Jens gritted his teeth. “Easy for you to say when nothing rests on you,” he snapped.

Lies glared at him, clearly prepared to retort, before Lotte leaned towards her and quietly pleaded, “Don’t fight.”

Her mouth snapped shut, and she glanced at her little sister before carefully relaxing in her chair.

Jens didn’t want to fight, either, but he was too annoyed to settle. He pushed away from the table, the scrape of the chair loud and grating on his nerves further. He pointedly avoided Lies’s apologetic eyes and Lotte’s crestfallen expression, but Ellis never knew how to go ignored.

“Jens,” she called after him. “You haven’t even finished your lunch, for pity’s sake, sit down!”

He let the door slam shut behind him.

|*~^~*|

Robbe met Lucas’s eyes as he crept through the open doors to the stables and quickly raised a finger to his lips. He was impressed when Lucas gave absolutely no reaction—no questioning gaze, no raised brow, no quirk of the lips. Lucas simply glanced over him as if he wasn’t there, exactly how he wanted.

It made it all too easy for him to creep up on Sander.

He made it to the knight entirely unnoticed and quickly curled his fingers around Sander’s sides, digging in with enough pressure to feel like a jab and enough lightness that it wouldn’t hurt. The result was exactly as intended; Sander jolted and whirled on Robbe with his hand moving to grasp a sword that wasn’t there. Just as quickly, the hand was around Robbe’s throat. Then it dropped even quicker.

“I could have killed you,” Sander said, with his usual brand of over-expression that could have just as easily been under. The tone was indignant, the words irritated, the pout of the lips a whine, the light in the eyes fond. All were out in force, and all conflicted and made each other lesser.

Robbe snorted in response. “Uh-huh.”

“Seriously, Robbe,” Sander frowned. He was fixing Robbe’s collar with one hand; the other was slipping around Robbe’s wrist. “You need to stop with that.”

“Because it annoys you that I can still do it so easily?”

Sander sniffed. “I knew somebody was there.”

“No, you didn’t,” Lucas said.

Robbe had forgotten he was there, but when he shifted his eyes from Sander he saw the boy was grooming Jens’s horse and not even looking at them. He seemed caught up in the brushing motion, petting his other hand along the horse’s side absentmindedly. He looked more content than Robbe had seen him so far.

“How would you know?” Sander demanded.

Lucas looked over to raise a brow at him. “I was here.”

Sander opened his mouth to argue, then simply huffed and waved Lucas off, returning to where he’d been fixing a strap on his own saddle. He didn’t quite let go of Robbe right away, so Robbe was drawn to his side in the process. He couldn’t say he minded.

He poked Sander’s side. “Don’t be mad,” he requested.

Sander huffed again. It faded midway as Robbe leaned his chin on Sander’s shoulder and knocked their heads together lightly. Sander’s hands paused for a second, and he was smiling by the time they resumed their task.

“That’s better,” Robbe grinned, pushing himself away to wander towards Lucas. “Are you two joining us for lunch? I’d rather not listen to Moyo and Aaron alone.”

“You can’t survive a day without me, that’s all,” Sander called over his shoulder. Robbe glanced back just in time to catch Sander’s wink and rolled his eyes, despite the warmth in his stomach and his growing smile. Sander hung up his saddle and returned to Robbe’s side, knocking their shoulders together, as tactile as Robbe himself.

Robbe loved him.

He loved Jens, and he loved his mother, and he loved his other friends, but none of them were like Sander. Losing his mother would break his heart, and losing Jens would be something like losing a limb; he’d never function the same.

But Sander…Robbe couldn’t bring himself to imagine what it would be like to lose Sander.

He wasn’t sure what that meant.

He just knew he felt content when Sander easily pulled him to his side, softer today without the usual chainmail or cloak. It was just a washed-out black tunic for Robbe to rest his cheek against. Soft and worn; comfortable and familiar.

He was startled when Lucas spoke. “Are you sure it’s alright?”

“Jens told you it was, didn’t he?” Sander said. “He’s not testing you or anything. He’s not that smart.”

Robbe made a small sound to rebuke him, which Sander predictably ignored.

Lucas only huffed, then hesitantly shook his head. “I know Jens said so, but that doesn’t mean…it isn’t really your duty to babysit me. We don’t have to be friends.”

Sander’s hand tightened for half a second on Robbe’s shoulder, and a pained look crossed his face. Robbe understood. Sander had been just as unsure of their kindness in the beginning.

“No one has to be,” Robbe agreed, quickly. “But that’s not what we’re talking about. We’re asking you if you want to join us for lunch because we’d like you to.”

“And because you’ve already been brushing that horse for seventeen minutes. You are going to get tired of it eventually,” Sander added.

Lucas’s hands dropped quickly to his sides, and he looked at Sander in bewilderment. “How would you even know that?”

Sander snorted. “I was here,” he lightly mocked.

Lucas narrowed his eyes at him, but his lips were twitching. Robbe got it—Sander was irresistible. It made his heart swell with pride and clench at once. Something in him tripped and faltered as Sander left him to take the brush from Lucas and put it away before clasping Lucas’s shoulder.

The fears he’d developed yesterday seemed real, all of a sudden. He’d half-talked to Jens about it while lying on his bed, while Sander had still been missing—busy with Lucas. He’d been overthinking it while Sander was away with Lucas and Jens. He could picture it with sudden clarity, now. It wasn’t just new duties that would be taking up Sander and Jens’s time; it was a whole person. A person with whom feelings and care could be involved. A person that would be involved with all of them, even if he had only been altering one dynamic.

Robbe curled his arms around his stomach and wrapped the feeling away. Neither Sander or Jens would leave him behind. The notion on its own was ridiculous.

Lucas could be Sander’s friend, because he could be Robbe’s too. It was way simpler than his brain was trying to make him think.

“Robin,” Sander said, in that way that suggested it wasn’t the first time. He was smiling at Robbe, holding out a hand, and Robbe reached for it without a thought. Sander gave him a gentle tug. “Coming?”

Robbe fell into step alongside Sander and allowed himself to enjoy the light sweep of Sander’s thumb over his knuckles before pulling his hand away. Lucas hesitantly followed along by his other side, pulling too-short sleeves down over his wrists and watching his feet. He flickered a glance at Robbe, and his shoulders loosened when Robbe smiled instead of looking away.

“You’re his best friend, right?” Lucas asked after a second. “Prince Jens, I mean. You’ve lived here a long time but you just genuinely like him, don’t you?”

Robbe blinked, surprised by the question. He probably shouldn’t have been. Everyone knew him; he realised that. Everyone certainly knew Jens, and they knew who Robbe was to him. Robbe occasionally forgot that this didn’t mean they were known, and it definitely did not mean they were automatically liked.

Lucas had every right and reason to be skeptical. Robbe should have expected it and been prepared for it, but even Sander had never questioned them much.

But this question was easy.

“I love Jens,” he agreed. “He might as well be my brother. But it isn’t just that we grew up together or I feel I owe him anything. Jens is one of the best people I know. He always has been. There’s plenty to like about him.”

“Well, now, let’s not get carried away,” Sander interrupted. “Others here are just as likable, if not more so.”

Lucas raised his brows as Robbe rolled his eyes. Neither could hold back a smile. “You, for example?” Robbe said, already dripping sarcasm.

Sander placed a hand to his chest while tugging the library door open. “Why thank you, Robbe, that’s so sweet of you to say. But I was talking about you.”

Robbe’s prepared retort died on his tongue, and he felt hot as Sander grinned down at him. He resisted the urge to raise his hands to cover his cheeks.

Lucas simply hummed his agreement. “You are the nicest. Even without knowing you—the kingdom adores you. I can understand it.”

“Understand what?” Moyo questioned from inside. He wiggled his fingers in a wave when they all turned startled gazes on him. “Have we just swapped one pretty boy for another?”

Aaron slumped back next to him with a groan. “Don’t tell me Jens is actually bailing again.”

“It didn’t seem like he had a choice,” Lucas said, in Jens’s defense. He pulled a face once he realised this.

Robbe considered him. He hadn’t known how to respond to Lucas’s compliment, and he was glad they had been interrupted so that he didn’t have to. But there was something about the way Lucas had said it and how he had asked about Jens in the first place that made Robbe turn back. “Why can’t you understand why people like Jens?”

Lucas blinked over at him in surprise. Robbe just smiled sheepishly at him, and Lucas shrugged, uncomfortable.

“Do people like Jens should be the first question,” Sander said. Robbe punched his shoulder.

“They do, I suppose,” Lucas admitted. “My friends didn’t have the highest opinion, or I guess just didn’t really care, but then…I guess they like him alright.”

“You don’t,” Robbe said.

“I didn’t say that.”

Moyo nodded as if Lucas had said something very smart. “Good. Probably shouldn’t give them any more reasons to accuse you of treason.”

Lucas pulled another face.

Sander tugged them both to sit down. “Okay, continue while eating, please. I need to move afterwards.”

“Move?” Moyo and Robbe asked.

Sander looked to Robbe. “Jens and I told you, didn’t we? I’m moving rooms closer to his because of this whole business?” He gestured at Lucas.

“I’m sorry,” Lucas said. “You shouldn’t have to do that.”

“It’s no big deal,” Sander shrugged.

Robbe watched him, not feeling quite as sure.

Sander denied Lucas’s offer of help, urging him to take time to finish his lunch (unnecessarily—Lucas had devoured his food) and then to enjoy the short time he would have free of both Jens and Sander. Robbe stood up to follow, however, and Sander didn’t argue with him.

Now they had half of Sander’s things moved in a single trip between rooms, and Robbe was pondering the best way to ask Sander if he also thought this was a terrible idea.

He settled on asking, “Are you sure you’re okay with all of this?”

Sander dumped some of his clothes in the wardrobe and shrugged. “Why wouldn’t I be? This room’s better than mine. I think they’ve even got a comfier mattress. Why is that kind of special treatment wasted on guests?”

Robbe smiled slightly, but tried not to fall off track. “I’m not just talking about the room.”

Sander turned to face him slowly, moving shirts from one hand to the other. “What then?”

“All this is a bit…I don’t know. It was kind of a rash decision, right? It’s a lot of…responsibility.”

Sander snorted. “Are you saying I’m not responsible enough, Robin?”

He couldn’t believe Sander was making him spell it out when he knew exactly what Robbe was talking about. “You’re not healthy enough, and you know it,” he breathed.

Sander’s face went blank as his hands froze. He stared at Robbe, who refused to look away. Sander broke the gaze first, turning back to his wardrobe and fiddling with a hanger. He said nothing.

“Sander,” Robbe whispered, imploring. “You can’t take this on. Never mind the pressure, but you can’t be expected to be available all the time. And now switching rooms? It’s too much.”

“It’s very little for them to ask of me, Robbe,” Sander argued, abandoning his task to turn and face him. “I’m a knight. This is nothing.”

Robbe shook his head. He had known Sander would fight him on this, but it still always hurt when the older man refused to listen. “You know it’s not. Sander, you—“

“It’s been months,” Sander cut him off.

His voice was quiet and strong at once. He looked so small just then, even though he was obviously determined. He’d straightened his shoulders and was holding Robbe’s eye, and still, something lurked underneath. There was a silent desperation, a wildness that Sander had always seemed to contain, confined tightly in his chest but always threatening to explode. It was there in his eyes, a plead mingled with the insecurity he truly felt.

It wasn’t just that he wanted Robbe to believe him. He wanted Robbe to convince him. To reassure him that he was, in fact, right, and more than capable of holding the weight he’d placed on himself.

But Robbe cared about him too much to do that.

“I know,” he said softly. “But it has been months before.”

Sander instantly shook his head, insisting, “Never this long. It’s different.”

Robbe closed his eyes. It wasn’t, and it wouldn’t be, regardless of how much Sander tried to will it into existence. Robbe knew it; he’d already seen it. He couldn’t let Sander believe it and be reckless with himself as a result.

But what more could he say?

I’ve seen it firsthand. What happens when you can’t get out of bed for a day, then two, then a week? There’s no way of hiding it, now—what would be your excuse?

What made you think you could do it, in the first place?

“Mama…” Robbe started, trying not to be hurt by how Sander rolled his eyes and turned away. “She’s been well this long before and it didn’t last either, Sander. It’s not—we don’t even know what—“

“I know,” Sander cut him off, moving towards him abruptly. His hands fluttered by his sides as he stopped in front of Robbe. “I wasn’t thinking of that, I didn’t realise…I didn’t think of how it would be necessary to be around all the time. But I can’t take it back now, Robbe.”

Robbe shook his head. “Of course you can. Now is the perfect time to take it back, before it gets too far.”

“No one else will treat Lucas right.”

“You can’t know that.”

“They’ve already shown it! He’s unhappy enough here, and Jens is a disaster, and I committed to them both.”

Robbe swallowed, shaking his head more. Trying to think. “What about Senne?”

“He has enough duties. Besides, it’s his brother involved in all of this.”

“They don’t even get along. I’m not even sure they speak.”

Sander sighed. “They do, but that’s not the point. Just—“ he curled his hand around Robbe’s wrist. He was no longer looking him in the eye. “—don’t doubt me. I won’t be able to do it if you don’t think I can.”

Robbe’s heart dropped into his stomach. Then he dropped his head against Sander’s shoulder and sighed back. He slipped his hands around to Sander’s back and curled them in his tunic. “Sorry. You know I think you can do anything. I just…”

“I know.” Sander hugged him back, tipping his cheek against Robbe’s head. “You’re probably right, though.”

“No, Sander—“

“I hate it, but I know you’re right. I know I’m not—that it won’t just—“ Sander broke off on a sound of frustration. Robbe squeezed his waist. Sander squeezed back. “But maybe it won’t happen. That I’m needed and I can’t…I don’t think it will be this important for that long. They’re not even making me keep an eye on Lucas every second now, and it’ll ease up from here.”

“But if it does happen?”

“I’d hoped I’ll have you,” Sander admitted quietly. “And I—I could probably talk to Jens, if I have to.”

Robbe tried not to sound too eager. “He would understand. They could help.”

Sander pressed his face harder against Robbe’s head. “There isn’t any helping this, Robbe.”

“You don’t know that. My mother, she used to be worse. I mean, she still gets bad, but it used to be constant, Sander. And more extreme. But she has help now.”

Sander didn’t say anything, but his head still lay heavy. Robbe hugged him tighter. Sander clenched his hands around Robbe’s shoulders. “Just promise me I’ll have you,” he eventually whispered.

Robbe ignored the swoop of his stomach, and the burn of his nerves where Sander’s thumb brushed bare skin, and whispered back, “Always.”

#van der stoffels #vds #sobbe #wtfock #skam nl #prince!jens au #vds royalty au

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sor-vette · 4 years ago

Text

one, strike!! (index/description)

☜ profiles II

two, down!! ☞

Naturally what was estimated into an hour quickly grew into three hours and naturally, those three hours involved a decent amount of manhandling and lots of loose fists. All in all, you limped your way into the annual celebration late and with a busted lip and a nicely settling lilac shade on the cusp of the jaw. The celebration was nearing the end. There were no speakers on the stage or even in the front row. The crowd had mingled already long before.

Jin is actually the first who you notice in the crowd. Uncharacteristically he’s sitting alone by one of the side tables of the room. In front of him, there’s a small gathering of empty champagne glasses, even as you’re looking he’s playing with the thin stem of the glass, face completely blank. You sidestep into a larger group of people to avoid any eye contact. Namjoon is of course the next.

He’s standing listening to someone unfamiliar to you speak. He nods along with the conversation but you can see his jaw clenched in a death grip. He’ll need a brace soon, you think dryly. The rhythmical bops on the sides of his cheeks were amusing, yes, but not when directed at you. At the moment where your legs hesitate by the banquet table, there rings a shutter sound of a camera. You try to peek as subtly as possible and upon seeing a mop of dark curls sticking above the lens, you dip towards Namjoon. Anything but that. Anything. Yeah, you’d rather deal with angry Namjoon than any jabs of resentment with V. Namjoon, in fact, does notice you and his veins, in fact, do actually start showing. He’s one split hair away from foaming at the mouth. And yet, and yet-

“Ah, Mr. Reyes and Mr. Kuznetsov, I’d like to meet R.D. It’s the woman I’ve talked to you about earlier in the evening,” earlier when you were supposed to show your ass up. His voice is completely neutral as if you’d showing up late, tousled, and looking like a digested raccoon was part of the plan.

“Sorry for meeting you this late, there was a situation that needed my attention,” even if they’re not placated by the excuse, the polite hmm’s are still given.

“Mr. Kuznetsov had heard how you declined positions in all of the other departments and he was wondering why.” And you once had thought that Jin and Jimin were award-worthy actors... Namjoon doesn’t give off anything, not a single clue. He paraphrases the belated questions so casually as if he didn’t know. As if he didn’t know that the answer was him all along. Sure, there were other… reasons, other circumstances but no matter how the dice was turned, the primary descent into your suicidal career choice was pushed by Namjoon himself.

“I like the freedom of the cleaner department.”

“Freedom?” Mr. Kuznetsov echoes and you politely wait for his interpreter thinking it’d be rude to intrude on his job.

“Freedom?”

“Yes. There are certain characteristics to other departments that require um… putting on airs? Being a cleaner means I don’t have to pretend to be someone I’m not and I’m largely responsible for my own choices.” Namjoon snorts. It is an ugly, mocking sound.

“Furthermore,” you continue, glaring at him “our department is very friendly and honest. We say what we want and don’t rope people in situations that are only beneficial to us.” Namjoon’s jaw makes an audible tick. For a split second, it seems he has simply managed to dislocate it entirely.

“I thought they were also supposed to be punctual.” He snarks through what was supposed to look like an amicable smile. A miserable fail on his part.

“Yes, they are. It’s just not me. Not a postcard material, you see.” If Mr. Reyes and Mr. Kuznetcov pick up on the rapidly increasing animosity, they at least have the working social sense not to remark on it. Both of them thank you for your answers and then stay a little longer to talk to Namjoon again. At that point, you start to zone out of reality and have something alike Ducktales intro loudly playing in your mind.

When they bid their goodbyes almost twenty minutes later, the re-purposed great conference hall is nearly empty. Jin had disappeared without you seeing. And so has V, thank God. Briefly, you try to find someone else familiar but there is none. Finally, the pair leaves, and Namjoon is left openly fuming. He takes those purposeful, long strides and you almost double in two, growling:

“Don’t you even-!” He does not listen and catches your elbow in a death grip, dragging you to the first exit door into those gray nondescript hallways you loathe. You shove him away unceremoniously.

“Do you enjoy creating a mess? Or are you simply incapable of keeping a promise?” His voice is low, monotone, kicking your self-esteem right underneath Earth’s crust. It was hard - to argue with Namjoon. Just…not impossible. Overall it helped to think of it as the world’s snidest debate match.

“I distinctly remember not promising anything due to this very reason.”

“Your reason being?”

“My direct duties as a custodian.” Namjoon actually snarls.

“To the boy?”

“His name is Erik,” you lightly correct and for some reason, he gives a mirthless laugh. As if that’s faintly amusing.

“You’ve never treated your duties seriously.”

“Actually, I have. You just don’t like it if I do something on my own.” It’s a deja vu at this point. You’ve had this conversation, point by point, five years ago.

A beat of silence passes.

Then another one.

“You’re happy now?” Namjoon asks. You suspect largely to make you feel guilty over something not defined.

“Of course. We just had a perfectly pleasant conversation.” You say matter-of-factly. Yes, it is hard to argue with Namjoon but once you learn that his biggest weakness is someone brushing off all of his righteous fury aside and not let it underneath the skin... Well, it is a couple of hundred steps towards mastery on this very vague debate team.

“Clean yourself up.” He bites his last and stomps away. You wait until he disappears up the exit stairs and let out a long sigh, letting your spine relax.

You turn around all too ready to go home and drown inside your mattress but freeze upon seeing Jimin. He stands quite far away, by appearance having just exited the conference hall. There are faint creases in his face and mute worry reflecting in the eyes. No doubt, he heard at least half the conversation. You both stand awkwardly in the silence of the hallway, each rooted in their own spot. He gives a small smile, an attempt at comfort. So very like Jimin. You lightly shrug as if to say - “it is what it is”. To not look him into the eyes, you turn your head to the top of his head. It is pink now. Looks nice. You point to the top of your own head and give a thumbs up, hoping he’d get what you’re trying to gesture. He does. Jimin gives another smile, a touch shyer as he lowers his eyes in silent gratitude at the compliment but the worry doesn’t decrease.

The conversation if it could be called that ends there and after another heavy sigh, he walks back into the hall.

“Life is like a hurricane, here in, Duckberg,” you bop quietly walking down the empty hallway.

***

Namjoon sags into the chair of his office in total darkness as he didn’t bother to turn on the lights. The only faint illumination is provided by the neon lights of the city below. The walk of twenty-five floors has taken all the wind out of him, along with it the anger. Thirty minutes ago he was mumbling it like a mantra in his head. He’d wrangle your neck if you dared to show your face and now he finds the very idea irrational. Jin had said his temper has gotten worse over the course of six years. The unrelenting stress taking a toll, he said. Maybe, maybe it was the stress. But Namjoon begrudgingly had to admit it was you who hit the nail of the problem. He took an issue wherever you or really anyone in his care did things on their own. He was the leader, the face of everything they try to do here. To save the world, that’s what the tag line said. But years after years of trying to save the world and years after years worth of sacrifices piling up, he’d rather start not to save the world but just save someone.

And then you came here, nearly six years ago, forlorn and bent on killing yourself and he lets you into this hellhole. Let's you stay so you could find meaning in the vague promises of being an underground hero, a vigilante. And then when it becomes peaceful when life seems to be good, you take a dive. A dive that just keeps ongoing. And it’s not that Namjoon doesn’t trust you. You’ve matured in heaps and bounds and reached a notable level of professionalism within the cleaner department. But the world is another thing. A shelter sometimes can be confining but it is ultimately safe. Isn’t safety better than running around jumping from one risky decision to another for the sake of “living adventurous life”?

Namjoon lets his head drop into the palms of his hands. Lately, this is all he’s been doing. Getting angry and then feeling like a complete villain. A pulse begins to form behind his eyes. The telltale sign of an incoming migraine.

God, he just wants to sleep.

***

“Get out,” you murmur half-heartedly, closing the doors to your small apartment. Pop music blasts inside the apartment with Erik lazily enjoying cherry candy sticks on the top of your bed.

“Oh, you’re home.”

“And you’re here. See how upset that makes me?” Erik stared at your stilled expression.

“Devastating,” he murmurs, “did your get your ass kicked? For being late?”

“Well, as long as never show my face there ever again and die on this very spot, no, I’ve handled it quite well.” He points at you with the red object, voice insinuating a captivating intrigue -

“I’m sorry for tonight but I promise tomorrow you’ll have reparations.”

- when it was just plain annoying.

“Instead of thousand sorry’s, I’d like to hear at least once you ask for my permission.”

“You’d say no.”

“I like saying no. It lowers your enthusiasm.”

Erik grumbles something indecipherable. A person busts in through the doors along with the hearty clanging of two bottles smacking against each other.

“What is he doing here?” Irina throws a disapproving look towards the bed.

“No idea.”

“Get out.”

“No, but -”

“Get lost,” you echo Irina.

“Okey-dokey.” And with obnoxious curtsy accompanied with “ladies!” Erik is gone without another whine. You sigh heavily, absent-mindedly poking at the small tower of empty coffee mugs sitting in the sink. There has been no time during the week. You’ve been far too busy spending your free time in alteration between watching old cartoons and staring at a wall.

Irina places her coat and shoes next to her, frowning at the door.

“Why do you even like this kid?” You give a simple shrug. Maybe deep down you know the answer, maybe you don’t but largely you don’t think it matters. Erik was your trainee and that was the end of that. Well, that was how much you were willing to share with the outer world.

“He thinks differently.”

“Isn’t it just the fact that he wears red eyeshadow?” You still for a moment, looking at the paper bags Irina places on your kitchen table.

“Omelas?”

“Yeah.” She puts down the two faded tourist mugs from inside the small kitchen cupboard. I love Vienna and Someone in Paris misses you respectively. You look at the mugs almost apprehensively as if their appearance was somehow offensive but say nothing. They were just mugs after all. Nothing more.

Irina pours the champagne and pops open the white takeout boxes, pushing one in your direction.

“Snagged this from the anniversary party.” She proudly proclaimed, “they had really big banquet tables.”

“Yeah, I saw.” You take a sip of the champagne wincing at the taste. The label of 2004 Philipponnat Clos des Goisses Brut promised its tasters lively energy and tastes of lemon peel, pear, hazelnuts, and mint. What was on your tongue tasted like pure acid. No better than the cheapest energy drink found in the shadiest small stores peppered across the town.

“What are you thinking?”

“The name is obnoxiously long.” Irina huffs while dutifully stuffing her mouth full of chicken.

“No, I meant -” she takes a breath, gulping down on the champagne. For a second you almost worry she’ll end up hacking herself to death at this rate of consumption.

“Did our CEO invite you?”

“Yes.”

“And something happened?”

“Yes.”

“You want to talk about it?”

“No.” She falls silent. After a moment, she unexpectedly reaches across the table and pushes a bite of her rice into your mouth.

“Let’s never be sad over anyone, okay.” You push the rice on the one side of your cheek to push through a flirtatious -

“Only over you.”

Irina gives a wry smile.

28 notes · View notes

angelsdemonsducks · 5 years ago

Text

you don't like the ending (we'll find one that's yours)

“Logan,” Virgil says, softly, slowly, “you do know that you’re allowed to be a person, right?”

In the aftermath: Logan, Virgil, and things that have gone unsaid for far too long.

(ao3 link)

When all is said and done, Logan sits in his room for a little while, hands folded neatly in his lap, staring at the ceiling. It’s painted with a star map, charting the cosmos: Ursa Major by Ursa Minor, Perseus reaching for Andromeda, Canis Major ever lapping at Orion’s heels. They glow with a bright, otherworldly light against a black backdrop, and they change as the seasons turn, too, change and wheel overhead as the real night sky does.

Though, of course, the night sky does not actually change. Just the human perspective of it. Stars are ever-constant; it is the Earth that is not, human perception that is flawed.

Roman helped him set it up, years ago. The remembrance lies bitter and heavy on his chest.

He is not hurt. He is not hurt, because he does not feel. There is a pounding in his head that refuses to abate and a stinging in his eyes that blurs his vision, but such physical reactions will stop eventually, if he ignores them for long enough. He is practiced in this, by now. He is not hurt.

He firmly believes that there is nothing that cannot be solved with the application of the scientific method. This past hour is no different. As with all else, it can be analyzed through the lens of conducting an experiment.

He lays out the memories neatly in his mind for review.

Hypothesis: His physical presence and interaction with the other sides is not necessary for Thomas to maintain a healthily logical existence.

There are too many variables for this to be considered a controlled setting. All of the others have so many emotions, and as such, are prone to outbursts and unpredictability that may skew any data collected. He is accustomed to this, after all this time, and has learned to set his expectations accordingly. But there are two variables that can be defined with little difficulty: the independent and dependent variable. The variable that he manipulates, and the variable that changes due to this manipulation.

Independent variable: His presence in the discussion. Keeping in line with the video game theme the others seem to be holding to, he presents himself as an information-dispensing “NPC,” or “non-player character,” as he understands the definition to be, in an effort to be less intrusive in the conversation. Half the time, he does not bother to speak.

Dependent variable: How Thomas, Patton, and Roman react to this method of interaction.

It is difficult to collect data for this variable. There are no numbers to record, nothing that is quantifiable. He has to rely purely on qualitative data, collected based on observation and description. It is discomfiting, how much room for error and misinterpretation that leaves, but he is confident in his ability to be a passive, unbiased researcher. He records what he observes and nothing more.

Data: They seem tentatively interested in the beginning, curious about the novelty of his chosen method, if nothing else. Roman even takes the time to read the text box aloud. But the intrigue soon wanes. He is cut off both literally and figuratively, skipped, dismissed at every turn. When they allow him to speak, it is with begrudging toleration. When he offers silent information, they ignore him. When Deceit takes his place, they do not notice the difference.

His hands clench into fists, ever so briefly. He stares at the ceiling. At the shining stars that Roman helped him to paint so long ago as he grinned and chattered about nothing in particular, paint splattered on his clothes and all across his face. Roman is always so fussy about his appearance that Logan had thought that existing in such a disheveled state would irritate him, but when he pointed it out, Roman laughed, reached out, and swiped his paint-coated thumb across his cheek, loudly proclaiming that now, they matched. And Logan felt so warm, inside and out, despite the fact that he keeps his room at a cool twenty degrees Celsius.

This is a digression. Completely irrelevant to the experiment at hand. He pulls himself back to the pertinent memories.

From the data, results can be extrapolated. It is a simple matter of deciding whether the information gathered supports or refutes the hypothesis. He has collected more than enough observations to make a decision.

Conclusion: All data suggests

His mind stalls. He shakes his head. This should be easy. Data from experimentation, and conclusions from data. That is how the scientific method works.

Conclusion: All data suggests that the hypothesis is correct, and that his presence is neither necessary nor especially welcome amongst the others. His duty can be safely performed from a distance. Further experimentation will be needed to determine the best way in which to do so.

His eyes trace the patterns of the constellations, steadfast and sure, and he thinks about his failures. Thinks about how he attempted to be as unobtrusive as possible, how he ensured that if his input was unwanted, the others would be able to ignore him, to block him out. He gave them the option, so even if he were capable of feeling upset, he should not be. He should not care that they do not care, that they listen to him when it is convenient for them and discard him when it is not.

He doesn’t care. It was simply part of the experiment. It is simply one more hypothesis confirmed. Never mind that he was not actually attempting to conduct an experiment at the time. Approaching this issue in this manner imposes order on disordered, messy thoughts, forces him to think objectively.

Logan sits in his room, and he breathes.

Then, there is a knock at his door, rushed and urgent. He frowns. After how that disaster ended, he would have thought that Patton would be with Roman. And… he’s almost sure it wouldn’t be Deceit-- or should he be calling him by his name now? He is unsure; he was not present for the admission, which may imply a lack of permission, but Deceit confessed in front of Thomas, which may in fact imply blanket permission for all the occupants of his mindscape.

A dilemma to ponder later, perhaps. He stands, rolling his shoulders back, and crosses his room to the door. He opens it, and it’s not Patton, and it’s certainly not Deceit.

It’s Virgil.

He’s pale and hunched over, shoulders set defensively. His eyes are red, as if he’s been crying, and Logan opens his mouth to query as to whether there is something he can help him with. He did think it odd, that Virgil chose not to involve himself in the discussion at all, though clearly he has been affected by it to some degree. Of course, Patton is really the one to go to with issues of the emotional kind, but perhaps he tried and found Patton to be busy with Roman. Logan is a poor substitute, but if Virgil desires his help, then he will try his best.

“Virgil,” he says. “Is there something I can do for you?”

For a long moment, Virgil stares at him. Stares, and says nothing.

“Can I come in?” he asks at last.

Logan furrows his brow, but stands aside so that he is no longer blocking the door. “Of course,” he says, and Virgil slips past him and into his room. After a moment of hesitation, he closes the door behind him and turns to face Virgil, who stands in the center of the room, looking up at the ceiling. He looks small, somehow, and lost.

“How are you?” Logan tries. “I understand that there were some topics raised in that discussion that may have left you uncomfortable, assuming that you were listening to it, and I can’t imagine that you were particularly pleased with all aspects of the outcome. Is there anything that you would like to talk about?”

Virgil stares at the ceiling for a moment longer, and then looks to Logan. Logan is taken aback by the expression of devastation that flickers across his face, the sorrow in his eyes and downturned corners of his mouth.

He is expecting him to say something about Roman’s outburst, or about the perils of trusting Deceit as Thomas seems ready to do, but what comes out of his mouth instead is,

“Can I, um, hug you?”

Logan blinks. Plays back the memory in his mind to ascertain that no, he did not mishear. And then, uncertainly, he spreads his arms.

Virgil does not often ask for physical affection, though he is less shy about it now than he once was.

“Yes, certainly,” he says, “though, you know that Patton is--”

He is cut off by Virgil all but launching himself into his arms; all the breath escapes his lungs in a single gust. Virgil’s arms snake around his back, holding him tightly, and he buries his face in his shoulder. For a moment, Logan is completely at a loss; he does not seek out hugs because he does not need them, and typically, nobody asks him for one. In fact, he can’t quite recall the last time that he had such extended physical contact with someone.

It takes a few seconds for him to react, to bring his arms up to encircle Virgil in turn.

“I don’t want Patton,” Virgil mumbles into Logan’s shirt. “I want you.”

“I--” Logan blinks a few times, rapidly, in succession. Because surely, that does not make any sense. Patton is, objectively, the best at hugging out of all of them-- though, actually, now that he considers it, should Deceit be considered for the position, by virtue of having three pairs of arms? Would that make for a more efficient hug, if there were more arms to perform the action? How would one go about measuring such a thing?

Regardless, Patton is certainly the most practiced at giving comfort, and as the center of Thomas’ emotions, it can be assumed that he has the best mindset for it. Why, then, would Virgil claim to seek him for comfort rather than Patton?

“I’m not sure that I understand,” he admits softly, and Virgil pulls back a bit, enough so that they are face to face, though he doesn’t let go entirely. His hands are gripping Logan’s shirt so tightly that they are sure to leave wrinkles.

“I care about you,” Virgil says fiercely. “I care about you so goddamn much. And I want to spend time with you. I never, ever want you to spare me your company, or whatever the fuck that was all about in there.”

He feels a sudden, deep urge to adjust his glasses, to fiddle with his tie, to do something to place distance between himself and Virgil. But somehow, he can’t bring himself to let go of his grip on Virgil’s back. “I… see,” he says, a bit helplessly, even though he does not see, at all. “Is this about what I said to the others? That wasn’t--”

“That wasn’t what?” Virgil interrupts. “That wasn’t what you meant? Just because I wasn’t participating doesn't mean I wan’t listening. It was pretty obvious that you did mean it, Logan.”

Logan frowns. He is growing tired of being interrupted today. Logically, there is no difference between when the others did it and when Virgil does it, except for the fact that he is physically interacting with Virgil, so there is no reason for his sudden... exhaustion. That’s all it is. Exhaustion.

He’s not sure why he expected Virgil to let him finish his sentence.

“I was going to say that it wasn’t important,” he corrects. “I--”

“No,” Virgil cuts in again, and he must react visibly, because Virgil grimaces apologetically. “I’m sorry for talking over you,” he adds, voice a bit softer. “But I kinda don’t think you’re going to let me say what I need to say if I don’t, because you’re wrong, Logan. You are so, so important.”

“I was not attempting to imply otherwise,” Logan replies. “I never said that I wasn’t important. I am very aware that I am important. With an absence of Logic, Thomas’ life would surely devolve into chaos. I am well aware that my fulfillment of my duties is necessary for Thomas to live healthily and successfully.”

For some reason, this only seems to upset Virgil more. “No,” he repeats, frustrated. “I’m not talking about Logic. I’m talking about you, Logan, as a person. You are important.”

Is… he speaking circularly on purpose? What exactly is he trying to say? Usually, he finds Virgil to be refreshingly clear when compared to the other sides, so this interaction so far has been oddly frustrating.

“I’m not certain I understand what you’re attempting to convey.” He pauses. “What is the difference between me and Logic? I am Logic.”

“You’re Logic,” Virgil says, “but you’re Logan, too, and, and I just wanted to make sure that you were okay, because they kept talking over you and shutting you up and you didn’t even go and argue with them in person and then you said that, and I got--” He pauses-- “scared.”

Logan believes in the pursuit of knowledge, in enlightenment over ignorance. But somehow, some part of him dreads asking what Virgil means.

“Scared of what?”

For a moment, Virgil is silent, and something like panic flickers on his face. Then, he closes his eyes and breathes. Logan recognizes the pattern: in for four seconds, hold for seven, out for eight.

“I’m scared that you don’t know how much we love you,” Virgil says, opening his eyes. His voice is quiet and nervous and vulnerable. “How much I love you.”

For a moment, all he can register is Virgil’s arms around him: their weight, their warmth. That, and the silence in his room.

Evidence shows that stars produce sounds, though not any that fall within the human range of hearing. The stars on his ceiling, however, are utterly mute.

“I don’t understand,” he says weakly. “I--”

“Logan--”

But no, he has had enough of being overridden. There is only so much he can take before something has to give, and he reached that limit over an hour ago, about when Roman slashed through his contribution like it meant nothing, when Patton pressed skip as if he meant nothing, when Deceit yanked him out of frame and replaced him, and he didn’t bother to put up a fight because no one was listening to him and if he couldn't accomplish anything by speaking, maybe he could by shutting up since that seemed to be what everyone wanted anyway--

And now Virgil is here, saying what? It doesn’t follow, logically, and if there is anything which Logan cannot abide, it is faulty logic.

“No,” he says, and Virgil, mercifully, allows him to talk. “No, that doesn’t make sense. If there is anything that has become glaringly apparent recently, it is that none of you want or care for my presence. No, I’m not done,” he adds, cutting off Virgil’s protest before it can begin. “I am not upset about it. I do not get upset. But logically speaking, the fact that I cannot impart even the most basic of facts before I am interrupted or overruled points to the conclusion that none of you particularly care about what I have to say. Which is, and I will reiterate this point, fine, as I do not need any of you to like me in order to perform my function adequately.”

Virgil stares at him, and then steps back, releasing Logan entirely.

“Oh my god,” he says. “That’s not fine.”

Logan sighs.

“Didn’t I just say that it is?” he asks. “There’s no need for you to be experiencing emotional distress over this matter, Virgil.”

“You just told me that you think none of us care about you, and you think I’m not going to experience some fucking emotional distress?” Virgil stops suddenly, shaking his head. “Wait, no, this isn’t about me. Logan, we’ve been treating you like shit. You’re… you can be upset about it. You know that, right? Because it’s not fine, it is so far past fine that we are in, like, Canada or some shit, and you don’t have to act like it’s fine.”

“I am not ‘acting like it’s fine,’” he says. “It is fine, and I’m not upset. I do not get upset. I’ve told you this. I don’t understand--”

“You do get upset, Logan, you are literally getting upset right now, and that’s okay, you can be upset, you have every right to be upset--”

It’s one interruption too many.

“I am not upset!”

The shout hangs in the air long after the words have left his lips. His chest is heaving, he notes dimly, and his hands are clenched. His ears are ringing, too, and his head pounds.

Oh.

Oh, no. He can’t do this. He can’t do this, and he especially can’t do this now, with Virgil in the room, because he is not supposed to be like this. He has tried so hard not to be like this, has tried so hard to be the cool, rational embodiment of logic that he is supposed to be, but somehow, he continually fails. But it is impossible to reverse time, impossible to erase the outburst now that it has been vocalized, so he stands there, shaking slightly, finding it harder and harder to meet Virgil’s eyes.

“I am not supposed to get upset,” he says eventually, to end the silence more than anything else. “I… apologize. That was unseemly of me.”

“Logan,” Virgil says, softly, slowly, “you do know that you’re allowed to be a person, right?”

He blanks.

“We’re not people,” he says weakly. “We are facets of the personality of a person. My job is to be logical. I’m just trying to do my job.”

Virgil closes his eyes and breathes in his pattern again. Then, he opens them and steps closer. He reaches for Logan’s hands, taking both of them in his own and worrying at the fingers until they begin to relax. Logan stares at them, at his hands in Virgil’s, at Virgil sweeping his thumb across his knuckles slowly and methodically.

“Then let’s look at it logically,” Virgil says. He speaks in that same low tone of voice. It reminds Logan of a nature documentary, one where the narrator uses a soothing, gentle cadence so as not to scare the animals. “Alright?”

Logan nods. He doesn’t trust himself to speak.

“If we’re all just supposed to do our jobs,” Virgil says, “our jobs and absolutely nothing else, then I would be anxious all the time, right? I mean, I already am, mostly, but that would mean that I would only be able to feel anxious. No positive emotions, no happiness. Everything that’s been so good about the past few years, with you guys, I wouldn’t be able to have that. Do you think that’s how it should be?”

His voice remains gentle, but for their impact, he may as well be shouting.

“Of course not!” Logan says. The very idea is incredibly displeasing. “But that’s different.”

“Okay, how is it different?”

“Your ability to feel positive emotions does not hamper your ability to perform your basic function. You can be both happy and anxious, at the same time or at different times. The two are not mutually exclusive.” He shakes his head. “I need to be logical, to be rational, and that is everything that emotions are not. If I allow myself to feel, then I allow my judgement to be clouded, and Thomas cannot afford to have a Logic with clouded judgement.”

Virgil frowns. “But that’s just it,” he says. “You have emotions. You’re not stopping yourself from having emotions. No one can do that. You’re just refusing to acknowledge that you have them. Doesn’t that kind of repression cloud your judgement more?”

His mouth goes very dry. He feels as though his heart has stopped, which is ridiculous, because he knows full well that his heart is functioning properly. It seems to be the rest of him that has stopped working. Drawing breath is becoming increasingly difficult, for some reason, which is frustrating because there is absolutely nothing physically wrong with him and thus, no reason for this reaction.

Virgil… has to be wrong. He’s not repressing anything. One cannot repress something that one does not possess. But then, the point of repression is to make oneself believe that one does not possess something, or that one has not done something, so if one is skilled enough at repression, one might not know that they are in the act of repressing. Which would make one an unreliable narrator, which is a disturbing concept to contemplate, because if one cannot rely on one’s own perception of reality, then what can one trust?

Human perception is so, so flawed. He cannot afford flawed perception.

“I’m not repressing anything,” he says. His voice is a reedy whisper even to his own ears. He can’t imagine he sounds very convincing. “That’s what Patton does.”

Virgil quirks a brow. “Yeah, Teach, I don’t think that’s a, uh. What did you say? Mutually exclusive? I don’t think that’s a mutually exclusive thing. Patton doesn’t have a monopoly on repression.”

“But I’m Logic,” he insists. “There’s nothing there to repress.”

Virgil pauses, and for a moment, Logan thinks that he is about to concede the argument. For some reason, it feels like a hollow victory.

But then, Virgil draws him into another hug. He leans into it, unresisting, but his arms won’t move to return it.

“You’re Logan,” Virgil says softly. “You’re not just Logic, and you’re not a robot. You’ve gotta let yourself be human, buddy.”

“I’m not-- I can’t--” His voice catches, breaks, and he realizes with a rising horror that he has begun to cry. He has begun to cry, and it’s humiliating, because he doesn’t know why, because he’s not sad, not at all, because he doesn’t--

He doesn’t--

He doesn’t feel--

Oh.

Oh, oh, oh.

Oh, god.

He’s such a failure.

“No, no, shh, you’re not a failure,” Virgil says, and that’s just another figurative nail in the figurative coffin, isn’t it, that he’s speaking aloud without even realizing that he’s doing it. “You are the furthest thing from a failure that I know. You’re so good, Logan. Feeling things isn’t a failure. You have to let yourself feel.”

“I don’t know how,” Logan says, broken, almost gasping. He doesn’t want to be saying these things. He feels like he’s losing control, and he’s so terrified. “I’ve never known how. I have to be taken seriously, Virgil, I can’t afford not to be taken seriously--”

There. The admission is out there, out in the world, out in this world that is just the two of them, just him and Virgil locked in an embrace, just him and Virgil as his tears leak onto the fabric of Virgil’s hoodie. Once spoken, they cannot be unspoken, and Logan feels--

He feels--

Oh, how he feels, and how wrong it is--

“I promise, that’s not going to happen,” Virgil says. “You’re allowed to have emotions. No one will think any less of you.”

Is this what devastation is? Is this what a tsunami feels like as it sweeps across the land, washing civilization away? His chest is tight and hot and his eyes are burning and his ears are ringing, and he’s felt this way all along but he’s refused to acknowledge that it was happening because he is Logic and Logic is not feelings, is not listened to even when he’s not displaying unbecoming emotions, so how can he possibly think that letting himself feel would be a good idea?

He doesn’t want to feel like this.

He’s felt like this for so long.

“You already think less of me!” he says. “You, you all, you never listen to what I say, you always tell me to shut up or you ignore me or I can tell that I irritate you even when I’m specifically trying not to be irritating and I don’t know what to do because nothing I try ever works.”

Virgil makes a wounded noise deep in the back of his throat, and his grip on Logan tightens.

“We owe you so many apologies,” he says. “I am so, so sorry, Logan. I am so sorry that we made you feel like we didn’t care. I am so sorry that we haven’t been listening. I am so fucking sorry that we made you feel like you needed to not have emotions just to be heard. I am so sorry.”

And Logan lets go. His breath hitches and chokes on a sob, and he doesn’t hold it back, doesn’t swallow it down and try to forget the urge was ever there in the first place.

He buries his face in Virgil’s shoulder and lets himself cry.

“I’m trying,” he gasps between sobs, “I’m trying so hard but I can’t--”

“I know,” Virgil says. “I know. You’re doing so good. I know we’ve all been shit at showing it, but we love you, Logan, really, and we’re here for you. We’re gonna do better, I swear.”

In this moment, Logan allows himself to believe that Virgil cares. He believes in what his senses can absorb, and the evidence is undeniable; it is in Virgil’s arms around him, holding him safe, in Virgil’s low, emphatic words and the way he sounds as if he, too, is near tears, as if Logan is someone worth crying over.

It occurs to him, then, that Virgil did not come here seeking comfort. He came here to offer comfort to him. All he has to do is accept it. And he shouldn’t need it, shouldn’t want it, because he is Logic and Logic does not need comforting or reassurance, but he’s far past that point already, is already weeping into Virgil’s shoulder, so perhaps it is too late to go back. The thought frightens him.

He doesn’t know how to feel. Has never known how to feel, has always thought that it would be better for himself and everyone, better for Thomas if he just. Didn’t. But Virgil says that he can, and though Virgil can be wrong, he despises deception. Virgil wouldn’t lie to him.

Perhaps this can be a start.

His arms come up, and he hugs Virgil back. Presses up close to him and revels in the warmth even as he cries.

“The others,” he says, “they don’t, they don’t like me and they don’t listen--”

“We’ll talk to them,” Virgil says. “You and me, once you’re feeling better, okay? We’ll make this right. Your feelings are valid and your contributions are important, and we’re gonna remind them about that.” His grip tightens, and when he speaks again, it’s in a whisper, as if to himself. “You’re not alone. I know how shitty it feels to think you are, but you’re not. And you’re not ever going to be.”

And Logan, shivering and shaking in Virgil’s arms, tears still crawling down his cheeks, looks up at the ceiling. At the stars, bright and constant, like a promise.

“Okay,” he whispers, and he decides to believe, if only this one more time.

Hypothesis: They care. And I am allowed to care, too.

Conclusion: Pending.

#sanders sides #ts sides #logan sanders #ts logan #virgil sanders #ts virgil #analogical #ts spoilers #sanders sides spoilers #i really hope the read more works #i'm so sorry if you had to scroll past the whole #long post #i don't post here much #but i just had a lot of feelings

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writer-akihiko · 4 years ago

Text

All For Her - Kennyo X Reader X Yandere!Nobunaga

ACTUAL ENDING, ALTERNATE ENDING

So this fic is in celebration of mah boi Kennyo getting his English route finally! @silhouette-of-a-dream thank you for your input. I hope this fic is a good kick to Nobunaga’s ego [please do not come after me nobunaga stans]

I’m glad to be back and writing for asks. Thank you to all the IkeSen readers who liked my previous headcanons. Also, to the Nobunaga stans, please keep in mind this is a work of fiction and actual not-yandere Nobunaga would not do this.

TW: Yandere, Implications of Emotional Abuse

"How would you like to rule the world by my side?"

Those words…

Those words were your death sentence.

~○~

There he stood, the great daimyo of Owari as you humbly sat next to him, the veil shielding your gaze from your surrounding and the gaze of others from you. It had always been like this. Nobunaga was a possessive man, and you being deemed as his 'lucky charm' was no means of him letting go.

Feeling the atmosphere weighing down on you, you tugged on Nobunaga's sleeve, muttering about your need to leave. Nobunaga was a proud man, and what else could he do then to carry you away bridal-style in front of all his allies and his vassals?

"I will take my bride to rest. Celebrate without me."

He ignored the protests of Hideyoshi and whisked you away to his bed. For being the Devil King of the Sixth Heaven, his touch was gentle. The words he'd say have that edge that raised the hairs of your neck, especially when he untangles your hair with his fingers.

"Just wait my lucky charm. The wars are about to end soon…" He said, undoing your obi. "Then there would be no one brave enough to take you away from me. They'd be foolish enough to try in the first place."

~○~

The next morning you woke up, you were sore in your lower region. And alone. Of course he left you. The love bites he left on your neck started to ache as you looked around the room. He must've had another war council… You shrugged it off, getting dressed with the remains of what your kimono was.

Before you could get up, a hustle of maids stormed in, in their arms were heaps of fabric and cosmetics.

"Lady YN, Lord Nobunaga wishes for you to dress for the evening," Your most loyal maid, Kinu, announced to you.

Of course, that's how it always was.

He'd let you wander around ever so freely in the morning, but it was all a trap. Whatever guards he sent out to follow you were to only escort anyone whose gaze lingered too far to be sent to the dungeon; no questions asked. It was the only form of freedom he ever gave you, but it benefitted him in his own twisted, cynical tyranny.

"Kinu, please give me my formal wear," You asked her politely. Kinu nodded, ordering the other maids to prepare for you to walk around town.

The maids had brought you a simple kimono for you to wear, although its fabric was far from cheap. As your maids adjusted your hood, Nobunaga's loyal right hand man, Hideyoshi Toyotomi, entered the tenshu by your permission.

"Does Lord Nobunaga need me Hideyoshi-san?" You addressed him. Hideyoshi sighed, unsure of your attitude at the moment. As much as he was happy for you and his lord, your change in personality made it all so strange. Was his lord not enough for you? Or was he too much? As much as he wanted to interrogate, Nobunaga was strict upon the rules about his future bride.

He shook his head. "Not in particular. He will be busy today and I overheard you were going out today," He said, fishing out a bag of coins from his kimono. "This is Masamune's payment from last week, YN. He's a bit busy wrangling with some pirates to repay you properly… You can use it to go shopping today if you'd like."

You accepted the coins graciously, not daring to life your head to meet Hideyoshi's eyes. For as much as Nobunaga had faith in his vassals, you didn't know what he'd do if he heard of your entanglement with another warlord friend of his. You were protecting them, you whispered to yourself.

After Hideyoshi left you, you wrote a note, leaving it with Kinu before you went out. You had to inform the other seamstresses of your absence for today. It wasn't truly unusual for you to be gone, but you had to be courteous towards them. Perhaps you could purchase some fabric for them in return…

Four guards trailed after you. They were a different batch this time; from their uniforms you could guess they were under Mitsunari's regime. You walked on, ignoring the chatter of those guards and simply looked over the goods the merchants of Azuchi had to offer. There wasn't much for you to see, having walked around town at least once a week for you to see the same goods here and there.

You however, did notice a small shrine, just right on the outskirts of Azuchi as you went to purchase your usual sweet buns. You turned to the guards behind you, repeating your request to them as they were dumfounded the first time you said it.

"I said, I would like to go to the temple there. I wish to offer my prayers," You said promptly, staring down the guards. "Unless I have to report to Nobunaga of your mistreatment of me."

Well, being his lover had its advantages.

The guards sweat dropped, knowing what awaited them if you snitched on them. They gave a knowing look to each other. Surely it wouldn't be so bad for the lady to offer some prayers for the sake of Azuchi right?

You walked up the corroded steps of the temple, finally approaching its gates. What a pity, you thought to yourself, seeing as how the wells were empty and the bushes were unkempt. You wouldn't comment on such things out loud, but you'd love to clean up and return to the shrine someday… That is, if that war tyrant would let you.

You had noticed that there was no pail for you to offer your prayers to. Surely, there must be some in the storeroom in the shrine…

"Lady YN! Watch―"

Before you knew it, you had a sword to your neck. The cold steel made you shiver.

"Pure maiden, what are you doing here?"

Your usual instinct would make you cry out for help, but your pride won't even allow you to seek help from anyone associated with Nobunaga.

"I came to offer my prayers."

"This is not a functioning shrine," The man who had his blade towards you pressed the steel further, but he didn't cut you. Instead, he walked around you to see your face. The purple robes and that scar across his face was all the characteristics for you to realise that the man who held his staff to you was Kennyo, the monk you met in the forest.

His stare was cold, but his eyes widened, recognising you. He removed the staff from your neck, and commanded the disguised men that subdued your guards to tie them up.

He turned back to you, asking you of your identity. "You are the future bride of Oda and the woman that appeared in the fire?"

"Unfortunately yes."

"Then I shall have to apologise for kidnapping you at the― My apologies, 'Unfortunately'? Did I hear you right?" Kennyo asked, realising what your reply meant. Would this be beneficial? He had to admit, Nobunaga was a lucky man now that he took a good look at you but no regular woman of Azuchi could resist that demon's wiles.

Kennyo sent his men off, wanting to speak to you alone. You didn't seem like you would run away, but he still had to use you to carry out his plan. He was quite taken aback at your apathetic state. He was sure you would cause a fuss after your guards were taken down, but you were relatively calm at the moment by the way you were just sitting at the edge of the shrine steps rather calmly. Mike also approached you and you started to coddle him quite affectionately. Kennyo felt oddly warm inside, unsure how he should tell you that he meant to kidnap you.

You got the monk's attention by calling out to him, "Kennyo-san, you were talking about kidnapping me?" You said, stroking the adorable calico cat in your arms.

"I apologise for that statement," Kennyo coughed, relieved you snapped him out of his trance. "I would have to use you to carry out my plan."

You smiled, finding his honesty quite charming. "Well, I guess I have nothing better to do," You said quite boldly. "Kennyo-san, let me make this clear. I am not assisting you because I believe in your cause. I only wish to get away from Nobunaga, so please, after my part is done, let me go."

"Eh? Nobunaga is that bad in bed that you left him?" Another man approached you two, and you heard Kennyo sigh beside you. The man must've been an ally of Kennyo…

"Motonari…"

"What? You surely took your sweet time with the lady," He said, teasing the fellow monk.

"Well," You said, unsure how to insert yourself in the conversation. "This means I will work with you, Kennyo-san, Motonari-san."

~○~

"Kennyo-san? You called for me?" You said, entering his room. You had moved to Kennyo's official base, as the shrine near Azuchi was for Kennyo to oversee his wounded brothers.

Kennyo tensed up at your voice. Why did he call you again? He was a monk for the lord's sake, not some cheeky soldier…

"About your release…" He began. 'I don't want you to go…' He wanted to say. He couldn't, drinking his tea to stop himself from saying such embarrassing things. You were Nobunaga's betrothed. More so, you deserved better, especially with what you had been through.

"What about it?" You said, pouring more tea into Kennyo's empty cup. "I assume my duties were fulfilled then?"

"Yes," he said. "Your knowledge of medicine saved some of my brothers as well. I have to compensate you for that. Please ask for anything you want."

Anything you wanted? Those words struck a chord in you. Those words were what Nobunaga told you the first night he claimed you as his future bride. You remembered what you asked for and Nobunaga as the skilful warlord he is, cut down your request of freedom too.

Then came Nobunaga giving anything and everything he could to ensure your happiness. The point where it frightened you was when he presented the dead body of a vassal of his underling who had wronged you. His blood-covered sword was more than enough proof that Nobunaga had done the deed himself, even as he professed he killed the man in front of his whole council.

"Lady YN? Did I say something wrong?"

Kennyo's warm hands reached out to you, brushing away the tears that ran down your cheek. On instinct, you nestled into his large hands, looking at the man who had saved you from your nightmare.

"Kennyo-san, what would you do if I said I wanted you?"

You made the holy monk blush, his hand immediately retracted from your face as he blurted out all the reasons you should retract those words, "I am not worthy of your attention, Lady YN. I am no longer a man and instead I shoulder the sins that a demon such as myself are willing to commit. You are certainly ill if you think you could love a demon."

You simply laughed at his boyish shyness. "Kennyo… I am not pure as you think I am," You said, patting his head. "I'm sorry I blanked out. When you asked me to request anything, it reminded me of something similar Nobunaga said to me…"

You then explained all the horror you went through at Azuchi from Nobunaga. "He may not have harmed me physically but I can't help but be scared…" You said, finally giving in to your tears. "It must be silly for you isn't it? A person such as me confessing at a time like this…"

"You poor girl…" Kennyo brought you into his arms, claiming his finally resolve. "I will fulfil your request, Lady YN. For I too, love you more than anything else."

~○~

No matter how long you'd been in the Sengoku era, you still hated the cries of wars. You hated it, but not as much as the man who lead the Oda.

Seeing a young man in red return to camp, you immediately jumped at him. "Yukimura! Did you get any news of Kennyo?"

You were sent off to stay with the Takeda army as a form of alliance with Kennyo shortly after Kennyo's war preparations. Shingen and Yukimura had been hospitable to you, and you more than delighted to be reunited with your friend Sasuke from the Uesugi faction.

The Akazonae leader shook his head, almost regretting his words as he told you, "Some of my men said he finally confronted the Devil himself."

Amongst the bloodied war cries and the crumpled bodies of soldiers were two sworn enemies finally crossed blades.

"Your death will surely be my greatest victory," Nobunaga cried, swinging his sword at the monk. "The people would find it heroic how I rescued my bride from the Ikko Ikki's leader―"

"You defiled her!" Kennyo roared, unsheathing his staff. He blocked the rampant parries of the Devil King. "And you think that's love!"

"Of course," Nobunaga said smugly, dodging Kennyo's swing. "This war…

It's all for her."

#ikemen sengoku #ikesen kennyo #ikemen sengoku kennyo #ikemen sengoku nobunaga #yandere ikemen sengoku #yandere ikesen #kennyo #nobunaga oda #ikesen nobunaga

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vesuvian-american-fics · 4 years ago

Text

better with time. Ch 14

change your mind.

Your future with the scouts is decided, along with new duties! (AO3)

Words: 2,390

You sighed shakily on the other side of the doors, three curious cadets eyeing you over.

“Let's get back to work guys.” You said, and without another word the four of you were sweeping, dusting, and mopping in silence. Just as you were wrapping up in the kitchen, Erwin appeared in the doorway asking for you. Jean pointed in the direction of the kitchen doors as you were pulling them open.

Your brows raised in question but Erwin’s character wouldn’t allow him to answer you just yet, instead he simply opened the canteen door wider prompting you to step through and follow him down the hall. The silence was heavy, the only noise being your collective footfalls. Erwin turned his head in your direction, smiling down at you.

“I heard about your experience from the other day, how are you feeling?” He waited patiently for your response, watching the way you were sputtering trying to quickly get your words out.

“I-I’m okay now, glad to be up and about cleaning for once. Heh.” You chuckled awkwardly, his face remained unchanging.

“Glad to hear it. Step into my office.” With that he opened his heavy office door, and inside Levi and Hange were still present, the latter turning in their chair to face you.

“Ohh, Y/N!” They said, pleased with your appearance.

“Don’t act so surprised Four Eyes, we’ve only been talking about what to do with her for the last three hours.” Levi grunted, a tired look to his eyes. They flicked in your direction for only a moment before watching as Erwin took his seat behind his desk.

“So, let’s get to the point, shall we? Y/N we’ll continue our research of course, only this time Eren Jeager will be attending. We’ll use what we know about him to help you tap into whatever titan abilities you may have. There are many things we need to test for, you see, Hange if you will.” Erwin prompted. Hange turned to where you sat flipping through their notes to explain what they all know about titans from previous work with Eren and experience outside the walls.

“First, we tested to see if you could transform. That’s still up in the air, with that comes healing and regeneration...” Hange paused to gage your reaction, you looked puzzled.

“Regeneration? What do you mean?”

“Think of it like this, brat... If I cut off your arm now, will it grow back tomorrow?” Levi questioned, his tone seemed threatening but you couldn’t tell if you should actually be worried or not. You swallowed loudly, your hand coming to rub comfortingly against your forearm.

“E-eh! But no worries Y/N! That won’t happen! We do have to test it but we won't take any limbs, or even any phalanges!! Just a cut to your palm to see how fast you heal, titans and shifters heal much faster than normal humans from what we’ve seen.” They continued to explain, you masked your nausea with forced determination.

They need to know, and the more they know the quicker this can be over. Not that you know what will happen to you after all of this.

“And if you can shift, can you move during the nighttime, because most cannot. How did you manage to regain your humanity? Are there others like you? Can you communicate with them? These are things we need to know.” Erwin added, his blue eyes floating over your face, taking in your features. Visibly scared and reluctant, a storm in your eyes.

"Basically, if you're of any use or are you worthless." Levi added flatly.

“But the good news is, we’re still the only ones that know about you. You’re safe here, Y/N. We’re not planning on letting anyone know of your existence until we know wall that there is to know. The others can be...” Erwin searched for the word in his mind before Levi cut in.

“Idiotic? Useless? Dimwitted? They wanted to cut the other brat open when they found out about him.” Levi said, crossing on leg over the other.

“The others?” You asked, your lips were parted in astonishment. Cut him open?

“The military police and the church.” He replied matter of factly, noting your bewilderment.

“Thats exactly why we want to keep things under wraps before they catch word. They don’t have experience with titans so their fear takes hold and they become irrational. They’d sooner kill you before hearing you out.” Erwin said, lacing his fingers together on his desk. This was a lot to take in. Things were more complicated than you had previously presumed, but even still what did you expect? You know nothing of these people and their society. All you have ever known was this one base.

You heaved a shaking sigh before shifting uncomfortably in your seat. Hange. Levi, and Erwin all exchanged quick glances before changing the topic of conversation.

“Well, I have good news, Y/N!” Hange cooed, wrapping their arm over your shoulder and pulling you close. The cloud of negativity in your head instantly dissipated at the contact.

“What is it?” You asked, curiosity prickling your skin.

“I feel bad only seeing you clean and get hurt here, so I got permission to let you help out in the kitchen at meal times! You can help cook!”

“Really?” You glanced between Hange and Erwin, who only smiled in response.

“I think I'd love to cook... t-thank you so much.” You said, suddenly feeling like a part of your character revolved around cooking and eating with your family, though the full memory eludes you still. Levi scoffed, folding his arms together.

“We don’t eat human meat around here, if I find even a single finger in my soup--” He was quickly cut off by Hange’s boisterous laughter.

“Lighten up Levi! This’ll be good for Y/N.” Hange said, giving you a squeeze before heading for the door. Levi’s eyes narrowed at Hange’s words before they slid over to you. Your smile, your eyes looking soft and appreciative. Your bottom lip trembled for only a moment before you sharply inhaled and lifted your head.

“Follow me Y/N! I’ll show you the food we got!” Hange said and you followed their lead. Levi hadn’t noticed but his frown instantly vanished the moment he saw you almost brought to tears by this new job for you. Erwin always the one with sharp eyes for these things hummed to himself in thought.

“How are things?” He asked, bringing Levi back down to earth.

“Tiring. She used to be insufferable, utterly a chore to be around.” Levi complained, surveying his nail beds to keep from making eye contact with his Commander.

“Used to be?” Erwin asked, a playful lilt to his words. Levi’s brow twitched before he stood to take his leave, wordlessly.

...

For dinner that night, tomato soup with bread. Unlike what the cooks for the evening were used to, you added cream to the soup and other seasonings you found collecting dust.

“OOOOH! WHO’S ON KITCHEN DUTY? I need to hug them!” Sasha announced, shedding euphoric tears at the unusual, yet delicious flavor. The other young cadets exchanged cautious looks before simultaneously taking a small spoonful of the soup into their mouths.

The table fell silent as they assessed the flavor, then the next second only the sounds of spoons, slurping, and blissful sighs could be heard. The squad leader table, consisting of Levi, Hange, Miche, Moblit, and Erwin watch as their cadets chow down.

“Bunch of pigs...” Levi comments, he turns his attention to Hange who he finds eating just as monstrously as the cadets. He groans eyeing his soup over; he glances to Erwin who just finished his first bite. He gives a delighted hum at the food before dipping in his spoon for another. Miche sniffs, a smile forming on his face. He and Moblit dig in leaving only Levi who hasn’t tasted yet.

Having finished cleaning up in the kitchen, you joined their table with a bowl filled with your own soup. You felt giddy hearing the way Sasha and Connie whined for more food.

“Do you like it?” You asked Levi, seeing as how he didn’t seem to be having as much of an outward reaction as everyone else. Your eyes caught a glimpse of his spoon, completely clean. You couldn’t fight the way your shoulders dropped seeing that he hadn’t even tasted it yet.

“Oh... well, I hope you like it.” You said before grabbing your spoon and taking your first bite. Your lips curled into a satisfied smile before you went for another, and then a third. Levi couldn’t deny that it smelled nice and fresh, different from when regular cadets had their turn to scrape something together.

Levi gave his soup one last look before finally dipping his spoon in and taking it to his lips. You waited with bated breath for his commentary. The two of you used to butt heads a lot, but something in you wanted his approval on mundane things. Maybe it was that you wanted him to think differently of you. Maybe it was something else.

Seeing as you weren't going to take silence for an answer, with the way you even ventured to scoot closer to him, Levi felt pressured to respond. He sighed dramatically, rolling his head on his shoulders in agitation.

“It’s edible.” He said, cocking his brow at you, daring you to complain. You snorted at the comment before returning to your soup and he did the same in silence. It was really good, but his pride wouldn’t allow him to admit that it’s the best thing he’d eaten in a long time.

“Y/N were you a chef in a past life or something?” Hange asked, not realizing the unintentional gravity of their question, but you ignored the painful throb it gave your heart.

“I’m not sure, haha.” You replied wearily, your chuckle was forced and there was no smile to your eyes. It wasn’t Hange’s fault, you desperately wanted to remember who you were. Or, at least, you quickly wanted to make peace with the fact that you may never know. Moblit gave Hange a soft nudge with his elbow, nodding in your direction. Hange noticed you looked sad for a moment, but quickly deflected the growing melancholy.

“I’m glad you liked the food! I had to learn how to work a lot of the things back there, but once I did, I had a lot of fun. Got my mind off things for a few hours.” You said, a sad smile on your lips, but a genuine one. The table fell silent for a moment but it was interrupted by Levi standing from his seat.

“Meet me outside.”

Your brows knitted together in confusion at the order, but nevertheless, after you deposited your bowl and his at the sink in the kitchen you did as you were told. You met him outside where he kept his back to you. Next to him sat a few buckets and scrubbing brushes. More chores. Great.

“You’re not as troublesome as you used to be. Today was your last day of cleaning duty. I'm upgrading you to stable duty. Keep ‘em clean and orderly how I like.” That didn’t sound like much of a gift, but you were happy to not need to clean the entire kitchen all the time anymore.

“Take care of the horses, feed and water them, brush ‘em out all of that. It’s dirty work, but I imagine you’ll enjoy the horse's company.” He said, finally turning to face you. He stalked forward to you, closer than he has ever been before. Reading the situation completely wrong your heart fluttered in your chest, your cheeks burning at the sudden proximity.

“The horses are important and vital to scouting missions. You mess up, you’re done. That’s it.”

“O-okay! Thank you, Captain!”

“Don’t call me that...”

“Thank you, Levi!” You corrected instantly, sweat beading at your brow. You don’t understand why now you were so insecure in Levi’s presence but, that’s something you’ll put to the back of your mind for now. This was a big job requiring a lot of trust from him, the fruits of your labor.

“There's only three things you need to worry about now. Cooking, shoveling horse shit, and getting Erwin results from your titan experiments. So, get it done.”

You nodded in response and with that, he left you to get acquainted with the horses. You watched as he disappeared inside, you turned on your heel and when rounding the corner there they were. The stables were modest, just wood and nail constructed to house a fleet of horses. On the inside, it was dirty. Very dirty . Whoever’s job it was to clean this before were obviously lacking in discipline you thought. You whined but before getting yourself dirty making this place clean, you met the horses.

The horses farthest to the end was Levi’s, a huge stallion with marvelous shiny black fur. A luscious mane, and kind eyes. You smiled at the horse, offering your hand for it to sniff. It huffed at you before lowering its head for you to caress.

“Your rider makes me nervous. How do you work with him so well?” The horse whinnied in response making you laugh.

“Look, I’m not sure if I’m afraid of him or just desperate for his faith. But it’s doing a number on my nerves either way.” The horse neighed loudly, swishing its tail back and forth.

“Don’t laugh at me! I’m serious! One moment he’s mean and intimidating, the next it’s like he kind of thinks I’m tolerable. Like I’m his friend at least sometimes!” You pressed your forehead to the horse's snout before humming to yourself.

“Well, horsey, next time you see him, tell him to give me a break. Now let's get this place cleaned up."

Outside the stable, Levi listened as you retrieved the rake and began shoveling the hay around. His arms were folded over his chest, his once knitted brows softening as his eyes shifted to his feet at the ground. He had come to tell you not to bother with brushing out his horse, in fear that it wouldn’t be up to his standards but...

He thinks his horse is in good hands now.

#better with time.#levi ackerman #levi #levi x reader #aot #snk #attack on titan

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