#he offers free hugs though reluctant and will shake (surprise surprise when you do hug him expect him to start crying out of surprise)

[ciphercalamitiez]

ah yes! a new oc! i sure hope he does not get heartwrenching trauma right when he’s brought into this world!

[procrastinatingsapphictrash]

I came back for you

Word count: 2123

Genre: Angst but happy end

Pairing: Natasha x gn!reader

Warnings: Abusive prison/government (let me know if I need to add any)

Request: Hey, so this is kind of a weird request, but could you do a Nattie x Powered! Reader during Civil War, where Nat, of course, is on Tony's team, and the Reader is trying to keep the peace between the two teams. Maybe the government takes (Y/n) and puts her in a shock collar like Wanda's because they think she was on Steve's team? Sorry this is so weird . . .

Summary: You are neutral in the fight, or so you think before you are told you can't be and are taken away with the rest of Cap's team.

A/n: Thanks @thewidowsghost for requesting this! Honestly I didn't plan on writing anything or posting anything today but I saw that I had a little bit of this done and to be honest my day has sucked so I needed a distraction and this worked perfectly. Also I could someone tell me how the formatting looks? I'm trying the new beta editor and I think I'm doing things right but idk. Anyways I hope you all enjoy!

As you take in the scene that surrounds you you can’t believe that you once considered everybody to be a big weird family. Certainly none of them are acting like it now. It breaks your heart to see them on opposite sides, throwing themselves at each other because apparently their personal beliefs are more important than their friends.

Neither of them are right or wrong in your opinion. There’s too many factors and both options suck, it’s the government’s fault for placing the team in this situation. However you are not happy with the way anyone is handling it, especially Steve, Tony and Natasha. Both Tony and Steve are acting based on what they think is right without considering the other sides to the story, although you can’t say that’s surprising coming from them. You do know that they genuinely do care for others but they can be very hard headed and neither of them like to be wrong.

It’s Natasha who you’re most disappointed in though, you thought that she would be a better negotiation, helping ease the tension but she’s out there fighting like the rest of the idiots. You thought that she would agree with you and try to bring together the two sides.

You narrow your eyes and zoom in your vision to the far side of the airport where you see Spiderman. You have no idea who he is but you can tell just by looking at him that he’s only a kid and it was irresponsible of everyone to let him be here and to fight him. You use your superspeed to get to him quickly and take him out of the way of flying cars and leave him by the side where it should be relatively safe.

“Stay here.” you tell him.

“But-”

You glare. “Stay here.”

You rush off before you can make sure he listens because you can hear a grunt of pain from Rhodney. He’s lying on the ground with Tony standing over him and Sam a few meters back. The fight seems to be ending now, you see the plane leaving and the rest of the avengers start to gather but it doesn’t matter because the damage is already done. You don’t know exactly what happened but it looks like a freak accident, somehow nobody’s fault and yet everybody’s fault for getting into this situation in the first place.

The mood is weird, as if everybody is holding their breath and taking in what they’ve done. In the background you can hear trucks pulling up and footsteps follow soon after. The first man grabs Wanda and she blasts him back lightly so he falls down. Immediately a circle forms around her, everyone pointing their guns. Clint takes a step in, raising his arms and trying to calm the situation down but the guns shift to him and one agent steps forward and roughly grabs him, forcing his wrists into cuffs.

They go for Sam next and he looks pissed but lets them cuff him without comment. Scott looks completely confused and out of his depth. You don’t know him but it’s obvious that he is not trained for these types of situations and is in over his head.

It’s Wanda that makes your heart break the most though. She’s like a little sister to you so seeing the tears in her eyes and the terror on her face as the agents move in to cuff her makes you want to wrap your arms around her and promise it will all be okay. But you can’t, that would be a lie because everything is not okay and trying to hug her would only make things worse.

The agents start to move away, leading Cap's team to their trucks to be taken away. One of them turns back and notices you, murmuring something to the agents beside them. Before you can even understand what is happening they are right back and grabbing at your arms roughly. Naturally you try to pull away but they are strong and once you realize what is happening you stop struggling.

“I didn’t pick a side,” you try to explain, “I was just trying to make sure everyone was okay.”

“You didn’t sign the accords and therefore have no right to be here.” one of the men tells you. You look towards Tony’s team for help but they all seem to be busy. Tony and Vision are trying to make sure Rhodney is okay and the kid is luckily back where you left him. T’challa is shaking hands with one of the agents and although it makes you sick because of the way they are treating some of the others you understand, he does have a country to run and his people must come first after all.

Natasha is the only one not doing anything and she meets your eyes. You silently beg her to do something, anything against what is happening. She stares you straight in the eye and shakes her head. You actually shiver at how cold her look is because you never thought that would be directed at you, you thought that the two of you were close.

“I’m not going to help you Y/n, you made your own choice and I made mine.” Is all she says before turning away. You watch her back as long as you can as you are led into the trucks, wondering how everything went wrong so quickly.

---

Nobody talks. You aren’t even sure if you’re allowed to. There is no way what they are doing is legal but who is going to argue with the government. A secret prison built just for enhanced individuals and imprisoning people without trial isn’t right. You were neutral before but the more you see of how the government operates the more you start to lean towards supporting Steve and the rest of his “team”.

You shift slightly because the shock collar is getting even more uncomfortable. Wanda is wearing one too, probably since the two of you are the only ones that have powers unrelated to technology and suits. She looks smaller than ever in her cell and you close your eyes because if you continue to look at her you know you’ll end up crying.

Nothing changes throughout the day until you hear the door creak open. Everyone glares when they see it’s Tony and he and Clint share a few words before Tony practically begs Sam for information. Sam’s reluctant but gives in, seeing that Tony is sincere and knowing that although he disagrees with Tony it’s not really his fault that you’re all here, it’s the government’s.

When Tony leaves things go silent again for a few hours. You haven’t been fed since you’ve gotten here, you realize, but you aren’t hungry anyways, your mind can’t stop picturing the fight, being arrested and most of all Natasha’s attitude towards you. It hurts even more than you would like to admit. You considered her your best friend but you also had feelings for her and you were dumb enough to think that just maybe she felt the same things about you. Obviously that is completely untrue and you wonder if even your friendship was a lie.

“How long do you think we’ll be stuck here for?” Wanda asks finally and although her voice is quiet you wince at how it breaks the silence.

“I don’t know kid.” Clint responds. “Too long. My wife is going to kill me and my kids-”

He stops himself, getting a little choked up which surprises you. You’ve never seen him this emotional before.

“I already miss my daughter.” Scott adds on and there is a moment of understanding that passes between the two of them.

“I don’t have my own family but I’m going to miss my sister.” Sam says. “She probably won’t even find out what’s happening until it’s on the news, if the news even covers it.”

“I miss the team.” you add. “Before this fight, we weren’t perfect but I considered everyone family.”

“So did I.” Wanda says and you all take a moment to miss what used to be.

“I miss pizza.” Sam jokes, trying to lighten the mood. It works and soon everyone is adding on ridiculous things they miss and things they want to do when you get out (you can’t even think about the fact that the “when” might actually be “if”).

Your eyes snap to the door when it opens and everyone shuts up immediately. You look warily at Natasha, unsure of why she’s here. Maybe the government sent her in to interrogate, god knows she is amazing at that and you honestly wouldn’t be able to not talk to her, as much as you’re mad at her right now.

She doesn’t speak, going straight towards Sam’s door and kneeling down, fiddling with the lock. After a few seconds it clicks and the door swings open.

“When did you switch sides?” He asks, raising his eyebrows, impressed.

“I don’t pick sides, I do what makes the most sense and right now breaking you out is the right thing to do. Besides I’m wanted now too, apparently the government doesn’t like it when you aid fugitives in escaping.” she responds smoothly, moving onto Wanda’s cell and repeating her actions until it opens.

“Do you know how to take the collar off?” she asks and Sam nods. He gets to work while Natasha moves on. Both Clint and Scott pass at her offer of freeing them. They both look like they’re itching to escape but you respect that they’re putting their families first.

You’re surprised by how emotional you get when she unlocks your cell. You thought she didn’t care about you so to have her here now is amazing and makes you feel bad you ever doubted that she would do the right thing.

“Y/n, it’s okay, I’ve got you.” she tells you as she undoes your shock collar carefully, doing her best to not hurt you.

“I-I thought you didn’t care about me anymore.” you admit, a single tear dripping down your face.

She wipes it away with her thumb. “Oh sweetheart I care about you so much, more than you could ever know and I want you to always remember that, promise me.”

You nod, sniffing. “I promise Tasha.”

“Good because I came back for you and I will always come back for you.” she says, leaning in closer. You look down at her lips as she continues to lean in because she is so close and it seems like she’s going to kiss you.

“Glad to know Y/n was the only reason you came back.” Sam says, smirking. You love him but you also want to strangle him right now, that bastard could totally see what was happening and ruined the moment on purpose.

Natasha flips him the finger but otherwise ignores him. “Steve and Bucky are waiting in the jet outside, I was able to dismantle alarms and cameras but we only have a few minutes left so follow me and be quiet.”

She grabs your hand as she moves out of your cell and you walk with her, the others trailing behind slightly. The halls are clear and it’s only a few turns before she ushers everyone into a vent. It’s a tight squeeze but you make it through and you pop out to find sturdy wires attached to the side of the raft coming from a nearby jet. Wanda and Sam each take one and their wires retract, pulling them into the jet. You gulp nervously, heights are definitely not one of your favourite things.

“We have to go Y/n.” Natasha whispers just as alarms start to sound, the noises loud with flashing lights.

You take a deep breath and grab the remaining wire and once you’re secure Natasha grabs it too. Closing your eyes tightly so you don’t look down you feel a strange whooshing sensation before it disappears and your feet touch down on the jet floor.

“So what next?” Sam asks once you’ve all collected yourselves, directing his question at Steve.

“We lie low and try to help as best we can.” he responds, sighing heavily. “We’ll figure out the details as we go, what matters is that everybody is safe.”

Natasha holds your hand again and squeezes it tightly. “And that we are together.” she whispers into your ear so only you hear.

You squeeze her hand tightly back. Your relationship with her has gone through a rollercoaster of a day and is mostly undefined but she’s right, all that matters is that you’re together now and you wouldn’t rather be with anyone else.

---

Taglist: @fayhar @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @acertainredhead @madamevirgo @megaqueenmaeve @cherryblossomskye @aaron-despair @chickenhavewisdom @emril-osvigne @nyankitty987 @agathaharkness-simp @thewidowsghost @nyx-aira @stephanieromanoff @satxnsupreme @likefirenrain @wlwlovesreading @stop-drop-and-drumroll @peggycarter-steverogers @casperlikej @redswing @mochamoff @king-star @blackbat2020

[wistfulcynic]

till we be dead ourselves

I saw a thing today that made me a bit cross and reminded me of how unsatisfying I've always found the Brothers Jones reunion in the underworld. This is the result. It's not anti-Liam but it does change him quite a lot from canon, so if that's not your jam you may want to skip this one.

Basically, this is the Brothers Jones I would have liked to see.

Also, at least part of the inspiration came from chatting with @thesschesthair and @winterbythesea about alternative POVs on our OTP. So here, guys, have a Liam. Beware, there are feels. 

SUMMARY: Liam Jones has been waiting for his brother for three hundred years. When he finally arrives, he's not as Liam remembers. Some not-typical or particularly respectful of canon Brothers-Jones-in-the-underworld feels, plus a dash of Captain Swan.

words: 2025 rating: T tags: not canon compliant, underworld AU, brothers jones. Major characters are already dead. 

on AO3

-

till we be dead ourselves: 

He’s been waiting a long time for this. Three hundred years. 

Well, two hundred ninety-three years and eighty-six days, to be precise. He knows because he looked it up. He had to. It’s not easy keeping track of time here; some seconds tick so slowly they’re torture while years can pass in the blink of an eye. 

Years, such as they are. There aren’t really years in this place, or truly ‘time’ at all. There’s not really anything. This is nothingness, a void, a repository for whatever souls are made of, and different to each one. They’re trapped here, these souls, until they finish whatever business still remains for them, and over the centuries he’s seen so many come and go—some sorrowfully confused by what they need to do, others firmly certain. 

As for Liam Jones, he’s always known why he’s here. His unfinished business is Killian. 

On the day Killian arrives Liam can barely contain his excitement. Not just because he may finally be free of this place but because he longs to see his little brother again. He’s missed Killian, and also he’s keen to know what the devil took him so long. How is it possible that his brother’s life stretched on for over three hundred years? 

He walks quickly through the town—an odd little town, unlike any he encountered while alive. His afterlife has manifested it for only a few years. Before that it was ships and ports and then it was jungle. Ships and jungle, jungle and ships for so very, very long. He’s come to realise that his afterlife reflects what his brother does Above, though what precisely that consisted of he is not privileged to know. He’s hoping Killian will tell him. 

He knocks on the door of a large, blue house and waits, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet. When it opens he turns with a smile that freezes on his face. 

The man framed in the doorway is his brother, unmistakably him, yet Liam finds he’s not prepared for how much Killian has changed. He feels foolish for being taken so by surprise; of course Killian is not what he remembers. He’s not still the eager young lieutenant he was when Liam died, obviously not. He couldn’t be. 

But the man before him is… hard. Jaw set and eyes cold, with an aura of both danger and command. A man not to be trifled with. His face is still youngish—mid-thirties, perhaps—but his eyes are ancient. Tired and bitter and heavy with the weight of ages, and abruptly Liam feels very, very young. 

“K-killian?” he ventures. 

Killian’s brow wrinkles in confusion that lasts an uncomfortable beat or two, and then it clears. His eyes widen. “Liam,” he breathes. “Is it really you?” 

“It’s me, brother.” Liam attempts a smile again. “I’ve been waiting for you.” 

“Bloody hell.” 

Killian pulls him into a hug which he returns warmly, though the sound of curse words on his brother’s lips has stunned him. He smells of leather, and of the sea. And rum. Liam blinks through a fresh wave of astonishment. Killian has been drinking. Drinking rum. 

Killian pulls back from the hug but keeps his hand on Liam’s shoulder. His eyes are crinkled by a smile that Liam can’t help noticing barely touches the depth of sadness in them. “It’s good to see you, brother,” he says. 

“You’ve changed,” Liam blurts, then curses his impulsive tongue when the smile fades from his brother’s face. 

“Aye,” Killian says. “It’s been some time.” 

“Three hundred years, give or take,” Liam agrees. “How? How was it that long?” 

“Perhaps you’d better come in, Liam,” Killian says. He steps back and holds the door. “We’ve rather a lot to discuss.” 

-

Liam spends that first night in his brother’s house. Killian seems at a bit of a loss for what to do with himself in all the space and curiously reluctant to speak of why his afterlife has manifested such a dwelling just for him. Of course the dead don’t truly sleep, but Liam passes the night deep in thought, still in shock over what he’s learned about life his brother led. 

Killian is Captain Hook. A pirate. A man whose name Liam has heard in hushed whispers on the lips of many a soul who’s passed through this place. None of those whispers spoke of anything good. 

He cannot reconcile his little brother, even three hundred years of bitter loss and violent struggle later, as the cruel and vengeful villain of those tales. He cannot. It’s simply not possible. 

“Much of what they recounted was likely exaggerated,” Killian said wryly, “or hearsay. But I’ve done much I’m not proud of, Liam. I killed men without a second thought. I plundered lands across the realms. I have not led a good life.” 

“Then why are you here?” Liam demanded. “If you were as bad as all that, you wouldn’t end up in limbo.” 

“Perhaps I may have done enough in the past few years to warrant a chance at redemption,” Killian reflected. “I suppose we’ll see.” 

“And do you know what your unfinished business is?” 

Killian swallowed visibly, then nodded. “I believe I do.” 

-

Over the next week Liam keeps an eye on his brother. It’s not that he’s concerned—well, yes, it is that he’s concerned. There’s a restless energy to Killian that makes Liam uneasy, worried that he might do something rash. So he watches, from a distance, as Killian sets about finishing his business. He watches his brother seek out many of the men who bore the tales about him, those who still remain at least. He sees the fear in those men’s faces, and the anger. Sometimes he hears their voices, raised and vicious. It pains him to witness these things—not least the shame on Killian’s face—but he forces himself not to interfere. 

His brother is not a man to be trifled with. 

One day he observes Killian deep in conversation with a woman, dark-haired and statuesque. They stand close together in the manner of those who’ve shared a deep intimacy, and even from a distance he can see that they are crying. Killian pulls the woman into his arms where she weeps into his shoulder, and before they part he presses his lips to hers. 

It’s farewell. 

With every interaction Killian’s burden lessens, though he remains weighed down by things Liam can barely fathom. Each night they meet at the blue house, where they sit together and talk. They have three hundred years of catching up to do. As they talk Killian drinks, and Liam has begun to as well. He senses his brother could use company in more than conversation, and it’s not like alcohol can harm the dead. It doesn’t do them much good either, but the phantom rum seems to soothe Killian, and loosen his tongue. 

Though not enough, Liam comes to realise, for Killian to speak of why he’s really here. 

-

Her arrival sparks an uproar such as Liam has never experienced, even in all the time he’s passed in this place. She shouldn’t be here. She can’t be here. It’s not possible. 

Yet here she is. 

Word of it spreads like wildfire; Liam is polishing glasses at the bar where he inexplicably works when it reaches his ears. 

“They say she’s alive,” says one of the regulars, in hushed tones. “Alive, and here.” 

“That’s impossible,” Liam scoffs. “None of the living can come here. And even if they could why would they want to?” 

“She’s here to rescue someone,” the regular replies. “Her true love. That makes it possible, or so they say.” 

“And the man died in sacrifice,” another adds. “Huge sacrifice, before his time.” 

Before his time, Liam thinks. That should rule Killian out. Yet he can’t shake this feeling, this creeping suspicion born of Killian’s refusal to discuss how he died, or how he lived these past few years. There’s a reason this town is his afterlife, and Liam’s too. There’s a reason he’s alone in that big house. 

He sets the glass down, and the rag. “I have to go,” he says. 

-

It couldn’t be more obvious that the woman doesn’t belong. She’s visibly, ostentatiously alive, so full of life she glows. It draws the souls—ghoulishly, Liam thinks—but none dare approach too closely. The woman looks as though if anyone could kill a soul that’s already dead, it’s her. 

She heads down Main Street and Liam follows. Past the diner and the library, around the corner and up the street where Killian lives. A tight knot forms in Liam’s chest as she walks up to the blue house then stops, with her hand on the gate. 

The door flies open and Killian appears on the porch. He stares at the woman, who offers him a smile that strikes Liam as far too tremulous for her take-no-prisoners demeanour. 

“Swan,” Killian chokes. His voice sounds broken. “What are you doing here?” 

“I came to save you,” the woman replies. She opens the gate and takes a few steps forward. Killian stumbles off the porch to close the distance between them. 

“You shouldn’t have come,” he says. “You shouldn’t be here, not here. Not you.” 

“I had to, Killian!” She looks up at him imploringly. “You shouldn’t have died like that. You shouldn’t have had to make that choice.” 

She takes his hand and laces their fingers tighter. Killian’s breath catches. “Come back with me, Killian. Come home.” 

“I can’t,” he whispers.

“You can. I know a way.” Her voice drops as she steps closer, but Liam can still hear her words. “Don’t try to make me live the rest of my life without you, Killian Jones,” she says. “I won’t do it.” 

“Swan—” 

“I won’t do it,” she repeats. “I love you.” 

Liam can see the moment Killian breaks. He snatches the woman into his arms, holds her tightly as she clings to him and magic twines palpably around them. This is not what he had with the brunette, Liam realises. That was love, yes, and intimacy. It was grief, deep and terrible but of a normal sort. 

This is agony. This is two souls that should never have been parted and the connection that still binds them, so powerful it can draw a living woman into the land of the dead. 

No wonder Killian couldn’t speak of her, Liam thinks, or of the circumstances of his death. The pain must have been too great. 

Liam’s been dead so long he’s forgotten how sensitive a subject it can be. 

The man died in sacrifice, he recalls. Huge sacrifice, before his time. 

He died for her. And now she’s here to bring him back. 

-

“This feels too soon,” Killian says, as he hugs Liam tight. “I only just found you again.” He pulls back and gives his brother a shrewd look. “And I sense that when I’m here again, you no longer will be.” 

“No,” Liam agrees. His business is finished now. And Killian’s not coming back, not to this place. Not if Emma Swan has anything to say about it. The next time Killian Jones dies it will be with his life’s purpose fully met. 

He’s glad they had this time, though, and not just because he needed it to move on. He’s glad he got to know his brother as a man, a flawed and troubled one, yes, but one who has goodness at his core and is finally where he needs to be. It only took three hundred years for him to get there. 

He’s also glad Killian is still shorter than he is, for all that Liam appears ten years younger than his brother now. He’s glad because he can still wrap his arm around Killian’s neck and ruffle his hair. He does so now, though Killian’s indignant “Oi!” of protest twists his heart. He sounds so like his younger self, that boy Liam spent centuries waiting for and will never see again. 

“I love you, little brother,” he whispers. 

Killian swallows hard, and nods. “I love you too.” 

[rose7420]

Use Your Words

A request from @lokiismyhubby

Summary: Loki feels down and Y/N decides she wants to help him out

Warnings: Selectively Mute reader

Y/N sat with Peter Parker, listening to him as he rambled on about his homework and complained about how much he had to do of it, instead of just doing it. Even though Peter could be kind of annoying sometimes Y/N loved to be near him. He was the only human so far that had proved to be worthy of her trust. He was a gentle giant and showed her tenderness and care when he provided her company. He even went out of his way to gather her food and certain supplies to help her out, erasing the risk of her being caught by another human.

Y/N knew Peter didn’t have to do all of these things but he still chose to and that made y/n feel good because she knew someone out there cared for her wellbeing. Out of impulse, she stepped up to Peter’s wrist that held a pencil and hugged it.

“Woah there… You good pipsqueak?” Peter said, raising an eyebrow in curiousness. Y/N nodded her head wordlessly. She didn’t like to speak much.

She had lost her parents at a young age and her kind called borrowers lived in small, distanced packs, making it hard to find people to share a life with. After she had lost everyone close to her there had been no reason to speak and communicate with others. Peter was the first person she had talked to in five years. When she first spoke to him her voice had been rough and she didn’t want to admit she had lost the confidence to actually speak. All of her memory of language had practically withered away in her head, making it hard to remember how to pronounce some words. Peter had only questioned once why she didn’t speak to him. He was worried she was frightened of him but she assured him that wasn’t the problem with an exaggeration of her hands and a written note. Peter hadn’t questioned her after that and only spoke to her with no expectations of her responding.

She released his wrist and smiled brightly up towards him.

“I’m glad you’re feeling good today. But I think something has made Loki feel bad these last weeks. Would you know why?” Peter asks, resting his head upon his hand to see her better. Y/n shakes her head.

“Well if you have any free time, you mind using those amazing spy skills for me? I’m worried about him, he won’t talk to me?” He patted her head with a finger.

Y/n nodded, anxious to see Loki for the first time. She had never come across the god since her arrival at the tower.

Y/n sat on a shelf in Loki’s room watching his daily life. He led a rather peaceful but boring routine. Reading late at night and early in the morning, practicing his impressive magical abilities, and occasionally eating a meal. Y/n was about to stand and leave, ready to tell Peter that he was probably sad because he did nothing during the day when the door opened. In Thor walked, one of the biggest people she’d ever seen, and that was saying something.

“Brother, why don’t you just leave this room? There are plenty of things to do.” Thor said to Loki.

“Leave so I can hear you all blabber on of how wretched of a person I am? My life may be spent in solitude but perhaps I like it like that.” Loki retorted snarkily.

“If you stay in here, your chances of being liked will increase no more. “Thor said stepping towards Loki.

“So you admit it? The mortals of this tower do not want me here.” Loki said, anger lashing his voice.

“I don’t blame them, brother. You’re wasting away in this existence you call a life. Mother would be disappointed.” Thor said, his voice going soft to lessen the blow at the end.

Despite Thor’s gentility, Loki still became furious.

“Get out,” Loki said with a scary calm. Thor respected his wishes and walked out. But Y/n stayed, thinking she had just found the reason for Loki’s sadness.

As the days went by Y/n hid well and listened to the others’ Avengers conversations. Most of them as she’d thought spoke terribly of Loki. Remorse became heavy in her heart and she vowed to make Loki feel better. Since Peter had been there for her she figured it was time for her to be there for someone else.

She crept onto Peter’s desk and broke the lead off the pencil quietly. She checked to make sure he was still asleep and began writing.

Dear Mr. Loki,

I am sorry you feel so bad. I know people can be mean but I think your feelings are valid. If it was me I wouldn’t want to hear about what people think of me either. But I think you are very kind and generous. I hope this helps.

-Your friend

Y/n set out the next night to give the letter to Loki. Her handwritten letter was strapped to her back, easily accessible to her reach. The floor was mute under her imperceptible footsteps. She climbed the towering, unstable wall of Loki’s silk, black bedsheets which was a hard task as the sheets slipped from her grip a couple of times sending her heart to beat out of her chest. Finally, after what seemed like a lifetime, she reached the top. Her breaths were heavy and she struggled to keep them quiet. Approaching Loki’s open, pale outstretched palm she retrieved the letter from behind her back. The paper was bigger than her upper half when folded together and heavy enough that she couldn’t place it upon his palm using only her arms to boost it to the surface. Which meant that she would have to climb into his hand.

Oh, how she wanted to turn around, climb down the bed and run to her safe, warm home inside the wall.

But she refused to give up when she had come so far.

And he needed someone to be there for him.

She delicately climbed into his palm, with the letter strapped to her back carefully placing her feet in non-ticklish places. One twitch of his hand would send her flying onto the covers, or worse off the bed itself. She shivered at the thought. Finding a good place to leave the letter she bends down.

Then a powerful, immense weight falls upon her sending darkness to coat her vision. She falls to her butt as vertigo hits.

“What are you doing?” A booming voice demands.

She trembles in fear, covering her head with her arms. I knew I should’ve just gone away. What will he do?

“I asked you a question?” The voice is angry. A light is turned on allowing her sight of her captor.

She dares to look up and is met with the rage of Loki Laufeyson. She shakes her head in reluctance to answer.

“What is this?” He roughly nudges her away from the note she holds in her arms causing her to fall onto her back with a squeak of fear. She holds onto the slip of paper for security but his strength overpowers hers greatly. His eyes squint in concentration as he reads the small handwriting.

“Did you write this?” He asks returning his focus upon her trembling form.

She nods hesitantly.

“Truly?”

Another nod.

“You don’t speak much do you Little Miss, do you?” He asks with a hint of a smile, his tone is much softer.

She shakes her head. Y/n clutches her arms across her chest, scooting back further from his face.

“Did I frighten you?” Loki suggests his eyes gentle voice guilty.

She nods, her eyes wide studying him for any ill intent.

“I apologize. I have a few trust issues. “

She says nothing and only stares at him with distrust.

“How did you know what the others were saying about me?” Loki asks raising her to meet his eyes. Even through her apprehension, she notices how beautiful they are. How his irises cannot seem to decide on a cool blue or a rainforest green.

She doesn’t try to answer his question, from the fear of speaking and the trepidation of angering him with her words.

“Okay, well I will wait until you’re ready to tell me. For now, I’ll let you go.” He stands up from his bed and releases her onto the hardwood floor. He stays crouched even as she slips off his long fingers. Taking a few cautious steps away from his looming form she is frankly surprised he is letting her go. She supposes that is a good sign. Maybe she will come back to him despite her previous scare.

“Don’t be a stranger.” His voice calls out almost wistfully.

Next week…

Y/n finds herself in a vent located in Loki’s room. This past week she’d felt guilty for leaving Loki in such a dreadful, sad state. So her final decision was to come back. She watched as Loki sat reading in an armchair on the other side of the room. He looked regal and imposing from far away, with his head bent down in concentration, long legs spread outward and she could only imagine how intimidating he must look up close. Her legs shook as she dropped to the floor below with no sound to alert Loki of her presence. Scurrying to his chair she stopped by his black boot. Even this simple apparel dwarfed her, able to serve as her sufficient sleeping quarters.

If you want to turn back now’s the time. She said to herself.

The enormous, unaware boot shifted closer to her and she let out a squeak, scampering back.

“It’s you again Little Miss.”

She craned her head all the way up and saw Loki staring down at her. His black hair hung down around his face. His hand reached for her and pinched her waist carefully, lifting her up to bring in front of his eyes. The pressure on her waist was gentle but still made her fearful.

She kicked her legs in search of a non-reachable floor. Loki noticed her apprehension and set her down in his other palm.

“Is that better?” He ducked his head down to meet her eye.

She nodded.

“Still not talking are we?” He asked.

She shook her head.

“Well, I suppose that’ll be fine. Would you care for me to read to you?” He asked kindly.

His offer was so kind and thoughtful. One that didn’t seem right for a simple nod in answer.

“Y-yes p-please.” She stumbled.

Loki grinned and set her upon his shoulder. She wasn’t sure what to do so high up and close to his person. Thankfully Loki caught onto this with his quick perception.

“Sit right here Little One.” He tapped right beside his neck and held still as she walked to the pointed area. Sitting down, she dared to lean a bit of her weight against his neck. She was instantly met with warmth and the gentle pounding of his pulse. When he started reading his smooth voice vibrated her minutely.

After a while, Y/n started becoming sleepy from the comfortableness of her position. Loki stopped reading.

“You know Little Miss, I think you have a lovely voice… perhaps you should use it more often.”

Y/n pondered these words in her sleepy mind.

Maybe she would heed his advice, but for now, she would sleep.

[thefeelswhale]

The Nervous Energy in Everything - Part 4

Author’s Note: TW for narcissist parent. 

It was the most magical moment of his entire life so of course Hitoshi’s dad had to barge into it.  

“Why don’t you show Hitoshi your room?” He said to Izuku who jumped guiltily at the reminder that other people were in the room. 

“Oh! Um.” Izuku turned bright red and some of Hitoshi’s instant and embarrassed irritation with his father must have leaked through their connection because he gave Hitoshi a concerned look before tugging him away. It was clear to everyone involved -except his father who didn’t question it when he got his way- that Izuku wasn’t obeying an adult so much as he was getting Hitoshi away from his dad. “Here, it’s this way.”

Izuku’s room was little and would have been plain except for all the All Might posters.

“Wow.” Hitoshi turned a slow circle. They were still touching, but switched to holding hands. To his surprise they were still getting a little bit of transmission, but not to the degree they’d gotten from touching their marks. 

“Ah, haha.” Izuku rubbed the back of his head. “I’m a little bit of a fanboy.”

Hitoshi had a strong recollection just then of when he was twelve and still had his bedroom walls plastered in band pictures. They’d been torn down after he turned thirteen and got into a fight with his dad. Hitoshi didn’t remember what it was about, but he remembered what came after. It was one of the few times his uncles had been forced to intervene. Uncle Shouta had appeared in the doorway with a kind of stillness about him that Hitoshi never wanted to see again, took in the wreckage of the bedroom, and quietly said “I want a word” while maintaining eye contact with Hitoshi’s father.  

Hitoshi never found out what they talked about, but his dad never set foot in his room again. They didn’t even make eye contact for a week afterwards. His dad had offered to replace the posters a couple of times, but Hitoshi hadn’t trusted him not to do it again the next time he got mad so his walls had been bare for the past two years.

“It’s good.” He said, unable to convey his weird gratitude that his soulmate was allowed to like what he liked at home. 

Izuku cupped his own cheek with his free hand and Hitoshi was enveloped in something that felt like a hug from the inside out. 

“Woah.” Hitoshi wobbled on his feet and landed on the bed, hard on his butt. “You’re going to have to show me how to do that.” It felt amazing. “I had to sit out of bond management class in grade school.”

“It’s not hard.” Izuku sat next to him. “I’ll teach you whatever you want.” He promised. “I don’t have a lot of practice though. Ka… my old soulmate. He wore a cover all of the time.” He rubbed his wrist like it was an old aching wound. 

No guesses about where his first mark used to be. The skin was a little paler there when Hitoshi caught a glimpse of it.

His heart sank a little bit at the reminder that he wasn’t Izuku’s first. It didn’t matter, he reminded himself, because he was going to be the only one from here on out and anyway who in their right mind wore covers? Izuku’s old soulmate sounded like an asshole.

Hitoshi had had his soulmark for less than a day and it was amazing. He never wanted it sealed off. If the material of his shirt wasn’t thin enough to transmit bond contact he’d be shirtless at that very moment. Maybe it just went to show that any level of privilege could be taken for granted if you were born to it.

“What happened to him?” Hitoshi asked, but Izuku shook his head.

“Nothing. He’s fine.” There was a rich and terrible vein of unanswered questions in that statement. Hitoshi had no idea where, if anywhere, to start. “We just broke.” Izuku looked down and started to fidget with his hands. “You don’t have to be jealous.” He turned his face away. “I’m the one who gave up.”

Interestingly, Hitoshi realized he could tell when Izuku was telling the truth and when he was lying. That hadn’t exactly been a lie. Izuku didn’t really believe he’d been the one to break his old soulbond, but he didn’t have any better answers either. 

Hitoshi remembered the feeling that had crossed over to him when his soulmark came in; the grief, the disbelief, the… he didn’t really have a word for it. It had been like falling in love, but in reverse. ‘Giving up’ was one way to describe it, but to feel like that and then be able to truthfully say the other person was ‘fine’? He couldn’t believe it had been so simple.

“Hey.” Hitoshi had no idea what he was doing except that he didn’t like the idea that his soulmate’s first instinct was to not touch him. He caught Izuku’s wrist and gently tugged him closer. “C’mere.”

Izuku hugged like he’d heard of the concept or maybe seen it on TV once, but had rarely put it into practice himself. He was reluctant and awkward at first, but sank into Hitoshi’s side with enthusiasm as soon as he’d figured out where his arms went. 

He’d meant to keep the conversation going -to learn everything about his soulmate that he’d missed before they found each other- except he didn’t have a lot of experience with this kind of hugging either. He got plenty of affection from his uncles and his mom whenever she could slip it in past her quirk; turns out it was very different when the person you were hugging was both a cute boy and your soulmate. His brain shut down and it was kind of like being affected by his mom’s quirk, except way nicer and he was aware of everything going on. 

Someone tapped at the door and Izuku sat up to say, “Yes?”

When the door opened Hitoshi was aware just long enough to recognize his mom’s pinched and unhappy expression before everything whited out. 

He came back to himself alone in the room with an unhappy, anxious Izuku.

“You’re back.” Izuku cupped his face and titled Hitoshi’s face this way and that; checking his pupils, Hitoshi realized. When his mom quirked someone their eyes went totally white. 

“I… what happened?” He looked around. “Where did my mom go?”

“She left.” Izuku wet his lips. “I don’t know what happened. She wouldn’t talk to me.”

“No, she wouldn’t.” Hitoshi shook his head to clear it. He felt weird. Usually his mom’s quirk felt like the first few seconds of waking up from an amazing nap. This time it was… not like that. “Her quirk activates whenever she pays attention to someone.”

It was an amazing villain’s quirk if you were inclined that way, but super debilitating if you were an ordinary nice person. There were lingering side effects too if she accidentally used it on someone too many times. Hitoshi was immune to that part. He already loved his mom as much as he could, but strangers got weird obsessions with her. As a result she didn’t get out much and was totally reliant on her husband, who was also immune to her quirk by dint of being her soulmate.

“Oh yeah? Is it eye contact or just any amount of…” Izuku clapped a hand over his mouth. “Not the time.” He muttered and refocused on Hitoshi. “She hugged you really tight. Then she left. Maybe…” He gave the bedroom door an uncomfortable look. “...maybe we should check?”

Hitoshi was starting to get a bad feeling too. His dad had been trying to get rid of him earlier. That wasn’t a good sign, but he’d been too blissed out by meeting his soulmate to pay attention.  His mom couldn’t intervene whenever he started acting up without making it worse. She was stuck as a bystander.

“Yeah.” He grabbed Izuku’s hand. “Just for a minute.”

Only, his parents were gone by the time they went into the living room. A little round lady with Izuku’s features, softened by age and gentleness, looked up from where she was locking the door. 

“Oh, there are my boys.” She went over to pat their cheeks. “What an exciting day! How do you feel about something special for dinner? Do you like pork, Hitoshi-kun? We like katsudon for celebrations here, but I’ve got a full fridge. We can probably make anything you like.”

“Am… am I staying for dinner?” Hitoshi asked with a sinking stomach. He was pretty sure he knew what had just happened.

“Well, your father mentioned how much you’d like living with your soulmate.” She chuckled. Yup. She’d been Persuaded. “I just knew Izuku would love having you around too so I offered to let you live here.”

That… person had hustled him out of the room so there was no one around to stop him from manipulating Izuku’s mother into taking Hitoshi off his hands. His dad’s quirk, Persuasion, was incredibly difficult to protect someone against. The only way to stop him was to know about his quirk in advance. Usually Hitoshi knew to interfere before it was a problem --just, not today.

For whatever reason, Hitoshi’s dad had never liked him and made no bones about the fact that Hitoshi needed to have a new living situation lined up as soon as he turned eighteen. He was jovial most of the time and seemed to be kind of aware that he wasn’t acting right. Sometimes he’d try to make half-hearted overtures or make up for whatever awful thing he’d done or said recently. He wasn’t violent --much. He hadn’t ever hit Hitoshi, but he would break stuff or call him names or misrepresent him to people; making Hitoshi seem stupider or more trouble than he was in reality. 

Hitoshi knew the root of the problem was his mom although he could never blame her for it. She was the one who’d wanted a kid and his dad, for all his other faults, would move heaven and earth to get her anything she asked for. It just turned out that sharing her attention was the one thing he absolutely could not do or fake.

“Ma’am. I’m really sorry.” He gulped, realizing he didn’t know her name yet. “My dad used his quirk on you. It’s called Persuasion. He can talk anybody into agreeing with him or into doing something to make him happy.”

“I… what?” Izuku’s mom blinked slowly; the artificial happy buzz leftover from giving in to Persuasion was fading. Sometimes telling a person about his dad’s quirk right after helped them shake it off. It looked like this was one of those times. “I… I may need to sit down.”

“Mom, over here.” Izuku seemed to know what to do when she wobbled on her feet. “Hitoshi, there’s a little bottle in the end table over there. Could you grab it?”

The bottle contained honest-to-god smelling salts when Hitoshi got it. Izuku accepted it and cracked it open under his mom’s nose. The smell was ghastly, but startled her into clarity. She blinked hard and patted Izuku on the shoulder.

“Thank you, dear.” She patted her cheeks to settled herself. “Did…” She looked at Hitoshi and something in his expression made her pivot from upset to concern. “...honey, are you okay?”

His dad had just ditched him with strangers. That hug from his mom had been goodbye and he wasn’t even awake for it. No, he was not okay. 

“I can call my uncles.” Hitoshi swallowed on a hard, sore lump in his throat. “You don’t have to worry.”

“I’ll let that pass because we don’t know each other that well yet.” She got up and patted his cheeks with both hands. He had to bend over so she could do it, she was that tiny. “I’m going to worry. Ask Izuku. I worry about everything and this is definitely worth worrying about. Call your uncles please. Then we can discuss the situation.”

“It might be a bit before they can come get me.” Hitoshi apologized. “They’d have been here, but they had to work.”

“That’s fine, dear. You can have dinner here and we’ll work everything else out as it comes.” She glanced at her son. “Izuku, don’t forget to make that other call.” 

Izuku’s shoulders turtled up. “I won’t, mom.”

They had to split up to make their phone calls. Izuku seemed no more enthusiastic about makin his than Hitoshi was to call Mic’s station office. 

Ami-san, the agency-side receptionist, picked up on the first ring. “Present Mic agency and radio station!” She chirped. “If this is an immediate emergency then tap the line and I’ll start a trace on your number.”

“It’s Hitoshi.” He usually liked chatting with her, but his heart wasn’t in it right then.

“Oh, hi, honey!” Ami-san cooed. He’d known her since he’d been born and had spent more than one afternoon in a bassinet under her desk as a baby when his uncle’s station/agency had been located in the back of a garage. “What can I do for you? Mic told me the good news! Did you want me to slip him a note?”

“Could you?” He decided to just rip the bandage off. “My dad used his quirk on my soulmate’s mom.”

“You’re joking.” Her good mood evaporated. “He’s on probation! He knows he’s on probation!”

“He talked her into offering to take over custody of me.” 

“Oh, sweetheart.” She got real quiet. “I… I’ll let Mic know. Don’t call Eraserhead until Mic can talk to him first. If she presses charges….” Ami-san let the sentence trail off without finishing it.

Quirk misuse laws operated on the three strike principle. If they reported it, this would be his dad’s third strike within five years. He’d gotten off with petty fines the last two times he’d gotten caught; convincing a cabby driver to pick him up over someone else and talking a panhandler into leaving him alone. Most people didn’t notice Persuasion, but sometimes someone with a really stubborn will or certain mental illnesses could shake it off by themselves and if they did they knew he’d tried to quirk them. If Izuku’s mom pressed charges then his dad was going to jail this time.

Hitoshi didn’t actually care about that much except for the ways it would affect his mom. She couldn’t work. She couldn’t talk to people. She had a small disability stipend and did some work as a freelance writer, but it hardly brought in anything. If his dad went to prison, even for a few months, then she would be the one who suffered most. 

The one thing his dad could be counted on was to not work against his soulmate’s interests. This time he either hadn’t thought far enough ahead or was banking on Hitoshi protecting his own mother over a stranger.

“We’ll make it work.” Hitoshi decided out loud. His uncles were proof she could live with other people. It wasn’t ideal, but they used a whiteboard and messenger apps to talk. 

“I’ll have Mic call you as soon as he’s off the air.” Ami-san promised. 

Hitoshi sat in the little tatami room he’d used to make his call. Someone had turned it into a computer room at some point, but it had a curious empty feel to it; like it belonged to someone who was long gone.

Izuku was finishing up his own call when Hitoshi went looking for him.

“...not yet.” He was saying. “The officers took my statement and samples off me at the second incident. The paramedics didn’t say anything when they sent me home, but Death Arms and Kamui Wood were… um… yelling so it was hard for them to talk. I’ll go if you think I should… yes, sir. Under the Dooku foot bridge. Through the manhole there. No, he had to leave once I came to. He left his autograph.” He paused and gave a dry little laugh. “Yes, sir. It was in two soda bottles. I noticed the one with the eyeballs in it was still moving. That’s why I hit it in the eyes afterwards.”

What.

“Bakugo Katsuki.” Izuku was still talking. “Yes, it probably got into his mouth. That’s how it happened to me; the nose and mouth. I wasn’t… I couldn’t breath. I don’t think he meant for me to live.” He wrapped his free arm around his knees. “He said something like ‘twenty seconds and it’ll all be over.’”

WHAT.

Hitoshi stood frozen in the door. He’d thought what his dad did was the worst thing that could possibly happen to him that day, but as he listened he realize Izuku was describing a villain attack; an attempted murder on himself. 

They had been within inches of never meeting each other in this life.

There were a lot of reasons Hitoshi wanted to be a Pro Hero. His uncles were a huge influence on him, but part of it was to prove to himself that he was nothing like that man. Now there was a whole new third reason.

“Yes, I’ll come in tomorrow after school if that’s okay.” Izuku said to the police officer he was apparently talking to. “Oh, um, the registry matched me up today. Ah, haha. Yes. Thank you. It was really good timing, actually. Okay, thank you. Goodbye.”

He ended the call, tossed his phone onto the bed, and flopped face first onto the mattress. 

Hitoshi suddenly understood why Izuku’s first instinct was to comfort him through their bond before. He had no idea if touching was good or bad right now. It looked like he had a lot to learn about being a soulmate. 

He tapped on the doorframe and Izuku looked up at him. The helpless smile that eased across his face did a lot to sooth Hitoshi’s exposed nerves.

“Hey.” He sat up and smiled, a little tired looking. Now that Hitoshi was looking he noticed a line of road rash up the outside edge of Izuku’s forearm, ending just below his elbow. It looked red, angry, and fresh. “How much did you hear?” 

“Enough to have a small heart attack.” Hitoshi felt like he was getting a green light to go over there so he did. Izuku catted into his touch so that his palm skated over the handprint on Izuku’s cheek. He got a brief window into his soulmate’s state of mind: he was tired for sure and running out of steam, but secretly (guiltily, even) glad to have Hioshi around for even just a little bit longer. “How did I not feel you get attacked?”

“Oh, that was me.” Izuku squirmed guiltily. “You’re supposed to pull away from the bond if you’re in danger and you don’t know where your soulmate is or what they’re doing. What if you were on stairs or handling a knife or something?” 

This was getting complicated.

“I guess I’ve got a lot to learn.” Hitoshi admitted. 

He was kind of angling for another extended hug, but a faint call of ‘supper!’ echoed down the hall. He could smell food too; really good food too. His mom tended to cook really healthy and he liked that, but the smells coming from Izuku’s kitchen were rich, fatty, and indulgent; comfort food on a day when no comfort could possibly be enough. Maybe he needed to move in with them after all…

Uncle Mic called while he was helping clean up. Izuku waved him off with a smile.

“Where are you?” There was wind in the background. “That son of a bitch isn’t answering his phone.”

Oh boy. Present Mic was swearing. This was bad.

He rattled off Inko-san’s address. “I’m okay.” He said. “My soulmate’s mom is mad at dad, but she seems okay with me. She fed us and said I can stay as-as long as I need to.”

“Okay, that’s ---good?” Mic took a breath and Hitoshi could picture him tugging on his hair. “Then I’ve got time to get out of costume. She’s probably not up to having a pro hero showing up on her front step, huh?”

“It’s been a rough day.” Hitoshi agreed and shielded the receiver so his voice wouldn’t carry. “Izuku, um ---my soulmate. He got hit by a street killer today. He’s okay. There was a hero in pursuit, but Inko-san almost fainted earlier. I don’t think it’d be a good idea to push it.”

Present Mic was, objectively, A Lot.

“By a… a what?” Mic snapped. “I thought you were in Aldera?”

“I am, I am.” 

“Hang on.” Mic carried multiple phones and Hitoshi could hear him get out the one he used exclusively for internet. It had a distinct noise when you unlocked the screen. “Aldera… street attacks…” He was quiet for a moment. “...well, alrighty then. This went down while I was on air. No wonder I missed it. Your boy is scrappy. He beat the crap out of some guy trying to kill a middle schooler with his backpack. All Might was responsible for the takedown. Okay, I’m a little less worried. The villain was a purse snatcher who escalated. That’s less terrible than a possible serial killer in the area.”

Hitoshi compared that to what he’d heard. “That sounds about right.” If he was right then that was the second incident. The first incident must have been when All Might caught the guy the first time. “Could you… could you talk to him about it? I don’t think the police really interviewed him.”

Hitoshi only had second hand knowledge of working with the cops, but he’d never heard of one taking a statement over the phone. Plus there was the matter of Mic’s official report only mentioning the second attack. There was a good chance that officer had just pretended to take the report and had really blown Izuku off. It wasn’t entirely negligent. People sometimes tried to insert themselves into big incidents, especially if it showed up on TV or a big name hero was involved.

“Sure can, buddy.” Mic’s tone went concerned. “Are you all right?”

Hitoshi couldn’t find words to describe how he was feeling. It had been easier to have opinions about Izuku’s problems. “It’s nothing I didn’t already know.” He said at last. 

“We’re coming to pick you up.” Mic promised. “If Hiroshi thinks he can kick you out of the house then he’s got another think coming. We’re gonna make this okay.”

“Okay.” Even Hitoshi could tell he didn’t sound convinced.

The doorbell rang about thirty minutes later. Izuku had pulled him over to the TV to watch the nightly Hero Report and got super into it. Hitoshi liked getting his after action breakdowns from spotter blogs and podcasts. Listening to his soulmate talk about the action on TV was like that, but better. Inko-san watched with them -alternating between that and an embroidery project- and seemed to amuse herself by asking her son questions about what was going on even though she clearly knew the answers.

Uncle Shouta stood at the door sans Uncle Mic and he looked pissed.

“Hitoshi.” He stared into the house over the top of Inko-san’s head. “We’re leaving.”

Hitoshi started to look for his shoes, but drew up short when Inko-san san said, “No. I don’t think you are.” 

She sounded like she was just barely keeping her knees from knocking together and when she stared up at Hitoshi’s uncle she looked like a bunny trying to stare down a Balrog. 

“Excuse me?” Uncle Shouta was dressed down for the evening, but spiritually channelling Eraserhead more than he normally would when faced with a middle-aged homemaker. 

“I am not comfortable sending Hitoshi-kun back into that house.” She didn’t back down and Hitoshi’s heart did something complicated and painful. “How does that --man act at home if that’s how he treats a stranger? Hitoshi-kun is my son’s soulmate. That means I have equal rights to him and I don’t want him back under that man’s roof.”

“It’s not his roof.” Uncle Shouta’s tone was a little less obstreperous than before. It might not seem like it, but Hitoshi’s maternal uncle responded best to logic and that was a good counter argument. “It’s my roof and all his shit’s gonna be in the yard as soon as I get home.”

That… answered some questions Hitoshi had been nursing about his family’s living situation. His dad had a good job and made good money, but he deferred to Hitoshi’s uncles in ways that made no sense --unless he was living in their house. 

Inko-san’s chin wobbled, but firmed up. “Then you can have Hitoshi-kun back as soon as he’s gone.” 

Uncle Shouta’s unsettling black gaze slid towards Hitoshi. “You okay with that?”

Hitoshi found the strength to nod. “Don’t kick mom out.” He probably didn’t need to ask. Uncle Shouta had been looking after his sister long before her soulmate or son came into the picture. Like Hitoshi, he wasn’t totally immune to her quirk but he didn’t get the creepy side effects from it. 

“I can’t stop her if she decides to go.” His uncle warned him and that was exactly what Hitoshi was afraid would happen. He looked back to Inko-san. “I’ll be back with an overnight bag for him.”

“Thank you.” Inko-san relaxed slightly. “I don’t know if we have anything comfortable to lend him for the evening.”

“It’ll be taken care of.” Uncle Shouta stepped back into the shadow of the open air corridor outside Inko-san’s door and vanished like Batman. She carefully shut the door when she realized he wasn’t going to say goodbye and was quiet until she got into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water.

“Your uncle is… an intense person.” She said at last.

“He’s an Underground Hero.” Hitoshi explained and Izuku bopped a fist into his open palm.

“Eraserhead!” He realized out loud. Somehow it wasn’t surprising that Izuku knew about Eraserhead. He didn’t have a big following and was mortally embarrassed by what fandom he did have, but the people who knew about him at all often knew him very well.  

“Is he?” Inko-san relaxed a little further. “Well, then I hope he punches your father right in the nose.” Both her hands flew up to cover her mouth as she realized what she’d said.

“He might.” Hitoshi was a little worried about that. As ever, he didn’t really care if his dad had to deal with negative consequences except for how it affected his mom. 

Mic showed up with a packed overnight bag and his school stuff right about the time Hitoshi was wondering if he was going to have to sleep in his boxers. The upshot was that Inko-san had laid out a double futon in the living room floor without having to be persuaded to let them bunk together. She might have even let them share Izuku’s bed, except there was no hope in hell that they’d both fit on his undersized twin mattress at the same time. 

 Izuku did not recognize Mic, who was harder to spot out of costume because -unlike his husband- he actually put effort into it. He swept in and dazzled Inko-san straight off. Turned out she was weaker to a megawatt smile than to intimidation.

Despite that, Mic looked tired and kind of sore. Hitoshi REALLY hoped it wasn’t actual physical soreness from beating someone up. He still swept Hitoshi up in one of his big bear hugs. “Heya, kiddo.” His voice was a little raspy. “We’re working things out at the house. Shouta’s with your mom. Your dad… well. He’s, uh… he’s checking into a hotel.”

Inko paused as she set down a cup of tea on the coffee table for Mic. “Without Ayame-san?” She asked, confused.

Mic coughed. “Yeah, without Ayame-chan.” He sounded a little down. “She locked herself in the bathroom and wouldn’t come out unless he left. Shouta was still getting the story out of her when I had to leave. I think your dad still has her phone. I’m gonna go get her a new one after this and then you guys can text again.”

His dad keeping his mom’s phone for her wasn’t quite as creepy or controlling as it came off as, but Hitoshi couldn’t deny his dad liked gatekeeping his mom’s access to other people more than he should have. 

Hitoshi’s mom’s quirk was called ‘Siren’ for a reason. She could stun anyone she concentrated on, but the more subtle obsessive secondary effects weren’t universal. Hitoshi, Uncle Shouta, and Uncle Mic were immune because they were all either related to her, super gay, or both.

They’d figured out some loopholes that let her talk to other people. She could text so long as she didn’t hit ‘send’ herself or carry the phone around. Emails were safer, especially if they used a service that routed her outgoing mail through a couple of servers before delivering it. 

“Oh my.” Inko-san sat back on her heels. She glanced at Hitoshi. “I’ll let you two talk.”

“No, I…” Mic took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “...sorry, this actually concerns you too.” He glanced at Hitoshi. “I don’t think there’s a good way to bring this up so I’m just gonna do it.”

Well, that wasn’t unnerving at all. 

Izuku leaned into his side. He’d been quiet since Mic showed up, but stayed very close to Hitoshi. His presence was more settling than words could describe.

“Your mom says she wants a divorce.” Mic spoke slowly and carefully “Your Uncle Shouta is prepared to ram it through as soon as he possibly can. Knowing your dad though, he’s going to make it as ugly as possible. Some stuff is going to come up and we didn’t want you to have to know about it, but if I know Hiroshi he’s going to drag it all out into the open.”

That was how his dad operated when he wasn’t getting his way or felt under attack so Hitoshi didn’t necessarily agree. He knew his family situation was weird and most of it could be explained away by the fact that his mom needed a lot of support, but could be exposed to too many people. 

Not all of it.

Hitoshi’s dad made really good money. He could afford to buy whatever services she needed. They didn’t need to live with Hitoshi’s uncles, but they did.

“You’re not worried that he’ll try to get full custody of Hitoshi-kun, are you?” Inko-san asked. “I’ve heard of men doing that sometimes, even if they don’t get along with their children.”

“That’s, uh, not a concern for us.” Mic coughed and rubbed the back of his head. “That’s what I came to talk about really. You see… ah…” He squinted at Hitoshi and tried to smile. “Hiroshi isn’t your father. I am.”

Izuku reached over without a word and clapped a hand over Hitoshi’s sternum, squelching his first furious response before it could even happen. Hitoshi covered his soulmate’s hand with his own, holding it there and making use of the soothing vibrations of their bond for a couple of seconds before he could ask questions that weren’t ‘Are you out of your goddamn mind?’

“It’s not what it sounds like.” Mic hastened to reassure him. “You see, Ayame-chan wanted a baby really badly. Hiroshi turned out to be infertile. I was just a donor. You were born through IVF.”

That was way less bad than what Hitoshi had first assumed, given the way Mic had phrased that. For one awful moment he thought Mic had cheated on Uncle Shouta ---with Hitoshi’s mom no less.

“We thought Hiroshi was okay with it.” Mic went on to explain. “He seemed to look forward to you at first, but things changed when you were born. I think it wasn’t real to him before that or he hadn’t thought about what it would mean to be a father so…” He fought to keep an uncharacteristically grim look off his face and only met with middling success. “...he refused to let his name be listed on your birth certificate. Normally it doesn’t matter, but he made such a stink about it that the hospital agreed to put my name down. I’m your legal male parent and I share custody of you with Ayame-chan. Hiroshi isn’t involved.”

Holy crap.

Did that mean Uncle Shouta was both his uncle and stepdad? How did that even work?

“It’s going to be hard to get the divorce decree.” Izuku piped up. “I heard there’s precedent now for not granting separations to soul mates if one of them has a quirk disability and there’s no evidence of abuse.”

“Oh believe me, little li--guy...” Mic slid his glasses back on. “...my lawyers are used to way higher stakes. They’ll chew him up and pick their teeth with his bones. Shouta’s been after this for a long time too. No one was going to take her soulmate away from her, but if Ayame wants him gone then we’ll run him out of town on a rail.”

[brandstifter-sys]

Before You Know It

Word Count: 1475. (Ao3)

Relationship: Dukexiety

Rating: T

Warnings: disease mention, mild gore mention, implied violence, self-depreciation, sex mention

Remus is a lot wiser than he lets on, and he is the one side who could reach Virgil before he got accepted. And even now he's still good at helping the emo he loves feel better

-------

Janus sighed and closed the door behind him. It was no use, not this time, not after that display of disregard. He clutched the icepack, now warm with tears, and looked up at the side waiting for answers.

“He won’t listen to me, not this time, even with hypnosis,” he sighed, “Maybe you can reach him, Remus. Someone has to.”

Remus nodded solemnly and sank out. Virgil wasn’t leaving his room, and after the video that day, it was understandable why he would want to hide. Thomas turned him into a cartoon. Thomas made him fly to California. Thomas made him a supervillain. Thomas punched him. in. the. face. Rejection was one thing, but that, that broke him. Remus and Janus feared for the worst.

“Oh Virgilisonfire!" he sang as he rose up in the dimly lit room. His slimy black heart broke at the sight of Anxiety curled up and slumped over his knees, bundled in blankets with his hood up. He had a nasty bruise on his cheek that shone under a glaze of tears.

"All I want is to protect him," Virgil sniffed and hugged himself tighter, "But I'm not doing that anymore."

Remus approached the bed and sat down next to him.

"What do you mean? You're protecting him still. He's just an idiot. And that's saying something coming from your favorite horny dumbass!" Remus giggled and wrapped an arm around him.

"I'm holding him back, I'm hurting him, and I don't blame him for hating me. I'm a disease. A terrible illness that won't stop making things worse."

"You? Kickin-bod Crane? No no no no, that's not right, not at all," Remus pouted and pulled him closer with no resistance.

"Versa E-Verge, you aren't some sexy strain of yersinia pestis, I would be harassing you day and night if you were," he said, getting a snort from Virgil, "No, you are not the plague. You have your moments of overdoing it, but who doesn't? You do a lot for the big T that he doesn’t appreciate, and you know that, you just gotta stay determined to do you.”

“But doing me hurts him so much. Even if I do some good stuff, I do a lot more harm and he hates me for it. He’s right to hate me. I’m not the plague but I am a sickness, like the Spanish flu.”

“You wanna go with disease metaphors? Okay! You know you only have to deal with the Spanish flu once, and he deals with you a lot more than that. You, my gloomy goober, have bad times, and they’re as basic as a common cold!” Remus said with a bright grin, making Virgil scowl, “Yeah, you’re not some terrible illness, you’re just a common cold, gone before you know it, and then back at it again and it’s predictable. You’re not killing him, making him rot from the inside out or destroying his vital organs, you’re a mild inconvenience when shit hits the fan. Those bad times pass, and then you’re not what he thinks is a problem. Again, I’m telling you, Thomas is dumb, like he has three Kronk's in his personality.”

“Three?” Virgil questioned and wiped his eyes, “I know Princey and Patton are, but who’s the third?”

“Me!” Remus laughed and threw his arms out. Virgil let out a small laugh and shook his head.

“Kronk is kind, strong, respectful, and moronic.”

“Yeah, I know!”

“You’re not moronic.”

“Aw!” Remus squealed and pulled Virgil into a bear hug, earning a fond groan in response. Virgil took a minute to free his arms and hug back, but he managed to do it.

“Thanks, Dukey, you always know what to say to help.”

“I also know how what to say to make you incredibly uncomfortable, disturbed, disgusted, and horn—"

“Shut up a bit and lemme have this moment.”

“Okay, Scare Bear. We love you, even if they don’t. I love you.”

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

Two Years Later…

“You know what's funny. You used to really unsettle me,” Virgil said, finally addressing him without the others intervening. Remus pouted and rolled his neck, wondering why Janus hadn’t popped up for this load of bull.

“I thought that you were some...terrible illness.” That caught his attention, and a soft smile crept onto his face. He could see where Virgil was going with this, the subtlety masked his meaning perfectly.

“Now I can see that you're just...a common cold...a mild inconvenience...that's gone before you know it."

Remus couldn’t fight the laugh that bubbled from his chest, “Oh, you TickleMe Emo! I enjoyed this! Good seeing you again, Virgil! Ah, it was just like old times!” He didn’t need to see more than that reluctant half-smile before sinking out.

After a quick bit of annoying Roman, because no sibling can easily resist the urge to be a pain, Remus actually returned to his room. It really was fun to finally get to interact with Thomas face-to-face, even if he didn’t give the duke a positive reception. Not that Remus was looking for positivity in this case, he was busy being an alarm that something wasn’t right. That something was Janus, refusing to leave his room for anything. Remus absolutely refused to offer any advice to help his slithering partner in crime, since Janus was too stubborn and his advice was probably what led to Virgil ducking out.

Remus flopped on his four-poster bed and sighed. Maybe his advice from before did reach Virgil as he intended, maybe it wasn't enough back then. Seeing him so hostile recently should have made Remus see that he forgot those words until Logan brought up doctors. It wouldn't have surprised the duke if Virgil willingly forgot about their history together. It stung but Remus saw it coming. He didn't see what was just on the horizon.

"Octopup?" Virgil's shaking voice got Remus to sit up. His heart broke when he saw Virgil standing in front of him, hugging himself with his head hanging. He was shaking and terrified.

"Need a hug, Scare Bear?" Remus asked and held his arms open, as if nothing had changed. Virgil crashed into him, knocking him back and clinging to him for dear life. Remus held him close and stroked his hair.

"So do you want to tell me what's wrong or should I just keep doing this?"

"I–I—" Virgil stammered, fighting back tears, "I told Thomas I was one of you. He didn't take it well."

"I hate to break it to you, but you're still one of us. You always have a place here, even if you don't think you do. You really think that we would just stop caring about you even though you left?"

"I've been horrible to you. Why would you want me back?"

"No one is trying to bring you back, we understand that you had to go. But you are always welcome if you want to visit our little cesspool."

"Remus," Virge said, pulling away to look at him, "it's not a cesspool. I know you aren't just intrusive thoughts and you do other good things. I just got stuck on the horrible things that could happen."

"I guess I really did unsettle you."

"Whenever you said, 'I love you,'" Virge admitted shyly, "I kinda figured it was just low-stakes platonic and I kinda—"

"Wanted it to be higher stakes?" Remus continued, "Because I have some good news for you!"

"Knowing I missed out is not good news."

"Then it's a good thing it's not that!" Remus giggled and held him closer, "I want you to be happy, Harlot's Web, but it would be so much better to be able to be the reason you smile and laugh. I love you, Virge and I don't care if you don't love me back, I just want you to be comfortable and confident and the image in my head when I j—"

Virgil surged forward and kissed him, desperately but sweetly. It caught Remus by surprise, but he was a man who lived for surprises! But Virgil pulled away before he could kiss back.

"I—I'm–I shouldn't've—" Virgil yelped and covered his mouth, ready to cry again.

"But you did, and I'm not complaining!" Remus teased, "But if you aren't comfortable with it, I'm good like this. You don't have to worry about me and my feelings right now, you need some creature comfort, and I am a slimy creature built for comfort—and pleasure!"

"I love you too, you himbo trash man!" Virgil grumbled and hid his face in Remus' shoulder, "Thank you for being there for me, even now."

"Aw, Scare Bear!" Remus squealed and hugged him even tighter. Virgil didn't fight to break free. He nuzzled closer and melted into the embrace. He felt like he was home for the first time in forever.

[writesowhatnext]

semaphore but tastier // cedric diggory

Summary: the reader is Cedric’s best friend and they can read him like an open book

Request: hi! can i request a cedric diggory fic where the reader always bakes him smth and he feels better bc of it? 🥺 thank uu

A/N: I really hope this is okay because for some reason I am totally off my rhythm atm and it is also 1am so context also i love ced so more requests for him when i reopen are welcome

Reader: unspecified

Warnings: Triwizard tournament, injury

Anyone would think that you were conditioning him. For what, exactly, you couldn’t say, but you really couldn’t deny how pleased you were to see that handsome smile on his lips. Cedric was your best friend, though, so of course, you wanted to make him happy; it was only natural. And if you found a way to do that via a means as easy as just baking for him, then why for Merlin’s sake wouldn’t you? That was your story, if anyone asked, and that was what you were sticking to. It was nothing to do with any secret, personal, intimate feelings you had for him and that was that.

The first time, really, it’d been an accident; just a happy little coincidence. You just happened to be holding one of your mum’s home-baked Apple Danishes when you saw Ced looking positively tragic in the library, mourning over his Transfiguration essay. All it took to turn his frown upside down was an eye roll and a carefully deposited pastry in his lap - he was clearly a man of simple taste. It’d always been like that with the two of you, actually: you found that you could read him like a children’s book. A very simple children’s book with very few words and lots of very pretty pictures.

It was because of that that you always knew the one thing that never failed to make his day; one of your mum’s freshly-baked sweet treats. It had even worked when he broke up with his girlfriend, something you were not as ‘unnervingly pleased about’ as your friends had teased, thank you very much. Food was your go-to, though, and it always, always worked. Well, mostly always.

Cedric wasn’t upset often. Somehow, it was as if it went against his very nature to be anything but smiling, anything but quietly confident and wonderfully charming. So, when you strolled towards the Great Hall, spotting him and quickening your steps to fall in line with his steady gait, you were surprised to see him scowling.

“Hello,” you grinned, raising your eyebrows as he turned to you, the wrinkle between his eyebrows ironing out slightly at the sight of your smiling face.

You both stopped to wait for the staircase and his brows sunk again, his jaw clenching.

“Hi,” he said, exhaling out of his nose. You smirked, grabbing his chin gently and pushing his cheeks together, making a face. Your fingers lingered on his chiselled jaw.

“Why do you look so cross, Mr Grumpy Pants?” you asked, letting go of him as you started up the stairs.

A reluctant smile tugged at his lips, but you could tell that despite his amusement, there was still something bothering him, creasing his brow.

“Seriously, Ced,” you said, bumping his shoulder as you walked side-by-side down the corridor. “What’s up?”

He stopped short, looking down at the cobblestone floor. You took a moment to trail your eyes down his profile.

“Do you think I should put my name in the Goblet?”

Your eyes darted to meet his grey gaze, your mouth drying up at his words.

“For the Triwizard Tournament?” he said as if he needed to.

You frowned, opening your mouth before closing it again quickly.

“I might need more than a strudel for this one,” you said, trying to make him laugh. Despite your hesitance at the idea, you were glad to see him chuckle, shaking his head at your little joke.

To say you were nervous would be an understatement. The whole concept of Cedric, your Cedric, being part of the deadliest wizard competition in history was throwing you for a loop and he hadn’t even been selected yet. As you sat in the Great Hall, though, at the Halloween Feast with your heart in your throat and your eyes solidly on Cedric, some part of you knew that no one else could be the Hogwarts Champion. Not if he couldn’t.

“Do you think he’ll be picked?” your friend asked, leaning backwards to get a better look at the already selected  Durmstrang and Beauxbatons champions. You didn’t need to ask who she meant.

“Yes,” you said, surprising yourself at how shaky your voice was. “I’m almost certain.”

“Oh, right, because he’s so handsome and brave and smart and kind and wonderful,” she mocked, her voice barely audible over the clapping.

You turned to her, making a face and pretending to mouth what she’d said, earning a slap on the arm. You were too busy squabbling to hear Dumbledore’s preamble, but you sure heard it when he read out the name of the first Hogwarts champion. At the time, though, you weren’t to know there’d be a second. The whole hall erupted at Cedric’s name and despite yourself, you found you were jumping to your feet, cheering and clapping along with everyone else, whistling and finding yourself swept along by the glee of it all, proud actually, of your best friend.

It wasn’t until the dragons that the true fear and nervousness sunk in. You were on autopilot as you crept around the Waiting Tent before the first task, your stomach in knots as you hoped somehow you would find him. Ever since he’d told you that Harry Potter had told him about the dragons, you’d been dreading the day, probably more scared for his safety than he was. You were far too distracted by the thought of something happening to him and the weight of the cream pie heavy in your palm to be completely focused. A rock twisted under your foot and you lost your balance. With a yelp, you ended up pushing through the tent, the fabric separating around your hands as you landed on the floor with a thud. You groaned, officially winded by your own clumsiness.

“Y/N?” a familiar voice said softly, riddled with confusion

You looked up to see Cedric, the man of the hour, with an amused smirk and raised eyebrows.

“You alright, Ced?” you asked casually as if you hadn’t just tripped straight through the wall. Shifting to get up, you were grateful to feel his hands on your arms as he helped you to your feet.

“Better now.”

He grinned at you for a moment, the yellow of his uniform tinting his skin perfectly. You blinked.

“I uh-“ you swallowed, blinking again. “I brought you this.”

You offered him the pastry in your outstretched palm, frowning at how sad it looked, slightly crushed and deformed by your little fall.

Opening your mouth to apologise, you squished the dessert in your grip, surprised as Cedric threw his arms around you, pulling you into him tightly. A grunt left your lips and if you weren’t already disorientated by the hug, the sound of a shutter and a bright camera flash made sure to do the trick. You both pulled away sharply and you would’ve fallen again had Cedric not placed his hand on your back to steady you.

“Wow,” a woman said shrilly. “Isn’t young love beautiful?”

You opened your mouth to correct her, but your words lodged in your throat when you noticed the floating quill beside her head. Your brain connected the dots and you found yourself taking an instant disliking to Rita Skeeter, a journalist Ced had complained about when he first got interviewed.

“That’ll make the front page if today goes poorly,” she mused, pursing her lips and tilting her head to the side. “And what a pretty page that’ll be, a couple like you.”

“Excuse me,” you said indignantly, immediately defensive. You didn’t get to finish before she was accosted by the Durmstrang champion, Krum.

“Sorry about that,” Ced said, his hand leaving your back as you turned to face him, his fingers skimming your arm distracting you entirely.

“Sorry about this,” you replied, lifting up the almost unrecognisable cream pie in your hand, the filling squeezing into the plastic bag around it.

“Don’t be, I think it has a certain charm.”

“I’ll give it to you now in case-“ Your voice broke.

“Hey,” he said, cupping your elbow gently. “I’ll be fine.”

Your vision blurred with tears and even his fingertips brushing your cheek lightly couldn’t salvage the sinking feeling in your stomach.

“Do you not trust me?” he asked a playful grin on his lips. You glared through your tears, pushing against his chest softly.

“You know I do.”

“Then you know that I’ll be fine. It’s just a dragon, what’s the worst that could happen?”

You inhaled, but he’d known you long enough to know the lengthy list of your response and insisted on stopping it in its tracks.

“It’ll be okay. Besides, I have to eat this…” he paused, frowning at the decimated pastry in your hand.

“It was a cream pie.”

“Ah.”

“Champions!” Dumbledore yelled, thundering into the tent and reminding you that you definitely were not supposed to be there. You looked at Cedric as he turned back to you and it was clear that you both reluctantly knew that you had to leave. You stared at him for a moment, brows drawn together, before you shoved the bag you held into his hand and gave it a squeeze. Leaning up, you pecked him on the cheek and immediately stepped away, not quite ready to deal with the aftermath of that particular decision.

“Please be safe, Ced.”

True to his word, he was okay. You’d almost had a heart attack when the Swedish Short-Snout got close to him, but you were beyond happy to see him in the Hufflepuff Common Room, sitting like a king with a mushed-up cream pie in his grasp. You were not at all impressed to see the burn on his face, though, and you were in half a mind to chew him out over it until he spotted you across the room. Immediately, he was stalking over to you and you found yourself doing the same, rushing towards him. You met halfway, throwing your arms around his neck and burrowing your head into his shoulder, breathing in his scent.

“I told you I’d be okay,” he whispered, his free hand rubbing gently up and down your back so lightly you thought you might faint.

He waited until you were there to open the egg and you definitely wished he hadn’t when a horrible screeching noise filled the air. The days that followed as he tried to figure out the contraption, you realised that the Triwizard Tournament had taken over your entire life. For months, what would happen next and more importantly, Ced’s safety had become your first priority and undeniably, that thought scared you. You listened dutifully, as a good friend should when he told you about the advice from Professor Moody to open the golden egg underwater, or when he talked about Harry or the next task, but anyone could tell you were distracted as you tried to imagine what you would do if anything happened to him. Your mind ran away with ideas of something happening to him with you having never told him how you actually felt.

“So,” Cedric said, elbowing you and breaking you out of your reverie one lunchtime. You’d imagined him a lot in the recent days and as you turned to him, your heart stopped a little to see his face in person, as handsome as ever.

“Why are you being strange?”

“I’m not being strange,” you said, though it came out more like a question.

“So, why have you been staring into the distance for the last fifteen minutes, then?” he asked, raising his eyebrows and biting into an apple.

You felt heat rush to your face and you looked down, trying to hide.

“At first I thought you just wanted to let me down gently.”

“Gently about what?”

You shoved the food on your plate around with your fork, desperately unhungry.

“The Yule Ball.”

“What about it?” you asked, frowning as Ced leant over your forearm and placed a strange looking bun on the table in front of you.

“I want you to go with me,” he said softly, his eyes nervous as you made eye contact. Why on Earth would Ced be nervous, you thought, assuming you were mistaken.

“You want to go with me?”

You’d been examining the bun closely when you looked up at him, your fingertips sinking into the delicate white icing as you froze. You couldn’t quite keep up with what was happening and you found yourself blinking far too much, your chest tightening in the process.

“You don’t have to-“

“Don’t you want to go with Cho Chang? Or that Granger girl? Or-“

“Why are trying to talk me out of asking you?”

You looked down, desperately aware of his eyes on you as you peeled your fingers from the sticky icing.

“What’s this?” you asked, nodding to it.

“Something to sweeten the deal,” he said and you could hear the distinct smile in his voice. “Also, you looked sad and you always bake me things with I’m sad.”

“Did you bake this?” you turned to him, frowning, the sound of your heartbeat growing louder in your ears.

“No,” he scoffed, shaking his head and taking another bite of his apple. “I’m just very nice to the house-elves.”

You smiled, huffing a laugh at his pleased expression.

“I don’t think I can go with you, Ced,” you admitted, swallowing gruffly and avoiding his eyes. “To the ball.”

“Why not?”

His voice was small and you wish you hadn’t known him well enough to hear the hurt in it.

“Because to you, it would just be as friends.” You paused, an odd regretful relief flooding through you. “And I like you way more than a friend should.”

“I’m not asking you as a friend,” he said.

You frowned, your eyes lifting up and to the side, before you turned to face him, surprised to see him quietly cocky and not at all like you’d ruined his life by admitting your feelings, as you’d expected you would.

“As a best friend?” you asked, your voice unmistakably hopeful.

You watched a smirk play on his lips and a mischievous glint sparkle in his eye and something you’d never felt before stirred in your chest. He finally broke eye contact, shaking his head and looking down.

“I think you know the answer to that.”

harry potter tag list:

@creator-appreciator​

@loveisblindness​

@xinyourdreamsx​

@brainlesspasta​

@hariosborn​

@staringmoony​

@rexorangecouny​

@alittletoomanyobsessions​

@peachesandpinks​

@yuptha-tsme​

@obsessedwithrandomthings​

@dreamer821​

@iprobablyshipit91​

[aelin-queen-of-terrasen]

"you have no idea what it's like" for DITD, girlie🖤 (please don't hurt our babies TOO much, I love you)

Ily too wife! 💖 You're the best. 😘

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 - 𝐒𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 | 𝐃𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐈𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐤

Rowaelin modern AU ▶ Masterlist

note: guys! I'm finally posting this even tho this may be the cringiest I've ever been. I cannot apologise enough for what you're about to see.

──────✧❅✦❅✧──────

If being a loner was bad, Rowan decided having friends was worse. He didn't know how to act around Aelin. Should he hug her or kiss her cheek like her other friends do or should he wave? How long should he look at her without it becoming inappropriate? Should he have specified it's not a date everytime he paid for he food or should he let it be? What if she assumed it was a date? What if she wanted it to be a date?

No, she doesn't. Rowan may not be sure of much but this he knew for certain.

She was smitten with the waiter at their usual diner—Sam Cortland, a student from their rival school. He watched her flirt with him shamelessly over the week, batting her eyelashes or laughing out loud as if to draw his attention.

Only yesterday, when the waiter—Sam—asked what they'd like to have for dessert, Aelin had quipped, "I want you for dessert."

Poor boy turned into a flustered mess, walking away from their table at an inhuman speed. Aelin only flashed him a lazy grin from where she sat, an unabashed smile on her face. He didn't know why she didn't ask him out when he was clearly interested in her but her trips to the diner were getting frequent as her crush increased.

Rowan didn't mind hanging out with her there—just the two of them. Today, however, they weren't alone.

They bumped into Aedion and Lysandra on their way inside. Lysandra insisted that the two of them should join them for lunch and it wasn't long after that they invited the rest of the group too. Aelin repeatedly offered that they could leave but Rowan wanted to be friends with her friends. He could tell she wanted it too, though she tried not to show it much. So for both or their sakes, he endured Aedion's awkward silence and his guarded attitude as they waited for the others to arrive.

Lysandra kept them all busy, asking questions every once in a while. "So, Rowan, you're single?"

A blush rose to his cheeks. "I, uh, I suppose?" Lysandra didn't mince words. She was a lot like Aelin in that—all blunt questions and wicked smirks.

Lysandra nudged her best friend. "Aelin is single too." At the glare from her best friend, she turned to him: "and she already—" she was cut off when the bell chimed from the door, the rest of the group shuffling inside.

Dorian was the first to greet him, followed by a wave and a nod from Fenrys and Lorcan respectively.

The introductions were made and he was surprised the conversation wasn't awkward like he feared. Dorian and Fenrys did the most talking, Aelin was quieter for a change and she kept looking at him every few minutes as if to make sure he was still with her. After he assured her he was comfortable at least thrice, she slipped into the conversation too, her hand semi-consciously on top of his.

He was too focused on the warmth of her hand when Fenrys asked, "What do you think, Rowan?"

"I don't—I'm sorry, my mind was elsewhere. What about?" He tried not to look too embarrassed, though he was sure the tips of his ears turned pink. He didn't want Aelin's friends to think he was inattentive and rude.

Aelin squeezed his hand in reassurance. Fenrys shrugged. "It's alright, I was just telling Aelin she could do better than Sam." He quieted when the said waiter arrived with their order, Aelin flashing him a sweet smile. When he left, Fenrys continued, "I don't know about this, Ace. He isn't even your type—"

"You're saying that because he's on your rival team," she pouted.

Fenrys rolled his eyes, looking ready to protest but Lysandra cut in. "Look, if she wants to go for a guy, let her. She isn't stupid, and if something goes wrong, that's what we're here for, right?" At Fenrys' reluctant nod, Aelin blew a kiss towards her friend, mumbling something like 'knew I loved you for a reason' through a mouth full of food. Rowan watched her with a small smile, all his attention directed towards the blonde beside him.

For the whole hour they were there, his eyes never strayed too far from her face.

──────✧❅✦❅✧──────

"What do you want, Meave?" Rowan couldn't keep the ire off his voice.

Despite his anti-social self, he almost had fun at the diner. All of them welcomed him into the group, resolved on not making it awkward for him. He appreciated all the kindness Aelin's friends had shown him in one hour. Who would have thought he would fit right in with Terrasen's elite crowd? It was almost impossible to believe that his views on them had changed, all within one month. He felt good after returning. Which meant he had no patience for his Aunt Meave right now.

She cocked her head towards him. "Has hanging out with that troublemaker made my nephew so rude, Rowan?"

He always thought his aunt was ice cold, her face emotionless, black hair unbound and dark eyes void of feeling and warmth. Her pale, translucent skin made her look like a corpse, the cruel smirk on her face making him shudder a little as he gathered himself. She knew about his friendship with Aelin, then. He didn't even want to know how.

"Why don't you skip this and tell me what you want, dear aunt?" he said.

Meave's smirk vanished. "Stop hanging out with those troublemakers." It didn't sound like a suggestion.

"No."

"What did you say?"

Rowan surprised himself and his aunt when he repeated, "No. You won't tell me who I should befriend." He had never refused her anything before.

Meave raised an eyebrow. "Don't say things you'll regret, Rowan."

"I mean it. Leave me alone," Rowan repeated. Too much. She'd taken too much and he's always let her because what did it matter? But this he won't bend on. Meave won't take this from him. He was finally starting to fit in somewhere. He won't let his aunt destroy that.

He turned towards the doorway, almost walked out when her voice stopped him in his tracks. "You'll listen to me, Rowan, or I'll make you."

"Feel free to try," he answered.

Then Rowan Whitethorn was out of her office, heart hammering inside his chest and praying to whatever gods would listen that this won't come and bite him in the ass later.

──────✧❅✦❅✧──────

A week passed by without any consequences. Rowan started to relax. Perhaps Meave didn't mean her threats, perhaps she spoke for the sake of rattling him alone.

He hoped he was right.

Aelin wore Sam out with her constant flirting. He asked her out and she accepted. Aelin couldn't stop talking about it for the whole week that followed. He listened to her with a smile, though he didn't understand why it felt so forced. They were planning their second date.

Rowan was accepted by most of his teammates now, thanks to Aedion and Fenrys. After years of hope and resentment, he was right where he had always wanted. Him and Aelin were better friends than ever, spending whatever time they could together. She couldn't stop talking about Sam. He'd never seen her happier.

Then why did it feel so wrong?

──────✧❅✦❅✧──────

Something was wrong.

Aelin was avoiding him, he could tell. She ran the other way whenever he saw her, hiding from him the whole day. Rowan didn't know what he did wrong but when he realised she wasn't talking to any of her friends, he had a feeling it wasn't him this time.

Tomorrow, he promised himself, I'll make her talk and find out what's up.

That day in her living room, he had promised a half asleep blonde he won't leave. Rowan Whitethorn was a man of his word. He would stick by her side. Let worse come to worst, she would never be alone again.

──────✧❅✦❅✧──────

Aelin was crumpled on the floor, head leaning against her locker and her face buried in her knees when Rowan found her the next day. "Aelin, fireheart, what happened?" he asked.

She didn't look up at him, almost as if she wasn't aware of his presence.

He heard her choke a sob out, then another until her body was shaking with the force of them. Rowan crouched down beside her, pulling her towards him when she recoiled, her breaths coming out short as she pulled away. She shook her head, "Don't come near me, I can't—I can't breathe. Arobynn won't, he won't like it, I should have tried harder... my fault, I couldn't do it. I failed, oh god. I failed, I could have—I tried so hard and I still failed. Please don't—don't touch me—" another round of sobs wracked her body.

Rowan's stomach lurched as he backed off. Panic attack. She was having a panic attack.

He forced his voice to remain calm, gentle but firm. "Aelin, love, I need you to breathe. Listen to me breathe, ok? Listen and breathe with me. Can you do that, fireheart?" When she didn't quiet down, he placed her hand on his chest with the most delicate of touches. He breathed out loud, once, twice, thrice and repeated the process until she had calmed down a little.

Tears flooded down her cheeks, her face flushed. Aelin seemed a little calmer, at least. She kept shaking for a few more minutes, her small hand still on his chest, engulfed in his larger one.

"Aelin, should I—can I hold you?" He didn't know what else to do.

When his eldest cousin had panic attacks, that was what his uncle did. He had no knowledge how to deal with it beside that.

Aelin said, "I want to—I want to but I don't know—I'm not sure if I can." She was still shaking, covered in sweat.

He brushed some strands of her away from her forehead, then said, "Here's what I will do. I'll hug you and if you feel you can't, you tell me, is that fine? Can you do that, fireheart?"

She nodded.

Hesitantly, he wrapped his arms around her, relieved when she relaxed into his arms. He rubbed circles on her back as the shaking ebbed. He was afraid to ask what prompted the panic attack, seeing as she was still in a fragile state.

Aelin said quietly, "I failed a test." She let out a sob. "I don't—I've never failed before. I studied so hard, I don't know how! I swear I prepared for it."

She buried her face in the crook of his neck. He pressed a soft kiss to the crown of her head in encouragement to continue. She said, "I can't tell others. They don't understand. Lysandra said it's not a big deal, Aedion dismissed it. Arobynn is going to be so pissed, god, and if everyone finds out I'm dumb, I don't know what I'll do. What if everyone finds out my marks? God, Uncle Gavriel—he will be so disappointed and Aunt Elaine! She was so sure I'd score a hundred." The sobs started anew and Rowan soothingly rubbed her back.

"Hey, fireheart, look at me. You failed once, so what? You can do better next time, right?"

It was the wrong thing to say because she frowned, pulling back. Her eyes filled with unushed tears, already swollen from crying. The mascara smeared across her face now, hair sticking to her sweaty forehead. "You don't understand either," she said.

He tried not to wince at the accusatory tone with which she talked.

"Aelin, I don't—"

She shook her head violently, leaning back against the lockers. "You don't. No one understands. Everyone's good at something. Aedion is the football captain, Lysandra is on the dance team. Dorian's the school president, even Lorcan—he's on a gods damned scholarship. I'm the useless one. You don't know how it feels, to always be around friends knowing they're better than you. They all have their own talents, I just fail at stuff. They're all working hard for their careers. Me? I'm just the girl everyone keeps around because she is a nice accessory." Rowan's heart broke as he listened. He didn't dare stop her. She needed to let it out, all that was bothering her. She continued with a sob, "They're perfect. Everyone has their thing. Fenrys can sing, Dorian has debate, Lysandra can dance, Aedion loves football, I don't—I never fit in. I'm like that lost puppy who follows her friends around. What do I have to be proud about?" She rubbed at her eyes again.

Rowan gently moved her hands away from her face, wiping her tears. "So what if you don't know when the Caesar fell or why the sky looks blue? You've been through so much pain and you still smile. That alone makes you stronger than anyone I know. I'm proud of that and you should be too. Don't ever say you're useless. You're young, you've got years to figure out what path you want to choose for yourself, ok? Never think you're any less than your friends." When she nodded, he pulled her closer. "And if it's the test you're concerned about, we'll fix this together. I'll help you and in the next test, you'll kick ass. Ask me how I know."

Aelin gave him a blank look.

He smiled. "C'mon, ask me, fireheart."

"How?" her voice was throaty from crying but it didn't waver.

"I know because you're Aelin. When we met, I hated you but you were so determined to be friends, and look where we are. You can do anything, fireheart. With a little help, of course."

She looked up at him and blinked, the haze clearing away from her eyes. There was a small smile on her face as she poked his cheek. "So much praise for me, buzzard. Have you got more?"

"Don't push it," he told her, though he was smiling wide.

Aelin wiped the remaining tears away, rising from the ground and dusted her pants off. She turned to walk away.

"Where are you going now?"

She smirked. "Bathroom. Failed or not, I'll be damned if anyone saw me like that. I do owe it to my fanclub." He could tell she was pretending to be her normal self for his sake but the smile was genuine.

Shaking his head, Rowan followed her to the girls washroom. Gods, she was going to be the death of him.

──────✧❅✦❅✧──────

a/n: I'm sorry this was so sappy, I didn't reread it because I'm worried if I do, I'll delete the whole thing. this was the hardest to write and I can't apologise enough 😭

Tags:

@thesirenwashere // @judexcardanxgreenbriar //@fangirltrash74 // @the-dark-swan // @queenofgreenbriar // @clockworkgraystairs // @julemmaes // @rowaelinforeverworld // @mymultiversee // @queen-of-glass // @strangely-constructed-soul // @mijaldraws // @http-itsrebecca // @aesthetics-11 // @lord-douglas-the-third // @flowersinvegas // @towhateverend17 // @aelinchocolatelover // @justabunchoffandoms // @cool-ish-nerd // @faerie-queen-fireheart // @sad-book-whore // @didsomeonesayviolin // @atozfantazyxx // @hizqueen4life // @the-gods-killer // @booknerdproblems // @annejulianneh111 // @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln // @b00kworm // @mysweetvillain // @curlyredqueen06 // @moondancer-204 // @thesurielships // @witchling-leonor // @ladywitchling // @amren-courtofdreams // @ifinallygavein // @jlinez // @faequeenaelin // @df3ndyr // @in-love-with-caramel-macchiato // @bitchy-knees // @superspiritfestival // @xx-fiona-xx // @stardelia // @maastrash

[concussed-to-pieces]

The Mettle Of A Man; Part Nine

Fandom: Fallout (4)

Pairing: Eventual Paladin Danse/Female Sole Survivor

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Enjoy!

Part One: ArcJet

Part Two: The Prydwen

Part Three: Orders

Part Four: Finding Brandis

Part Five: Weston Water And Oberland

Part Six: Meeting Preston And Matthew

Part Seven: Radstag And Radstorm

Part Eight: The Return To Sanctuary Hills

Paladin Danse had felt like the husband in one of those pre-war picnic advertisements the whole damn evening. After helping Codsworth carve the roast, the large man had assisted Backhand in making up plates for everyone. Roasted carrots and mashed gourd made their way onto the plates as well before the Longs had shown up to sit at the rickety old picnic table. It was a bit like taking a shift in the mess hall, though it had been several years since Danse had been required to do such a task.

  Despite Codsworth's ramshackle appliances (and the paladin hesitated to even label them as such), the robot appeared to be outstanding at making do with what it had. It easily managed the extra pot and cooking sheet, numerous arms deftly keeping everything from over or under-cooking. Danse was duly impressed. 

  Sturges arrived with an elderly woman clinging to his arm, the aforementioned Mama Murphy if Danse had to guess. She was a frail-looking thing even by Commonwealth standards, all bundled up against the balmy evening air.

  Backhand greeted her warmly, the knight drawing her into a careful hug before urging her to take a seat.

  Everyone gathered around the table and the environment was one of lax comradery, much to Danse's surprise. He had never been involved in a true family dinner, but this seemed to be something like what he had heard about. It was a little cozier than the mess hall on the Prydwen; he kept bumping elbows with Backhand and the woman kept brushing it off like it was nothing, laughing at his stern apologies. Jun plied Danse with a variety of questions about the Brotherhood which he did his best to answer, while Marcy and Sturges asked Codsworth for seconds. All the while Dogmeat begged from anyone that would offer him attention, ending the meal with his head resting on Mama Murphy's thigh as the old woman absently scratched him behind the ears.

  It was...it was nice. 

  But now, warm and well-fed, lying on the mattress he had procured, Danse found himself wide awake. His thoughts wandered to the massive machine Sturges was constructing on the outskirts of town, the molecular relay . Could it be possible that the Institute had no true physical openings to the Commonwealth proper? It seemed like a villain's scheme out of those illustrated paperback manuscripts the squires loved to read, not something that had any basis in reality.

  Though Ingram had weighed in on the matter, she had also believed it to be fantasy, entirely relegated to the world of theory. As such, she may have been a bit more wild with her calculations. A bit more willing to push the envelope. 

  Danse turned over, staring at the doorway as he considered whether he ought to bring up his concerns to Backhand. This was her son at stake. But it would do her no good to get blown to pieces by some malfunction or miscalculation. 

  Hell, they hadn't exactly covered experimental methods of travel in advanced training. The large man sighed and grudgingly slipped from the bed, digging his fatigue pants out of his pack.

  He crept across the hallway, noticing a light still shining from beneath the door of Vega's room. At least he wouldn't be waking her.

  Gingerly, Danse rapped his knuckles on the door. "Knight Vega?" There was no response. The paladin eased the door open, his words dying on his lips as he took in the scene in front of him. 

  Elizabeth was sound asleep in the bed, her hands folded underneath her chin in what Danse had come to identify as her favored sleeping position. On her bedside table a single candle fluttered in the breeze from the now-ajar door, starkly illuminating the pallid cryo burns on her forehead and chin in its yellow glow.

  Of course she was asleep. She was just as tired as he had been, if not moreso. 

  His eyes were drawn without his conscious input to the blue crib that sat empty alongside the door, the vacant area inside it a solemn, silent reminder of why he was even here in the first place.

  Jesus . Danse felt stupid. What had he been planning on doing? Vega, as your commanding officer, I'd greatly appreciate it if you would come discuss my concerns with me. Pander to my needs . He grimaced at himself, shaking his head. Just what kind of fool was he? Sure Danse, she would just sit down, have some damn tea with you and let you whine about how mechanically unsound all of this seems.

  He cautiously moved further into the room and snuffed out the candle before retreating and shutting the door. It would do her no good to burn the place down around her ears as she slumbered. 

  The paladin retraced his steps across the hall to his room, but if sleep had been reluctant before, now it was downright unobtainable . The bed was comfortable enough. Hell, it was a more comfortable bed than he had experienced in literal months . His brain simply refused to be still.

  Danse groaned, staring up at the ceiling. It seemed he was in for another night of patrol duty.

  He got fully dressed and ventured outside, closing the front door silently behind him before setting off down the main 'street' of the development. He barely got halfway to the large tree at the roundabout of the cul-de-sac when he heard someone calling his name.

  It was Sturges, Danse realized, the other main hailing him from the top of one of the houses. "C'mon up and take a load off!" The mechanic urged, patting the roof beside him.

  Danse glanced off down the thoroughfare of Sanctuary, and then shrugged. Eh, what the hell . From an elevated position he could see threats coming.

  The paladin heaved himself up the ladder and plopped down beside the mechanic, declining the cigarette when it was offered. "I come up here when I got thinkin' to do." Sturges turned his face upwards. "Everythin' seems so much smaller. More compartmentalized -ish, you know?"

  "I'm afraid I cannot sympathize, civilian." Danse replied, wishing he didn't sound quite so stiff.

  "Look up for a minute, man. Take in the view. Then try and tell me everythin' down here ain't small potatoes." 

  Danse dutifully obliged, tilting his head back to observe the sprawling cosmos high above. It was hardly his first time gazing at the stars and pretending to think deep thoughts. He said as much to Sturges, who chuckled. 

  "I used to sit up here and wonder how I got to be so good at tinkerin'. I don't remember much about where I came from, not like how other folks do. Can't recall bein' little, or havin' anyone else around. It's all just kinda' vague." He took a contemplative drag off the cigarette. "I figure I must have come from the Institute. Maybe them Railroad boys got hold of me, smuggled me out like a puppy from a pet shop." He gave Danse a lazy grin. "Of course, it don't matter much either way. Now, I'm workin' to bring 'em down. At the end of the day, I'm makin' myself useful. And if I really am a synth, I get a kick out of the idea of all them bigwigs losin' their shit over somethin' I did."

  Danse knew that his first response ought to be immediate apprehension of the mechanic, followed by interrogation and eradication. But something about what Sturges had said resonated with him, settled in his stomach like a lead weight. "You assume you are a synth merely because your early memories are not as clear as they ought to be?"

  Sturges waved him off. "Nah nah, like...they're not really there . I mean, they're there, but it's all kinda'...I 'unno, sterile . Lots of blanks in between, more than the gaps people talk about when they got trauma n' such. Can't remember losin' my first tooth. Breakin' a bone. Whether I had a family. Little things that add up." He glanced over at the other man after a few silent seconds. " Damn , you alright? You're white as a sheet. You been gettin' enough sleep?"

  Sterile . That was a word Danse had privately attributed to his own early memories long before this moment. Devoid of any defining characteristics, any instance of real impact . Just hazy, irradiated landscapes and gray ruins. Alone, always alone.

  He had known, vaguely, deep down, that most people seemed to have the ability to recall important periods from their childhood that he simply lacked. He had chalked it up to being an orphan, being forced to survive on his own from a tender, unknown age. 

  But…

  But what if it was something far more sinister?

  "I just have a lot on my mind." Danse replied finally.

  ...

  It took him four days. Four days where he was out of his armor more often than he was in it, four days of the two of them sitting in what was once her living room as they pored over tattered schematics, defunct wills and shady paper trails of all kinds. 

  Four days of watching her absently tuck a lock of hair back behind her ear. Four days of her being blissfully, wonderfully armor-free as well. Four days of just getting to be in proximity of her without anything going horribly wrong. 

  It only took him four days. 

  Vega had chosen to wear an appropriately light skirt for their less than taxing work of the day, the ragged pink fabric pooled around her as she sat on the floor and studiously sorted through yet another box of somewhat suspicious documents. The sun was setting, a radstorm hanging low on the horizon in the distance. Its green glow muted the pinks and oranges down to a dull yellow, wraith-like beams making their way through every unpatched crack they could find. The light struck the lenses of her glasses when she bowed her head to look closer at a document, the motion sending a few weak prisms scattering across the opposite wall. 

  Danse couldn't help himself, his mouth dry when he gruffly blurted out, "you look nice today."

  Elizabeth gave no indication that she noticed he had said anything, only looking up after several seconds had gone by. "Sorry, what?" She apologized, blinking behind her thick glasses as a troublesome curl slipped forward over her ear to frame her cheek. "I was engrossed in this thrilling tale of larceny."

  Danse chuckled feebly, thanking God that she hadn't heard him. "Ah, nothing. Sorry to have interrupted your reading material." His hands twitched, and then clenched on his thighs after she smiled benignly at him and returned to her reading.

  Her divorce papers had been among the many documents they sifted through. She had read them aloud, making a theatrical endeavor out of the whole thing. Backhand stood and paced, gesticulating and apparently imitating how her ex-husband had done his job in the courtroom. Danse had laughed at the time. But all the while he wondered about how Nate had treated her, and at her animosity towards the nickname that the man had apparently bestowed upon her. Their divorce was obviously far from amicable.

  A nickname. That was essentially all she had left after the divorce she had requested, that and the child which was born on the same day that they finalized the papers. 

  " He had me sign them in the hospital." Backhand had told him, her voice a little less bright. " I had just come from getting Shaun scooped out of me and he was already in my room. I couldn't even lift my arm to sign. One of the nurse robots had to help me. " Her eyes were far away when she continued, " he didn't even want to see Shaun ."

  Danse knew logically that not every human being was cut out to be a parent. Nowadays, it was enough of a struggle just to survive. But he found himself wishing, stupidly , that he had been there two hundred years ago. Wishing that he had been present to send Nate packing, with or without his damned papers.

  Finding Elizabeth wounded at Fort Independence had been bad enough. The idea of her laying limp in a hospital bed, half-dead from the effort of trying to give birth with some cretin badgering her into signing divorce papers--Danse wasn't sure how his blood could retroactively boil, and yet here he was.

  " He wanted kids ." Elizabeth had said. She never mentioned what she had wanted.

  It was becoming increasingly difficult not to think of her as simply Elizabeth, despite the paladin constantly mentally correcting himself. Knight Vega . General Vega . It was becoming increasingly difficult to stop daydreaming about a different life, where the two of them eked out a companionable existence and enjoyed tea in the evenings. 

  He was so lost. He wondered if she would let him kiss her and in the next breath scolded himself for such a ludicrous idea. She had a life already , she had her dog, Sturges, Jun and Marcy, Mama Murphy, this little settlement. She had the Minutemen and Preston. There was no room for him here. He was an assistant on her quest. He had promised to help her find her son and Danse kept his word, even if it involved things that weren't his to promise.

  Danse still couldn't reconcile with truly thinking about her like that since the police station, his body wracked with guilt every time his mind wandered a little too far south. Self control was one of the few things he had left in this world, and Danse did his best to force his thoughts to be chaste when he was alone at night, did his best not to think about what Haylen had said to him during his visit with her and Rhys.

  " It's okay to like her, you know. " The scribe had remarked, her smile soft and knowing as her fingers twined with Rhys'. " You're still allowed to enjoy your life, Paladin ."

  It was futile. It was pointless.

  But wasn't that how everything always turned out with him.

  …

  Sturges claimed that the machine was ready and Backhand couldn't resist throwing her arms around him. She knew he probably couldn't breathe. 

  "Tomorrow mornin', bright an' early, we'll fire the bitch up." Sturges grinned, slapping her on the back before pulling away. "Fingers crossed our luck holds and you'll be back with your little boy."

  "I can't thank you enough for this." Backhand murmured, taking his hands in her own. "Seriously, from the bottom of my heart Sturges, thank you ."

  "Shucks ma'am, you ain't gotta' get all sentimental on me. I'm just happy to help." Sturges replied with his easy grin. "After what you did for us in Concord, this ain't nothing."

  "Congratulations, kid." Mama Murphy said from her chair, wheezing a little. She had asked to be moved outside earlier in the day, as it was pleasantly warm in the sun. Sturges and Jun had carried her throne out by the foundation where Sturges had been constructing the 'slapdash relay' as he had dubbed it. "You'll be on top of those Institute eggheads in no time."

  "Now, I need you to know a few things for tomorrow." Sturges cautioned Vega. "There ain't no sure way to test this thing. We're flyin' blind, unfortunately. I can't guarantee your safety, General. I'd advise you to treat this like your old army endeavors. Not to be grim or nothin', but just...well, make your peace. Smoke 'em if ya' got 'em." Sturges advised, smiling wanly.

  "I'll get in touch with Preston." Backhand replied, believing she understood what the mechanic was getting at. "I won't leave you guys twisting in the wind if I get turned inside out or something." She tried to joke.

  "It ain't us he's concerned about, kid." Murphy piped up, watery eyes fixed on Vega's face. "You better talk to that man of yours. Make sure he knows."

  "Man?" Backhand asked in confusion.

  "Your gentle giant, kid." 

  "Oh. Oh! " Vega blushed furiously even as she tried to explain that Danse was only here as her sponsor for the Brotherhood, nothing more.

  Mama Murphy hummed knowingly, "kid, you can't hide nothin' from ol' Mama Murphy. It's okay that you're anxious. I don't need the Sight to know that you been through a lot." She patted Vega's hand. "Go on, kid. You'll be fine."

  It was on trembling legs that Backhand sussed out Danse after her radio conversation with Preston. 

  " You don't owe the Minutemen a damn thing, General. " Preston had said firmly. " Ronnie will be more than up to the task, if this is where we part ways. I hope you find your son, General Vega, and the Minutemen thank you for everything you've done. You gave us hope , and that isn't an easy thing to find ."

  Danse was, as ever, working on his armor. He seemed to maintain his gear almost obsessively. Currently he had one of the legs detached from the frame, painstakingly sweeping the sand and grit out of the joints so he could apply a fresh coat of grease. 

  "Paladin Danse?" Vega asked, embarrassed by how her voice squeaked. "C-Can I get a word with you?" 

  "Of course, Knight Vega." Danse replied, placing the leg off to one side and picking up a rag to wipe the excess grease away. He propped his hip up on the power armor station, looking at her expectantly.

  Backhand's words dried up and she cleared her throat. "I um, should be able to try to get into the Institute tomorrow." She managed to say.

  Danse's eyebrows rose. " Really . Sturges truly has that much faith in his machine?" The man asked, not unkindly. "I can't find any fault with it, of course. What people like he and Ingram can do has always been incomprehensible to me. I am incredibly curious to see whether the device works. Will you permit me to see you off?"

  "That's kind of what I wanted to speak with you about." Backhand said hesitantly. "Danse, I...I just wanted you to know that…"

  Oh she was a coward , just the worst kind of coward! Danse smiled after a moment. "It's alright, Vega."

  Backhand blinked up at him, stunned. "It...it is?" 

  Danse nodded. "Venturing into uncertain territory is always a tumultuous experience. Take all the time you need. I'll be here to listen." He assured her. 

  She was going to cry. Oh no , oh dammit . Backhand took a deep breath in, stalling her tears for the moment. "I just wanted you to know how much I appreciate your help." She was a coward . "I-If I don't come back."

  "You've been a breath of fresh air for me, soldier." Danse's hands landed on her shoulders, his sincere grin tearing chunks out of her stomach. "Despite our strange and rocky start, you've proved yourself ten times over in my eyes. I'm incredibly proud of what you've accomplished, and I hope our partnership continues even after you've rescued your son." 

  "Y-Yeah." Backhand sniffled, losing the fight with her tears. "Me too, Danse."

  "It is entirely reasonable to be apprehensive, Knight Vega. There is no shame in admitting your trepidation." The paladin's thumbs pressed into her shoulders, idly rubbing circles. "Don't let it eat you alive."

  Backhand felt like a creep. She wished she was brave enough to ask for a hug, while scolding herself for thinking that way. Danse had been such an anchor for her, it wasn't right to expect more out of him. "I won't. Thanks." She promised quietly. "I should probably...go. I'm sure Marcy needs...um, something."

  Danse nodded, removing his hands from her shoulders. Vega silently mourned the loss as she fled like the coward she was, certain that she had turned a violent shade of crimson.

  ...

  I just wanted you to know how much I appreciate your help.

  Danse loathed himself for clinging to those words. Loathed himself for putting his hands on her, what the fuck was he thinking? He talked a great game, but his self-control never seemed to improve. 

  He couldn't believe he had gushed like that. Telling her how proud he was, how glad he was to be able to work with her...she had rescued his team, rescued him .

  He stared up at the ceiling and rubbed his eyes, then dragged his fingers firmly down the sides of his neck in an effort to soothe away the tension that threatened to lock him in place. His trapezius muscles in particular screamed for mercy, making him grunt and dig in a little harder. After several moments of focused attention, the spasm eased. Danse hummed, relieved. He was always concerned that the next one could be his last. He hadn't exactly treated his body with tender loving care, especially when he trained himself to a pulp.

  The rush of endorphins was what did him in every time he worked out, the triumphant feeling when he pushed his body that much further past his previous limits. 

  Danse absently began to smooth his palms down his thighs as his mind wandered. When he caught himself, he tore his hands away like his own touch burned him. That was...God, it had been a fair amount of time, but…

  Danse bit his lip. But …

  The paladin shifted his weight, trying to get more comfortable and cringing every time the mattress springs squeaked. He spread his legs a little wider, one leg hanging over the side of the mattress while the other bent at the knee and pressed against the wall. 

  His touch was, as ever, function over form. Danse slid a hand between the waistband of his briefs and his stomach, hissing out a breath as he felt his body stir under his own fingers. The paladin just rested there for a selfish moment. It had been so long since he had touched himself. 

  He scrolled mentally through a catalogue of his previous endeavors and the media he had seen over the years, trying to decide on a visual to accompany his activity. 

  Cutler came to mind, as he always did. His smile, his eyes, the way a blush rose high on his cheekbones when he and Danse engaged in such pleasant diversions. Danse had never failed to tell the other man just how handsome he was, if only to watch his flustered reaction to the compliment.

  But God, Danse would give anything to have a moment to himself that wasn't tainted with melancholy recollections. He carefully put the memory of Cutler aside and continued to think, not incredibly surprised with his brain's next course of action. 

  It settled on that pre-war mag he had seen passed around in the barracks, the one full of lingerie and women who looked outstanding . One of the buxom models came to mind, her blue eyes and brown hair very similar to--

  Danse flinched, feeling like an idiot for immediately switching to fantasizing about Vega in some sleazy, delicate…

  Barely-there…

  Fuck .

  Danse bit back a groan. She was pre-war, he reasoned wildly, it was only logical that he thought of her. She had curves and real muscle that wasn't simply visible due to emaciation. God, and she was beautiful to boot. He could at least admit that much. 

  His traitorous cock decided to make the choice for him, hardening beneath his hand while he wrestled with himself over imagining Vega in something so devastatingly attractive. It didn't have to be Vega, he rationalized, it could be anyone . Just a woman who resembled her. Entirely by chance. He absolutely wasn't about to masturbate to the idea of his ward in a skimpy outfit. 

  Danse pulled his undershirt up, catching the hem between his teeth to keep it out of the way. He couldn't be loud here, so hopefully the fabric would hold his embarrassing noises at bay. 

  His hand sank to the base of his cock, encircling it and then tugging lazily upwards. Danse almost crumpled in on himself, oh God , it had been ages . He panted out a breath, teasing the sensitive head of his cock for a moment before stroking back down. No matter his guilt, some portion of him was definitely interested in Vega. Beggars couldn't be choosers when it came to stealing a private moment in the Brotherhood, and so he gave in.

  Danse jerked himself off with long, smooth motions, doing his best to keep his pace even. There was nothing worse than falling out of rhythm with his imagination.

  God, she was probably so damn warm, so wet , tight, hot . Danse choked a little when he wondered what she would sound like, utterly devoted to his fantasy now. Would she tell him to be quiet, or would she let him ramble? Let him kiss every part of her body, let him devour her, taste her on his tongue…

  Danse bit back the groan he desperately wanted to let escape at the idea of her calling his name or calling him paladin while he ate her out, " fuck ," he breathed softly, squeezing the base of his cock. 

  Elizabeth , he wanted to say her name out loud, God he wanted to say it so badly, he could feel an ache in his jaw from how hard he was biting his undershirt. He wanted to say her name until she loved it again, until whatever hurt she felt over it vanished into nothingness. He used to call me Beth . The man who was Shaun's father. The man she had married.

  Danse knew it was stupid for him to be irritated by a man who had been dead for around two hundred years. But she wasn't Beth. She was Elizabeth . 

  He wanted to bury his hands in her hair, kiss down her neck, learn every scar and mark on her body. At the same time he feared her getting to know him in that manner, really know him. How greedy and undeserving he was, how much of a failure he was. 

  It was futile to think about. Pointless, even. These feelings, these desires...nothing would ever come of them. Danse knew that. This was just a means to an end and his damned heart, his emotions were going to make a mess of everything.

  He silently spilled his release onto his stomach and then went slack, gasping for breath as his cock twitched and jumped against his belly. 

  The paladin threw an arm over his eyes, grateful at least that his body understood the age-old cue to let him get some damn rest.

  ...

  He didn't sleep well, but at least he slept. Danse was up before the sun, his eyes heavy as he ran through his gear check and suited up in his armor.

  Backhand emerged from her house, clad in her combat armor and armed only with her pistol. Danse noted that she had dark circles under her eyes as well, the young woman sipping coffee from her metal mug like it was the only thing keeping her alive.

  "Want some?" She asked Danse, darting back inside when he nodded in reply. 

  The two of them made their way to the old foundation where Sturges had built the relay, companionable silence filling the air between them. 

  Danse watched the sun rise, his eyes drifting to Elizabeth every now and again. She appeared to simply be enjoying the peace, her own eyes closed as she drank her coffee cross-legged on the foundation. 

  The paladin cleared his throat. "Knight Vega, I-"

  "Up bright an' early, eh?" Sturges called from the residence he appeared to have claimed as his own. "Be with ya' in a moment, General!"

  Backhand tipped her mug to him in acknowledgment, looking up at Danse curiously. "You were saying, Paladin?"

  If something happens to you, if you don't come back, if I don't say the things that I wish I could- - "Do you have that lucky bandanna of yours?" Danse asked instead, crushing the sentimental nonsense down. "I imagine it may prove useful for ensuring your success."

  Backhand laughed, patting her pocket. "Always carry it on me, Danse. The homeland takes care of their own."

  Danse inclined his head and fell silent once more, watching as Sturges fiddled with the control podium. Electricity began to arc and sputter from the generators placed around the site, making the mechanic frown and readjust a few dials.

  "Not sure how long I'll be able to keep it steady for once I dial in on the signal!" He called over the racket of the generators. Vega nodded, getting to her feet and dusting herself off. Danse watched as the engineer hauled her in close and pressed something into her hands, the man speaking too quietly for Danse to hear. Then, "alright General, it's now or never!"

  Vega approached the transfer plate as Sturges turned dials and punched numbers, the man's hands flying over the control panel. Danse stood off to the side, uncertain of what might happen but also unwilling to let her face this alone.

  She pressed her fingers to her lips and brushed them against Danse's helmet. "I'll be back." Vega stated with a wink.

  Danse rolled his eyes, chuckling a little. "Good luck, Knight." He said, his voice tinged with humor.

  And then she was gone. With a flash of light and a burst of noise like a thunderclap, she vanished . Sturges' delight was only dampened by every piece of equipment he had painstakingly built immediately and fatally overloading, leaving the engineer and Danse scorched and dismayed. Danse, for his part, hadn't truly expected the device to work . He had assumed it was just a pipe dream, something for her to throw herself into so that the grief wouldn't swallow her whole.

  But she had disappeared .

Part Ten

[gyllenhaalics]

Perks of Being Good - Prologue

Pairing: Mob boss!Jake x reader, hitman!C.Evans x reader Summary: Your father died taking a bullet for one of Jake’s men. So naturally, you take your father’s place as an associate. And Jake honors your father’s last wish by protecting you. He might have gone a little too far with his protection. Disclaimer: I do not own anyone whose name appears in this story. Word count: 1500

Warning:  Innocent/corruption kink, fingering, dirty talking, daddy kink, p0rn with plot (that you can ignore).

A/N: This is for my Smut Therapy, a mini-series that’s mostly just smut, to help me (and anyone who needs it) with stress. The list of warnings will get longer as we get to the main part, as noted in this POST.

Dedicated to: @realovesthings​ my username buddy @gyll-yee-haw​ you inspired me to write this, thank you so much @angelic-holland​ & @gyllenwh0re​ I thought of you while writing this, thank you for all the smut you’ve written for all of us (I hope you’re okay with me tagging you)

You pulled yourself to the corner, shivering, trying to cover your body as much as you could. You bit your lips to block the whimper bubbling inside your throat. Your eyes couldn’t move away from the man standing in the middle of the room.

“Didn’t know the old man has such a cutie of a daughter.”

“Have some respect for the dead, Evans.”

You realized they were talking about your father as the tall, well-built man named Evans walked around with his silenced pistol, kicking the bloody bodies to make sure there was no sign of life left. Several people broke into your apartment. They would have killed you if it wasn’t for these men.  You felt a pair of blue eyes pierced through you. He dressed in an all-black suit that accented the gold chain around his neck. You almost jumped when his coat touched your shoulders, and felt his lingering body heat wrapped around you.

“Don’t worry. You’re safe now. Once you calm down, I’d like to have a few words.”

…

It’s been several months after the incident. You’ve been an associate lawyer for Maggie since then. The job was passed on to you by your late father. Maggie handles the family’s legal businesses, and that means someone has to pay taxes. That is why you’re here at one of her property, which happens to be a porn set. At least the mistress spares you a small guest room for your desk, even though the walls are not sound-proof.

You bury your face in mountains of tax documents and property contracts, trying to ignore the dirty talking and heavy moaning. You clip the pages neatly together in a hurry. You only have to give this to Maggie, and then maybe you can ask her to let you go home early for the day. Jake can be here to pick you up at any moment.

“Ma'am, your document.”

You lower your voice and hand the paper stack to the woman behind the camera. She smiles and crooks her finger at you, asking you to come closer. You follow, with reluctance. It seems to be a threesome scene today, the actress lies across the sofa, resting her head on one man’s lap, nibbling on his cock, while the other man is penetrating her. Their hands roam all over her skin, tugging her sensitive spots as she lets out her ecstatic moan and squirms underneath them.

You must admit, for someone who has been here for months, you still get flustered every time they shoot a film. It would be a lie to say you have never watched porn, but Maggie’s works are different, women-oriented if one may call. They are not always gentle and sensual. Some of them are pretty rough.

“That’s a wrap! Somebody give my girl a glass of water.”

Maggie exchanges a few words with the crew and dismisses them soon after. She then turns to you, who have subconsciously hugged the paper stack like a shield.

“What do you think, honey? My offer’s still on if you’re interested.”

“I don’t think I can, ma'am. I’m not uh, experienced.” Blood rushes to your cheeks. Maggie has been offering you to be in one of her works. The pay is hefty and a dozen times more than being a lawyer for the mobs. But you can never see yourself doing it. You don’t know what Maggie sees in you that makes her so determined.

“Oh, honey. Innocence is a perk.”

Maggie brushes a strain of hair to your ear. Before you can process her words, you hear heavy footsteps behind you. You turn and see a man towering over you, still with his gleaming gold chain.

“Afternoon, Mr. Gyllenhaal.”

“Told you to stop calling me that.” Jake winces at your formality. “Maggie hasn’t been too hard on you, has she?”

“Jake, that’s you.” Maggie retaliates, amused at this whole situation.

Things between you and the boss started soon after he saved your life. Your father died taking a bullet for one of Jake’s men. So naturally, you take your father’s place as an associate. And Jake honors your father’s last wish by protecting you. He might have gone a little too far with his protection.

…

On your way back, you lean on Jake’s chest as he has his arm around your back, encasing you in a half embrace. As soon as you got in the car, he couldn’t wait for a second longer to have his hands all over you.

The driver acts like he doesn’t see or hear anything. As far as anyone can tell, you have been the boss’ lover for a while now. One can guess from the way he dotes on you, how he showers you with lavish gifts, or from that one time he had you warm his cock for the entire meeting and you were on the verge of tear because you couldn’t get your release.

“Heard Maggie was pestering you about being in her film?”

He whispers in your ears as he kneads your breasts through the blouse. He isn’t that rough, but the pressure is enough to make your breathing quickened. And you always love the feeling of his beard scratching on your skin. The tickling sensation always gives you butterflies in your stomach. You return his affection by caressing his thigh, inching closer to the visible bulge on his pants.

“Maggie’s been very kind to me. She was only joking.”

“Maggie doesn’t joke about her work, princess.”

Jake grabs your face with his free hand and makes your whimper softly. His lips cover yours in a passionate kiss, almost as if he wants nothing but to devour you whole. After breaking off the kiss, Jake places his fingers on your lips. You obediently open your mouth and take his fingers in as he has taught you. Your tongue swirls around his digits, trying to get them as wet as you can.

“Now, lift your skirt.”

He removes his fingers from your mouth, leaving behind a thin trail of saliva. He looks down at your skirt, giving you the signal to not stopping. He watches in amusement as your trembling hands lift the fabric.

“No panties? And you’re so wet, princess. How filthy.”

But you were the one who told me to. You thought, but you’ve learned from your past mistakes to hold your tongue. Jake grips your neck and pins you down on the backseat. His index finger pushes its way into your bare pussy. It is so sudden you cannot hold back your whimpering.

“Hasn’t she told you? There’s a huge market for your type.”

Jake adds another finger starts pumping them in and out of you, slowly at first.

“Innocent and obedient. Look how well you’ve learned, princess. Inexperienced. Yet so sensitive that any stimulation is too much for you.”

He quickens the pace.

“Can never forget the first time I made you come. You couldn’t stop crying and shaking. Poor thing, how pathetic.”

He curls his fingers, finding your sweet spot. His thumb grazes on your clit. You shut your eyes, letting his biting words ravage your thoughts.

“So naive, you think Maggie is kind? One day, you’ll find yourself spreading your legs for a whole bunch of her goons. Or maybe that’s what you want?”

You shudder at his words. The thought is a little scary for you. That’s not a lie, but an oddly pleasant sensation builds in the pit of your stomach. You feel another wave of wetness leaks from your pussy.

“If you’d like to be a little whore, I can arrange that, princess. Maybe my next meeting, yes? You can warm my cock like the other day. Then, after we finish, I’ll let my men pass you around and use you like the fuck toy you are. And if you’re good enough, maybe they will have mercy on you and fill that little pussy up nicely. You’d love that, wouldn’t you?”

His voice turns deep and harsh, and his fingers are torturously fast. Your walls contract around him like crazy as you find yourself on the verge of orgasm. The filthy things he said, you know he wouldn’t let anyone touch you without your consent and his permission. But the thoughts alone are enough to bring you over the edge.

“Daddy, please let me come. I need to come. Can I-”

Jake pulls his fingers away. He brings his hand down and smacks at your clit. The combination of the sting from his strike and the sudden lack of stimulation almost drives you insane. He gathers you up into his arms and plants chaste kisses on your forehead.

“Not yet, baby girl. Once we’re home, you’ll be good for daddy and make daddy comes first. Then, and only then, you can come.”

You whine and punch at his chest. Though it probably feels like a mosquito bite to him.

“Don’t be a brat now, princess. Don’t fret. I have a surprise for you at home.”

…

[blarrghe]

♥ Dorian and Taren!

Look what you did, you made Dorian cry.

Lengthy emo feelings ahead. No cut because mobile sorry =/

--

Dorian had seen Taren cry. More than once, in fact. It wasnt that it happened often, just that the elf had quite a lot to contend with. There was no shame in it, and indeed Taren took very little shame in anything pertaining to his emotion. He was free with it; asking for help almost as easily as he offered it. Almost. The first time Dorian had seen Taren cry the whole thing had actually come to a rather dramatic head specifically because of the Lord Inquisitor's refusal to show vulnerability. But grief makes people do uncharacteristic things. It had done so to Taren; made him hide his fear and doubt behind unrelenting activity. Work work work, until the crash. Dorian had been there for the crash, and it had been the first time he'd been there, like that, for anyone.

Dorian had seen Taren cry a few times after that, not with a crash, but just for a moment under a hug at the end of a long day. And he had begun to understand that it was a reasonable thing to do, sometimes, to cry. The world was a very tumultuous and unhappy place, filled with demons and bandits and various vicious beasts. There was no shame in fear or grief or loneliness, and truly, it was ok to cry.

For other people.

For Dorian, a more suitable alternative had always been - and would remain - expensive, strong brandy. On the day he recieved news of his father's death, he found some in the cellars, and taking it without asking soon found himself a quarter of the way through the bottle, hunched over a desk at the top of Skyhold's mage tower. It was an unusual venue for him; he never had migrated over from the library after the tower was built. But the tower smelled like lyrium and thrummed with residual magic, and at the top of it it was cold, and quiet.

He rubbed a thumb over the letter in his pocket, and swirled the brandy in his glass. Father was dead. It had been coming long enough; he wasnt young, and his friends were mostly false ones, but it came on suddenly nevertheless. It also came with consequences. Opportunity, he reminded himself, to actually apply all that good-principled change he'd been dreaming up all his life. And Taren would understand, he always did.

Or he might not.

Another drink.

He might say he understood and then resent him.

A larger drink.

He might have reached it, that end he always knew would one day come.

He drained the glass.

He pulled the letter out of his pocket and poured himself another glass. His mother's writing was fine, her words matter of fact and devoid of emotion. He wouldn't have expected much more, and he didn't expect that she was at this moment taking the news any differently than he was; with a strong drink and a quiet moment alone. She would cry at the funeral, dramatically, and then gather up the fortune bequeathed to her and take a sojourn out to the family beach house. She'd likely be gone from the estate before his luggage arrived. Oh, but he did not want to have to live in that house again. He took another bitter sip, gritting his teeth against the thought that he had never really lived in that house at all.

Well, he chuckled dryly to himself, he could free all the slaves while mother was away. Have her come back to find him cooking his own meals.

All these lines of thought quickly led him back to the main point, which was that his father was dead, and he wasnt quite sure how he felt about it. But however he felt, it was unpleasant, and he sought to numb it with brandy.

They had exchanged a handful of letters, after that strained reunion in Denerim. His father had asked for a forgiveness he had never granted, and that even now he was not sure he could. There was some decency to the letters, a reluctant push toward reconciliation brought on, no doubt, by his father's reckoning with his own mortality; his death had resulted from illness in the end, not political motivation. And how very bitter that dance had felt. A father who had only marginally accepted him after years of pushback, asking to be heard out of love. Thanks to the letters, thoughts of his childhood had been digging into him since well before the eventual death, and the nostalgia in them was heartwrenching and infuriating. He had given his father many proud moments, impressing his early teachers and outshining his peers. He had almost been such a perfect son.

Dorian had answered every letter slowly, leaving them at the bottom of his long to-do lists. Mostly he had just wanted to avoid those conversations because he didn't exactly know what to do with them. What to do with a relationship so steeped in resentment? What to do with all the things that would never change, that he would never get an answer for? What to do now that there was nothing else he could ever say.

He should have written longer letters. He should have had a better father. He should have been a better son.

A memory slipped itself in uninvited between mild frustration and a growing fuzziness in his thoughts; a vacation, praise for learning some new spell, the giddy joy of being seven and already important. Pride. A good memory, a happy memory where his father was kind and his mother was sober and his legacy was exciting. It was always the warmest memories that left his heart cold.

He had spent about half his life a golden child, then in a flurry of dissillusionment and ideological exasperation, made a very deliberate show of throwing it all away. Rebellion and resentment had been his only modes of communication with either of his parents for years, and with more than enough good reason. Dead or not, some broken part of him would always be angry. And the parts of him that were whole knew well enough that his anger was justified.

He had idly imagined the familial fallout of death a number of times; in his darkest moments, he'd ruminated on the shadow he could cast with his own, and in fits of anger and heated verbal sparring, he'd passionately invoked his desire to see his father's. He had known for a very long time that ungrateful though it may seem, he wouldn't feel much troubled by its eventual occurence. He had assumed that his tears for matters concerning his legacy, his failures as a protege, and his mistreatment were long spent. But grief makes people do uncharacteristic things.

Drinking was probably not helping. When the first salty droplet fell into his brandy, his mind was already a rough sea of happy memories and unhappy reactions, unhappy memories and refreshed anger, unspoken rants and unwritten apologies. All the things that had only just begun to feel far away and over during his time in the South were back, emboldened by the discombobulated nature of a mind altered by drink. The waves crashed into him, and with an ugly wail and a choking breath, the rest of his tears spilled out from behind his eyes.

He crumpled the letter into a tight ball, and threw it across the room with all the force he could muster. Despite the force behind it, the wad of paper bounced off the wall and rolled along the floor with nothing more than a quiet patter. His violent little burst of energy only fueled things further, and then he was slamming a fist into the desk and pushing away the bottle of brandy in order to preserve it from a sudden urge to smash something.

A sob heaved itself from his throat, and he lowered his head into his hands to shake out the rest. Most of his complex feelings of anger and grief were swallowed up by curse words, and he let the colourful stream of them run through his head while his breaths hitched and broke under more sobs.

Taren had never seen Dorian cry. Not even when his voice had cracked and wavered in Redcilffe after confronting his father, not even when he had pulled him in tight and swearing under his breath after their close calls with death, not over anything. In fact, every distressing moment in Dorian's life seemed to be relayed with humour; a well developed mix of sarcasm and bravado. It wasnt that he was insensitive, the man had simply had a lot of practice maintaining his face, and letting that face fall was new and foreign territory. He would no doubt have given Taren a nonchalant explanation of what had happened in a day or two, the emotional impact always something you had to know him to hear. But Taren would. Dorian was a passionate man, and while he was wordy and quick witted, most of what he felt came through in action. He'd throw it all out there like it was nothing, then hold him in a desperate grip and sink his kisses deep into his bones, and that would say everything.

But Dorian wouldn't have that chance. Instead, as he wrestled with his composure with his head bent over the desk, Taren quietly ascended the stairs. Dorian didn't even realise he was there until his hand was on his back, rubbing gentle circles over his shoulder as another shaky breath jostled them up and down.

"Vhenan," his warm voice was quiet in his ear, a soft breath of a word that held so much. Exactly the right thing, and exactly the wrong thing, for it triggered a surprised inhale and an embarrassed crack in his voice as he tried to reply with some assurance that he was fine through the tears.

"What can I..."

Dorian took a few more breaths and rubbed at his eyes, forcing an unconvincing smile and reigning in the display.

"Nohing, Amatus. I'm fine, I'm fine."

Taren didn't move. His hands massaged Dorian's shoulders slowly, and a kiss landed in his hair. "Tell me what happened."

Dorian sighed, and nodded his head to the left just enough to signal Taren to where the crumpled letter sat on the floor. Taren took the few steps across the small room and picked it up. With a cautious look to Dorian first, he undid its folds and smoothed the letter out. He read it slowly, eyes scanning the page and then flicking up to Dorian again with close-knit brows. "Oh," he whispered as he finished taking in the news, "oh, ma vhenan."

This was not their spot up in the library where things were comfortable. Dorian wasn't hunkered down in a cozy little alcove with two comfortable seats and the homey clutter of books and candle stubs and notes, he was bent over a solitary desk, in a small and dim little room at the top of a tower. When Taren returned to his side he tucked himself in at a kneel and took up one of Dorian's hands.

"So, shall we make it quick and painless then?" Dorian asked, forcing another of those smiles that didnt quite make it.

"What?"

"My leaving."

"Dorian," he said it like no.

"Dont tell me you want to draw this out. I dont think I can stomach more crying." Even as he said it, his voice cracked over the words.

Taren sighed, and gave Dorian's hand a solemn squeeze. "I do though," Taren replied, "I love you." Dorian sat up, turning his face reluctantly to Taren's. "I wont make promises for myself. You dont have to do any more crying." He smiled at him, all real, "but if you must leave, I'd like to draw it out for as long as I possibly can."

"Bastard."

Taren chuckled. "It's too soon to point that back at you, isn't it?" A rare moment of pithyness from the Inquisitor. It worked, Taren was almost never anything but achingly sincere, and the surprise of a joke in extremely poor taste jolted Dorian to an actual snort of a laugh.

"Maker, I must look a fool. I've been wishing for this day for years."

Taren frowned. "You're not a fool."

"I kept putting off his letters..." He felt a need to explain something, a reason for the hysterics. "I should have, I should have..."

"Listen to me," Taren was suddenly serious again, taking both his hands and fixing him with a knowing gaze. "Whatever happens, whatever you need, I'm here." Dorian felt his face scrunching up again against his permission. "I love you." Taren said again, every time a lightning bolt. He swallowed, and hid his wretchedness in Taren's shoulder.

He had thought he was done. The fit of shaking and wailing interrupted by the warmth and comfort of Taren's voice, the masking power of a joke, the space enough between thoughts to find some ground to stand on. But as his eyes closed over Taren's shoulder and he felt arms wrap close around him, something else washed over him. Being held somehow made it all better, and all worse. His body convulsed, inhales entering his lungs in jagged chunks, just one bit of air at a time. His eyes left a damp spot in the soft fabric of Taren's thick sweater. Taren's hands pressed firmly into his back, one moving slowly up and down. His own hands clung to the wool of Taren's sweater in tight fists. The shattering breaths grew longer bit by bit, until they were deep and calm again. Taren always smelled a bit like campfire smoke, underneath notes of sea water and fresh pine. He inhaled, buoying himself on the familiar comfort of the embrace until his eyes were truly dry.

When he pulled away Taren had another smile ready for him, though his eyes were wide and full of concern. Dorian responded with a watery smile of his own. He pushed himself away from the desk, his chair sliding roughly on the wood paneled floor, and reached across the desk to retrieve the bottle he'd shoved aside.

"Brandy?" He offered, pouring a finger of it into his glass and tossing it quickly back.

Taren leaned on the desk, still watching him with an affectionate gaze. "Yes," he agreed, "but let's go somewhere else."

Taren rose to his feet and Dorian followed. Before anything, Taren took his hand and pulled him into a kiss. And without ever letting go, he led him away from the tower.

[falseroar]

Dog Days Part 9: Preparations

((Marvin and Jackie talk about some of the preparations they need to make now that Y/N is in the house.

A little shorter compared to Part 8, but setting up a few things for later.))

Marvin cracked open the door to his room and waited, listening carefully to be sure that the noise had finally died down before venturing out into the hallway. He paused by the bathroom to look in at the wet floor and the damp towels littered everywhere before shuddering and moving on toward the living room.

There he found Jackie struggling to get his soaked hoodie off, the red fabric sticking around his chest and head until he managed to free himself and toss it over the back of the couch with a groan.

“That bad, huh?” Marvin asked.

“Like you couldn’t hear all of that,” Jackie pointed out. “Funny how you suddenly aren’t too busy when it’s all over.”

The magician at least had the decency to look a little bit ashamed, but he was quick to defend himself. “Hey, I’ve been up to my ears in spells today. Adding another room onto the house isn’t exactly easy, even with my notes from last time. Did that prescription stuff from the doctor help any?”

It was the whole point of the bath, after all. The doctors said mixing it with the water would help soothe the werewolf’s burns, although apparently no one considered the logistics of trying to bathe a reluctant and temporarily blind werewolf before the bathroom turned into a water park.

“Maybe? Hard to tell when they can’t say anything, but they seem to be feeling well enough to either sulk or have fallen asleep,” Jackie said, and Marvin followed his gaze to the sliding door, through which they could clearly see the wolf lying on their back in the grass of the backyard, paws up in the air. “And I don’t have a clue what Chase or Jameson are doing with that rake, but at this point I’m afraid to ask.”

From the look of it, neither of the men outside were very clear on what they were doing either, and as Marvin watched Chase broke off their argument by pushing Jameson into a nearby pile of leaves, his laughter cut short when he was dragged down with him in a splash of red, yellow, and brown leaves.

Jackie rubbed his bare arms with a shiver as he watched, and Marvin thought he was about to go and get a dry hoodie from his extensive collection. It was rare to see him without one, and the white t-shirt he had been wearing underneath looked thin. Thin enough to make out the scars on his back and chest, which along with the matching ones on his arms normally went unseen, even if Marvin tried not to look at them too closely.

Instead, Jackie asked, “Were there some new wards among all those spells you were doing?”

“…Yes,” Marvin answered. “Y/N’s room is just as protected as the rest of the house.”

“You know that’s not what I meant.” Jackie looked back at the magician, who reluctantly met his gaze. “Tomorrow night is a full moon.”

“I checked the spell I put on them, and it’s still active. They should be able to control their self without any problems,” Marvin answered. “…But I’ve already talked to Henrik about getting Chase and Jameson out of the house, just in case.”

Jackie nodded. The two of them could handle it on their own if something went wrong, especially if they didn’t have to worry about the others getting hurt. The thought they had to be prepared in case it came to that at all was what bothered Marvin, along with the kind of wards and spells he had been researching all day. It seemed a blessing that the spell he had cast all those years ago was still holding strong, especially when Marvin wasn’t sure what the alternative would have to have been. Or might be.

The magician jumped as a laughing shriek came from the backyard, where the werewolf had suddenly sprung up to go diving into the leaves along with the others.

“Careful, Y/N, the garden’s just a few feet in front of you,” Chase warned. “JJ might have to give you another bath if you crush his petunias!”

“Don’t sign me up for that,” Jameson protested as he sat up, leaves still on his shoulder and stuck in his hair. “Remember, you told me yourself you know all about taking care of dogs, including washing them.”

Chase grimaced, remembering too well what he said before offering to get Y/N into the waiting bath, only to realize that when a wolf didn’t want to go somewhere, they tended to be a bit harder to convince than your average terrier.

“Maybe we can just hose them down in the backyard next time,” Chase suggested, only to get a huff from the wolf.

“How are you feeling, Y/N? Did the medicine help?” Jameson signed and Chase repeated aloud for the wolf’s benefit.

“I think that’s a yes,” Chase said, translating the noise from the wolf’s chest even though the fact they were currently sprawled out on their back, wiggling back and forth on the crinkling leaves like they had just landed in the middle of a soft mattress, was a pretty big hint.

Jameson looked at Chase and signed again.

“Oh. Uh, Jameson wants to know if it’s okay if he pets you?” Chase said, only for Jameson to correct him with a glare. “Sorry, hugs you.”

Y/N rolled over and sat up, their ears alert but otherwise unmoving for a second. Until they stood and moved toward Jameson, who slowly directed them toward himself before pulling them into a hug, his arms wrapped around the wolf and his face pressed up against theirs.

From outside the hug, Chase could see the brief wince from the wolf, their tense stance before they slowly leaned into it. The doctor had said it might take a while for the medicine to really have an effect, but now didn’t seem to be the time to remind Jameson of that, not when he could see the man’s eyes were shut tight and the glimmer near the corners of his eyes. Meanwhile, despite Henrik’s hopes of recovery, the wolf’s eyes were still clouded with silver, unable to read what Jameson wanted to say without help, and as much as Chase was willing to interpret, he knew there were some things that just didn’t sound the same coming from him.

Eventually, Jameson let go and the wolf leaned against his side gingerly, ears moving to follow every rustle of the leaves or caw of the crows watching from the other side of the yard like this was the most interesting thing they’d seen since Jameson tried to make that scarecrow they had promptly adopted as one of their own.

After checking that Chase was okay with translating for him, Jameson started to sign.

“You can come and go to the backyard anytime you want, Y/N.”

“Yeah, I added some ropes to both sides of the sliding door so you can pull it open yourself,” Chase added, having been eager to share that for a while now.

“And Marvin is adding another room to the house for you, if you wish to have your own space,” Jameson said, before adding to Chase, “I hope that is okay.”

“Mi case es su casa or whatever, as long as the roof doesn’t fall in, I think we’re good,” Chase said with a grin. “Honestly, having you guys living here with us has been a big help for me and Jackie. Marvin’s protections are a literal lifesaver, plus the extra paychecks aren’t too bad when Jackie eats like a horse and his…regular work doesn’t really help pay the bills.”

“Ah! I do hope to put on a show soon which might help,” Jameson signed. Thanks to Henrik, they had kind of figured out a wolf would need a lot of food to stay healthy, which they seemed to have been missing out on for a while now. Chase was quick to reassure him that it was okay and not to worry about money right now, so Jameson returned to what he had been saying. “None of the neighbors can see or hear us here, so it is private enough. Marvin has protected the backyard as much as the house with all of his spells, and although he tells me there is nothing to be done about those pesky crows, you should feel just as safe out here as inside.”

Chase suppressed a grin, knowing full well that Marvin loved the birds and was on a secret long-term campaign to befriend them that maybe involved the occasional sacrifice on the part of Jameson’s garden. “Marvin’s added spells to some of the things we carry with us to keep us safe outside of my house, like in my cap or in Jameson’s hipster bowler hat. He can probably add something to that collar if he hasn’t already so you can go out for a walk with one of us if you ever want to.”

A grumble came from the wolf at the reminder of the collar, while Jameson indignantly signed, “It is not hipster, it is vintage! I’ve had that hat since it was new!”

“Then maybe it’s time to update to something new, grandpa,” Chase countered.

The wolf swayed as Jameson lunged forward, their ears following the ensuing wrestling match with a curious and almost fond tilt of their head.

That quickly turned into a yelp of surprise when a stray pile of leaves hit them in the face, followed by the apparent determination to tackle whoever was closest and sit on them until they learned their lesson.

Inside the house, Marvin joked, “Looks like you might need to brush up on your wrestling skills for tomorrow night, just in case.”

Jackie shook his head and went in search of a dry change of clothes, leaving Marvin alone and free to chew on his bottom lip while he thought of a few more books he could check, just in case. Hopefully after tomorrow night, he could prove to Jackie that all of this extra preparation was completely unnecessary. And hopefully by the morning after, he could shake his own bad feelings about all of this and focus on finding out what happened to his friend.

Except he had learned a long time ago to trust his bad feelings. Like the one he felt every time he looked at the wolf, the quiet but hard to shake fear that they could disappear again at any second.

He still hadn’t told the others about how nearly every ward on the house activated the last night when they brought the werewolf home. Thankfully, they all held strong, but a divination spell cast while Jameson and Chase were giving Y/N a tour of the house confirmed that someone out there had been trying to find them.

Someone knew they had left the mirror, probably someone who had a hand in putting them in there in the first place. If that was the case, then Marvin wanted nothing more than to be ready with a tracking spell of his own should they be foolish enough to try again.

Marvin touched the cheek of his cat mask and forced himself to take a breath and calm down. Save the anger for later, when he could do something with it.

((End of Part 9. Thank you for reading!

Link to Part 10: Limited Supply.

Tagging: @silver-owl413 @skyewardlight @withjust-a-bite @blackaquokat @catgirlwarrior @neverisadork @luna1350 @oh-so-creepy @weirdfoxalley @95fangirl @lilalovesinternet-l @thepoolofthedead @a-bit-dapper @randomartdudette @geekymushroom @cactipresident @hotcocoachia @purple-anxiety-blog @shyinspiredartist @avispate @missksketch @autumnrambles @authorracheljoy @liafoxyfox ))

[much-obliged-timothy]

Dad Tim & Uncle Rhys Part 8

Back at it again with Tim trying his hardest and Rhys somehow getting sucked into their problems! I’ll probably do a follow-up to this part, so more soon! You can read part one here

“It’s not going to work, Rhys,” Tim said, throwing a contract down on Rhys’ desk. “They’ve been fighting me for you to take that wording out.”

“I will not,” Rhys said indignantly. “Atlas prides itself on being state of the art. If we take that wording out, they can use cheaper materials, and it’ll lower the quality of that line of weapons.”

“I hear you, I hear you,” Tim said, thumbing through the pages of the contract. “Alright, buy me a little time on it. Push the meeting back a day or two. I’ll see if I can’t hide it somewhere else with more clever wording.”

It was a little scary how good Tim was at things like that. Then again, he’d been trained to negotiate and write up contracts by Handsome Jack, so Rhys supposed it was scary but not surprising. 

“I can buy you at least a day, but I’ll push for two or three,” Rhys said, writing a note to get right on that after Tim left his office. “Now, onto the next thing. Which is...uh…”

“Analysis of those trials,” Tim said, digging through a folder to pull out reports. “I had them send the reports to me and glanced them over earlier. Haven’t had a chance to look in-depth yet, but it seems like everything is going well.”

Tim passed some papers to Rhys. As Rhys organized them, Tim helped himself to some of his coffee, courtesy of Lorelei. 

Lorelei had taken a liking to Phoenix, so in an attempt to win him over, she often brought coffee for Tim and juice or soda for Phoenix. Right now, he sat reading in the corner, nibbling at a cookie she’d gotten him from a local bakery. 

He looked up, opened his mouth, then shut it and put his head back down. Rhys kicked Tim under the desk and nodded to Phoenix.

“Need something, pal?” Tim said.

Phoenix turned his book around. “Dunno this word, dad. Can’t sound it out.”

“Bring it closer. Dad’s only got one working eye,” Tim said, gesturing him over. 

Phoenix got up, frowning at his hands because one had the book and one had the cookie, leaving no room to grab his bear.

“Cookie in your mouth,” Tim offered.

Phoenix brightened, sticking part of the cookie in his mouth so he could grab his bear. He went over to Tim, who took the book to free up one of his hands.

Tim lifted Phoenix into his lap. “Which word? This one?”

“Uh-huh,” Phoenix said. “Dunno that word. I tried to sound it out but I still can’t get it.”

“Well, at least you tried. The word is ‘weather’,” Tim said. 

“Oh!” Phoenix said, pushing his cookie into Tim’s hand so he could take the book back. “Don’t eat that. Weather. Weather.” He spoke it slowly, tracing it with his finger.

He’d really dedicated himself to learning how to read. Rhys had bought him several books to practice with when Tim left him in the office. He was getting noticeably better, but he still struggled with longer words.

There was a knock on the door. Phoenix tensed up, but Tim just gave him an easy smile and ruffled his hair, passing his cookie back to him.

“Come in,” Rhys called.

The door opened and in came a woman Rhys knew, but not well. Tim’s easy smile turned to surprise, and he looked flustered as he tried to straighten his shirt a little.

“M-Moxxi,” he said. “What, um, what are you doing here?”

“Checking on you, sugar,” Moxxi said, winking at him. Tim’s face heated up. “I had some business with a supplier in Promethea so I’ll be here for about two days. I wanted to see how you were doing. Plus, Ember asked me to check on the two of you.”

“We’re good,” Tim said, pointing lamely at Phoenix’s book. “He’s working on his reading skills. And I’ve been so busy with work that I haven’t had time to, uh, you know, drown in trauma or anything. Mostly.”

“Rhys, how’s he doing?” Moxxi said.

“Fine,” Rhys said honestly. “He’s been a huge asset to Atlas. He’s a hard worker and he’s good at his job. Kind of a pain in the ass and socially stunted, but we’re working on it.”

“I was in a casino for seven years!” Tim said, glaring at him.

“How’s the hand?” Moxxi asked, sauntering over and taking Tim’s cybernetic hand, running light fingers over it.

Tim’s face grew even redder. “O-Oh, it’s, um, it’s good. Works fine.” 

“Maybe you can show me sometime,” she said, smirking at the dumbstruck look on his face. “I could use help moving some crates into transport.”

“Right! Right, moving crates. I can move crates,” Tim said weakly. 

“And how are you doing, Phoenix? Your mom misses you,” Moxxi said, giving him a surprisingly kind smile. “She always gets excited for your daily calls.”

Phoenix looked at her with such distrust that it bordered on hostility. Rhys was surprised to see the expression on his face, especially considering that as far as Rhys had gathered, Moxxi was the whole reason Tim and Phoenix survived and escaped the casino.

“Hey, she asked how you’re doing,” Tim said, nudging him.

Phoenix didn’t respond. He just tensed up, gripping his bear tighter, never taking his eyes off Moxxi.

If it bothered Moxxi, she didn’t let it show, the smile staying on her face. “Well, Ember said you two are still working on socializing him. I won’t press him. It is good to see you though, Phoenix. You look much healthier.”

“I’m teaching myself how to cook so I can feed him better meals. He’s gained some weight and gotten a little bit taller,” Tim said. “It’s good. He was always worryingly small. Hey, uh, maybe I could...cook you dinner while you’re here? Catch up.” His face heated up again. “You can tell me about the casino.”

“Sure, sugar,” she said, back to the seductive smile. “I’d love to hear about your life here, too. Mind coming to talk with me for a moment? In private.”

Tim immediately stood up, setting Phoenix down in his chair. Phoenix tried to cling stubbornly to him, but Tim pried his hands off.

“I’ll be right back, pal,” he promised. “Stay with Rhys. I’ll just be in my office with Moxxi for a few minutes.”

“Dad!” Phoenix said, grabbing his arm again. “Don’t. Don’t go.”

“Phoenix,” Tim said, slight exasperation in his voice. “Rhys is here with you. I’ll be in my office. You know where I am if you need me. We just need to talk for a minute, okay? I’ll be back before you know it.”

Moxxi put a hand on Tim’s arm to guide him out of the room. When the door shut, Phoenix glared at it.

“She doesn’t work here,” he said, that surprising hostility back. “Can’t you make her leave?”

“She had a visitor pass,” Rhys said in confusion. “She’s authorized to be here. Phoenix, what’s wrong? Didn’t she help save you and your dad?”

He glared at Rhys now, hugging his bear to his chest. “It’s her fault dad lost his hand. He hid until she showed up. Then he got caught and he almost died.”

“But from what I understand, Moxxi was trying to help him escape,” Rhys said. “And he only had to cut his hand off because of Jack’s protocols.”

“I don’t like her!” Phoenix said stubbornly. “Make her leave, boss guy. She doesn’t work here. She’s not Atlas.”

“But why don’t you like her?” Rhys pressed, sensing there was more to this. 

For as distrustful as Phoenix was, he wasn’t usually hateful like this. And he’d been getting better with everyone trying to help socialize him. So this whole thing was baffling Rhys.

“She’s gonna take my dad!” Phoenix said.

“What? No she’s not. She’s the reason you and your dad left the casino,” Rhys said. “Why would she take him back?”

“Nu-uh!” he said, shaking his head. “Dad likes her.” Frustrated tears rose in his eyes, but he choked them back. “Dad’s s’posed to like mom. Not some clown lady.” He hugged his bear even tighter. “He’s s’posed to like my mom!”

Oh. Rhys wished he hadn’t pried for an answer.

He leaned back in his chair. Tim didn’t speak about it much, but from what Rhys had gathered, Phoenix was the result of Tim and Ember having a few near-death experiences that all ended in frantic adrenaline fueled, unprotected sex. Tim had specified that they’d always been good friends, but never a couple. 

As far as Rhys knew, the two were perfectly happy remaining friends instead of being a couple. Ember planned to stay working in the casino, and they’d agreed to have Tim raise Phoenix for now so the boy could finally grow up outside of the casino.

“Phoenix, your mom and dad were never a, um, a couple. I know Timothy likes your mom. Just not...not as anything more than a friend,” Rhys said awkwardly, unsure if Tim and Ember had ever had this talk with Phoenix.

“He can’t like the clown lady! She’s not my mom!” Phoenix argued.

Rhys supposed it was best to wait this out and let Tim talk to Phoenix about it. But Phoenix was growing anxious like he did when he feared Tim was in danger, so he tried a different approach.

“Doesn’t your mom work with Moxxi? So I’m sure she likes Moxxi,” Rhys attempted. “That must mean your mom would trust her with you and your dad.”

“Dad can’t like her,” Phoenix repeated stubbornly. 

Well, this was getting nowhere. Rhys sighed.

“We can talk about it when Tim comes back. Finish your cookie,” Rhys said, picking up his paperwork. At Phoenix’s look, Rhys gave a reluctant nod. “Yes, I promise we’ll talk about it when he comes back. Or you two will talk about it. I still don’t know how I keep getting sucked into all this.”

Phoenix glared at the door as he finished up his cookie. He tugged at the ear of his bear instead of pacing.

It was a bit before Tim returned. “Moxxi had to get to a meeting. Sorry about that. Just haven’t seen her in a while, you know?”

“Boss guy,” Phoenix pressed.

“Yea, I know!” Rhys said. “Timothy, Phoenix...doesn’t like you talking to Moxxi.”

“What?” Tim said in confusion. “Why not?”

“‘Cause she’s not my mom!” Phoenix said.

Tim looked pained for a moment before going over to his chair. He lifted Phoenix up so he could sit, settling Phoenix into his lap.

“Phoenix, I love your mom. She’s one of my best friends,” Tim said. “But we’ve talked about this. Your mom and I love each other, but we aren’t in love. We’re always going to raise you together, but we’re not going to be a couple.” 

Phoenix’s eyes watered again and he looked away from Tim. “But I miss mom.”

Tim hugged him tightly. “I know, Phoenix. I’m sorry.”

Phoenix began to cry harder. “I want you and mom. It’s not fair. It’s not fair!”

“Shhh, I know, pal. I really do,” Tim soothed. “I was raised by a single parent. I know it hurts sometimes. I’m sorry you haven’t seen her in so long.”

“If you marry the clown lady then what if I never see my mom again?” Phoenix whimpered. 

“Hey, no, no way. We’d never do that to you. And your mom loves you too much to let anyone keep her away from you,” Tim said, kissing Phoenix. “C’mon, pal, why don’t we go for a walk and visit Lorelei? And when you’ve calmed down a little, we can call mom so you can talk to her.”

“I miss her!” Phoenix said, burying his face against Tim’s shoulder and clutching at his shirt. “I miss my mom! I want my mom and dad! It’s not fair!” 

Tim looked heartbroken at his son’s distress. He rubbed Phoenix’s back, kissing his hair.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry, Phoenix.” He stood up with Phoenix in his arms and glanced at Rhys. “Do you mind if I take him outside for some air? I’ll be back in a few minutes. It’ll give you time to read those reports.”

“Go,” Rhys said. “Take your time. Go home early if you need to. I can manage, Timothy.”

“I’ll be back,” Tim promised, carrying his son out.

Rhys felt awful seeing the kid cry like that. Phoenix was so attached to Tim that he’d never really considered whether or not the boy missed his mom. 

Rhys sighed and grabbed his ECHO, connecting a feed. He was probably going to regret this, but he’d grown too attached to Timothy Lawrence and his son.

“Something I can do for you, Rhys?” Moxxi answered.

“I know Timothy said you had a meeting, so I’ll make this quick,” Rhys said. “Any way you can help me plan a surprise to cheer Phoenix up?”

He and Moxxi spoke for a bit before hanging up. Rhys picked the reports back up, hoping like hell he was helping and not about to make things even harder for the family.

[bangtan-sonyeonddaeng]

once more

The boys need to film something abroad for around 2 months and for some reason they have to quickly hire additional staff. One of said staff is you. Since meeting them, you quickly strike up a friendship with all of them including Yoongi. Especially, Yoongi. Everyone is surprised with how quickly he lets you in but they keep their mouths shut. For a while you call him by his name but one day he really firmly, in front of the others, asks you to ONLY call him Suga. You are worried that you have offended him so from then on you never call him Yoongi again. Everything goes back to normal after that. Slowly but surely you spend more and more time together and you both feel sparks flying. He's a bit reluctant about making a move and you know it's because they'll go back home soon and you might not see each other again. But he can’t stop it. You're in his head all the time. So one night he kisses you. You return the kiss. And there is no going back.

He warns you that the sex will just be for fun and to release the tension bc they are going home soon and he can't offer you more. You agree bc, of course even just a few weeks spent with him are infinitely better than not being with him at all. That's not a regret you want to live with. From that night until they leave you spent every free moment alone together. You try to keep it a secret but RM and Hobi know. They keep pretending that they don't thought 😂 And then it's over. They had to go back home.

It hurt more than you expected. It's like he took a piece of you with him. But there's nothing you can do. Life goes on. And you both tried that, to move on. You focused on work, Yoongi did too. But with every day the boys will see him retreating more and more away from others, locking himself in the Genius lab way more than usual.

One day RM and Yoongi were working together on a new track in the lab when Yoongi went to get coffee. While waiting RMs attention got caught by a pile of scrunched up papers behind the desk. He picked one up and on it were lyrics he never read before. It was about you. The song did not have a name but it described how you made Yoongi feel.

It was about how he never though he’d have that kind of a connection to anyone bc of his way of life; how even though he had many walls built you walked through them and he was incapable of stopping you; about how for a long time he disliked his name until he heard it from your lips. It would send shivers through his body and he had to make you stop. But now he wishes he could hear it once more. He wishes he could feel you once more. He wishes he could wrap his arms around you once more. Once more is all that he needs bc he'll never let you go after that. 😭

RM wondered why Yoongi threw it away but decided to not mention it. However, he took the paper with him. Weeks go by and RM asks him if he has any new songs but Yoongi says no. The boy is sad. He sleeps more than usual and he's grumpy often. It gets to a point where he's often late for rehearsals and makes many mistakes. RM talks to Hobi about it and they decided to take matters into their own hands. They both make up some lie about needing a week off and with Bang PDs help secretly fly back to you to talk. They explain everything and ask if you're willing to go to Korea for a bit and figure this out with Yoongi. If not, he will never know that they've talked to you. RM give you the piece of paper with Yoongi’s lyrics on it and it made you cry. You're anxious but deep down you know you want to go. Being without him felt awful for you too so you agree to go back with them.

 When you got to the BigHit studio RM asked where Yoongi is and they told him his in the dance hall. You slowly walk inside and see him talking to Tae. Tae is the first to see you. He immediately lights up with a huge smile on his face and nudges Yoongi to look back. When his eyes land on you it’s like the air is punched out of your chest. He feels the same too. You both walk slowly towards each other while the others try to make themselves scarce as quickly as possible but they are all eavesdropping from outside the door which they leave partially open.

You both stop walking at about 3 feet distance. You both whisper “Hi” to each other, scared that if you say it any louder it may make the other somehow disappear.

 “what are you doing here?” he asks

“Sightseeing” you deadpan.  But he’s not in a joking mood.  

Thinking that you were serious he looks down and says “Oh..”  making your heart sink

You say “Hey..” and try to take a step forward but he takes on back so you stop. “I’m here bc I wanted to see you” you say.

You take the piece of paper out from your pocket and hand it to him.

“Do you really feel that way?” you ask

He takes it and at first shakes his head unable to believe someone took it and gave it to you. But he nods in response to your question. You try to take another step forward but he tells you to stop.

“Y/N, please don’t. If you’re not going to stay please don’t come any closer.” He looks up and you see his eyes are brimming with tears.

“If you’re going to leave please leave now because if I wrap my arms around you once more I don’t think I’ll be able to let go” he says

You slowly take the last few steps towards him and this time he doesn’t move back.

“I hope you don’t” you say. You smile and hug him tight without breaking eye contact.

It takes him a few seconds but then he quickly wraps his arms around you, pulls you in as tight as he can and kisses you.

You hear cheers through the slightly open door of the practice hall and it makes you laugh.

“I’m gonna kill them” Yoongi says which makes you laugh

“I actually think we should thank them. And maybe buy them some lamb skewers and beer for dinned?”  you say. He hums in agreement and kisses you again.

“I’ll kill them after dinner then” he adds   

That was beautiful ;; thank you for blessing us with this fanfic anon 🥺💜

[broadstbroskis]

toes | auston matthews

inspired by the song toes by layne elizabeth

It’s the kind of late summer night that actually gives you hope that fall is coming- cool, low humidity, and yet not overly windy. When some of your friends had texted about meeting up that night at a rooftop bar while the weather was still nice, you’d jumped at the chance- both to see your friends again and to actually go out. It’d been a hectic summer between graduation back in the spring, the job and apartment hunt, and then actually starting the new job. You were excited to see your friends, catch up, and relax for a night, to not think about anything too stressful.

Your friends’ table in the corner of the bar has been pretty loud all night, friends sharing stories about their new jobs and roommates. It’s exactly the kind of night you needed, low key, relaxing, stress-free…

“Auston!” One of the guys shouts suddenly and there appears your ex-boyfriend, Toronto Maple Leafs star center, drawing whispers and stares from all around.

What was that about a stress-free night?

Auston rolls up, exchanging high fives, handshakes, and hugs around the table, but wisely stopping before making it to you or your best friend. “Hey.” He says softly instead, slipping into the seat next to you. Somehow the only available seat? Where did all these traitors come from? “How’s things?”

“Fine.” You plaster a fake smile onto your face and then nudge your best friend. “Hey, bathroom?”

She senses that it’s not really a question, more a request and stands, leading you through the crowd to the bathroom and pulling you inside. There are a few girls waiting in line, but you two make your way past them into the corner where a mirror is, looking more to talk anyway. “Are you okay?” She asks instantly.

“I’m-” You blow out a big breath. “I don’t know.”

You and Auston had met last December and to say things had progressed quickly between you guys would be an understatement. It was only a few days before you two were practically inseparable whenever he was in town; you’d met his family when they came in for a string of home games, and he’d come to Christmas with yours, despite the short period of time you’d been dating. Your friend group and his friend group could be found out together all the time and if you weren’t all together, it wasn’t uncommon for you to come back from class to see him hanging out with your friends or for him to call you from a road trip and find you out to lunch with some of his teammates’ girlfriends. 

And then, as quickly as it’d all come; it’d crashed to the ground. To this day, you can’t quite figure out exactly what the cause was. You just remember lots of tears, some fighting between the two of you, and an agreement not to see each other.

And then, the next day, a photo of him posted on someone’s twitter with a girl on his lap.

A few months later and you’re settled about this more- it’s not the girl that bothers you more than it was the fact that the whole thing felt like a slap in the face. Did you mean that little to him that he could just replace you that easily?

Auston had gone home after their early playoffs exit and been doing his own thing ever since. You had kind of thought you’d never see him again once he came back- that your friends would go back to being your friends and his would be his, as much as that sucked for both of you to lose friends like that.

Your best friend purses her lips at your uncertain response to her question. “Well, I’m here for you, no matter what. If you want to leave, we can.”

“No,” You shake your head. “I don’t want to ruin the night. It’ll be fine.”

“Okay,” Your best friend shrugs as the two of you leave the bathroom. “Your decision. Just remember; just say the word and we’re out of here.”

You’re almost regretting your decision to stay when you get back to the table and the seating arrangement hasn’t changed, but you’re determined to stick this out. If Auston can be fine about this, so can you. 

Except it’s pretty clear to you after a short and frustrating period of time that you are not fine with this. But you’re determined not to let this ruin your night, so more alcohol it is.

Slipping away to the bar, you order a shot as well as your next drink and then lean against it, breathing slow, deep breaths that should be calming. The whole bar suddenly seems hotter, even though it’s definitely only gotten cooler out. 

The bartender returns, sliding both your drinks over, and offers you a total. You fumble for your debit card for a second but a hand is sliding over your shoulder with a card before you can reach for yours. “I’ve got it.”

Of course it’s Auston. You can’t fight the bitter laugh that escapes and reach for the shot, tipping it back as he waits for a drink of his own to arrive. “Come on,” He tries for teasing. “Is my presence really that awful for you?”

“You know,” You’re just drunk enough to have this conversation- tipsy enough to be loose-lipped, but not so drunk that you don’t know what you’re saying. “That’s a great question, isn’t it?”

Auston steers you to the end of the bar, where the crowd is a little less and the noise is a little lower. “I didn’t mean it to be. Awful for you, I mean. I just wanted to see you.”

You can’t help but give him a look. “You shouldn’t have ambushed me! If you wanted to see me, you should have asked me!”

“Yeah, and you would have answered if I had?” There’s a moment of silence between you two, since you both know you probably wouldn’t have, at least not right away. “I’m sorry,” He apologizes. “I didn’t come here to fight with you tonight, YN.”

You raise an eyebrow. What could he really have expected? “Then what did you come for?”

“I was hoping…” He starts. “I wanted to see…”

“Spit it out!”

“I want to get back together!”

You actually choke on your drink. “What?”

“Come on.” Auston reaches out and rubs your shoulder soothingly. You hate how his touch still makes you feel, both comforted from the gesture and like all your nerve endings are on fire. “Is it-is it a surprise? We were good together! Or at least, I thought so.”

“We were great together.” You agree, feeling a little hysterical. How is it still getting warmer on this freaking rooftop? “Until we weren’t. And then I didn’t hear a single word from you until tonight, when you announce you want to get back together!” You’re pretty sure you’re mildly panicking, not at all helped by what Auston says next.

“I loved you.” It’s so soft, you’re almost sure you misheard it until he follows it up with the rest of his declaration. “I loved you then and I still do. I don’t want to lose this, YN.”

“Well, I can’t do this like last time, Auston.” There are actual tears running down your cheeks and you hate yourself a little for it. “I can’t jump into something that crazy and be broken again afterwards.” His thumb comes up to brush your tears away and you see him go to interrupt, to probably say something about how this time won’t be like last time, and you continue. “And don’t say it won’t be like that again; you can’t guarantee that!”

“I can’t,” He says, sounding reluctant to admit it. His hand is still softly stroking your cheek, keeping the two of you closer than you’ve been since your break-up. “I just know we’re better together and I want to do this again with you.”

The moments like that are the ones when you remember why you were with him in the first place. “Let’s start with dinner first.” You say, and can’t help the smile that spreads across your face when you see Auston start to grin. “And then maybe we’ll go from there.”

[marshmallow-phd]

Midnight Hours

Part of The Untamed - EXO Wolf Universe

Genre: Wolf!AU

Pairing: Sehun x Reader

Summary: For you, being a good witch was easier said than done. Something dark was lurking inside of you and the others knew it. When you’re forced to tag along with Soomi and help a local wolfpack face a coming evil, you’re sent on a path that breaks into a crossroads. While you struggle with your inner demons, could the wolf Sehun be the key to your ultimate fate?

Part: 1 I 2 I 3 I 4 I 5 I 6 I 7 I 8 I 9 I 10 I 11 I 12 I 13 I 14 I 15 I 16 I 17 I Final

**

Soomi stayed with you out in the woods for another hour or so, letting you sit there in silence while she talked about the different plants that surrounded you. She knew that you didn’t really care if this leaf could be used in a mixture to cure burns instantly or if that flower contained a nectar that was the main ingredient for a sleeping potion. It was simply a tactic to try and get your mind off of the current predicament. You couldn’t really say that it was working, but you appreciated the thought.

“We should probably go back now,” Soomi sighed after a while. It was the first sign of reluctance you’d seen from her since this whole situation began. As much as she put on a brave face, you knew she was still hurting inside.

When she first told you about Junmyeon, you were still a teenager, young, but not naive. She’d been so starry-eyed when she described the soon-to-be professor during your skype sessions that you were sure she’d come home with this new man on her arm. But then she told you the big secret: he was a wolf.

Even though you were still technically a child, you suddenly felt like the adult as you yelled at the screen. You told her to run. You told her to walk away and forget about him. The animosity between witches and wolves might have subsided slightly – at least with your coven – but that still didn’t mean she was safe. This Junmyeon could have been the perfect man that she was describing, but even if he didn’t physically hurt her, she still wouldn’t walk away unscathed. When his mate showed up, she would be the only one heartbroken.

But she didn’t listen to you and what you’d predicted came true: his mate had shown up and any feelings he might have had for Soomi disappeared like dirt in the wind. She swore that she was fine. She swore that she was over it, that’d she’d been prepared for a long time now, and she only wanted to be his friend. But you knew it wasn’t entirely true. Soomi was too kind to have to go through such cruel things.

“Or we could just go home?” you offered with a sarcastic smile. You didn’t think she would agree to it at all, but you had to try if it meant not having to run into that particular wolf again. As obnoxious and hurtful as his words were, you’d been through worse. It was the fact that his presence made you uneasy that you wanted to leave and never see him again. The quivering feeling in your stomach had subsided as you stayed out here where it was safe, but you dreaded the idea of it coming back.

It wasn’t a fearful uneasiness and that was what worried you the most. There wasn’t a direct adjective to describe the feeling; it was just… there. And you’d much rather avoid it – and him.

“Nice try,” Soomi chuckled as she pushed herself back up to her feet. “Just try to focus on the fact that once this is over, it means its over. Maybe no more visions or coming doom if you simply… wait it out.”

“Wait it out,” you sighed. “Story of my life, right?”

Soomi looked at you with a defeated expression, making your heart sink. To try and make it go away, you stepped up and wrapped your arms around her torso. A short, surprised laugh pushed out of her mouth before she returned the hug in full force.

“I’m sorry for being a jerk,” you whispered, still holding on tight.

Soomi patted your head as she said, “If anyone has the right to be a jerk, I’d say it was you at the moment, but I appreciate the apology.”

Stepping back, you let out a short sigh. “Okay. Let’s go back to the chaos they call a house.”

With a smile, Soomi took your hand and the two of you walked back to the clearing to face the wolves once again.

**

The run failed to accomplish what Sehun had set out to do. Instead of calming his system down and taking his mind off of the news he’d been ambushed with this morning, it only succeeded in making him more anxious. The effects of the mate pull were already starting to creep in, to take over. He hardly knew your name and yet he was already worried about you.

What did it matter if you got a little upset? Why did he have to care that you’d ran out of the kitchen and into the woods? You were a witch, couldn’t you take care of yourself in these trees?

The beast inside snarled at him as he stepped up on the porch, jeans gripped tight in his hand.

“Shut up,” he hissed at the wolf through gritted teeth. Clutching the handle of the front door with a little too much force, he shoved the barrier open, stomped through the front parlor and then froze.

You were sitting on the couch, legs folded under you with a notebook and pencil in hand. Eyes wide as the full moon, you stared at him opened mouth before flinging the notebook up to cover your face. “What the hell?!”

Oh. Right.

Perhaps he should have put the clothes on before coming inside the house.

Ignoring you to the best of his ability, Sehun continued through the living room and up the stairs to his room. Thankfully it was empty of Tao and Lottie, saving him even a little shred of dignity.

He didn’t used to have to worry about things like that. Even with the few mates that were around in the beginning of this seemingly endless rotation, he was free to continue on as normal. And that meant not having to put on the old clothes that had been laying out in the dirt and grass when he came back sweaty and tired from a hard run. But as the house became filled to the brim with females – and now a child running around as well – Sehun was forced to be a bit more obliging. Maybe he should just stay in his room all the time now. It would be easier to avoid you that way. He hoped the less interaction he had with you, the less likely the bond would grow and maybe the two of you could go on with your lives with no one being the wiser.

That’s not going to work.

Sehun growled at himself as he made his way over to the bathroom, shutting the door with a loud bang behind him.

It didn’t work that way. He knew it. He’d seen it. How many worried glances had he given Jongdae as he whined in pain, each attack increasing in strength the more he fought the pull? The only time the older wolf ever had even the slightest bit of relief was when he hid around the corner, watching Jiyoung happily serve customers through the window of the café. Sehun still remembered the way Jongdae’s shoulders would relax, releasing the tension that had been built up for days and – while at the time he always denied it – the smallest of smiles would creep onto his face, reflecting a sparkle in his eyes, like he could spend hours at that window, content at simply watching his mate do the most mundane things imaginable.

Would he be like that soon too?

Shaking his head, Sehun stepped into the steaming shower. His hope was to wash away the scrambled thoughts and incoherent babble that was currently plaguing his brain. He didn’t want to think about being mated anymore. He didn’t want to think about the consequences if he continued down the course of ignoring it. He wanted to rewind to yesterday, when he was still free and unattached.

“Hey, Sehun?”

Sehun let out a cry, nearly slipping in the water at the sudden intrusion of Baekhyun’s voice. Peeking out from behind the shower curtain, he snapped, “What?”

“Touchy,” Baekhyun scoffed. Sehun could have sworn he locked the door, but with Baekhyun, something as flimsy and inconsequential as a bathroom lock matter exactly zilch. “We’re having lunch and Junmyeon wants you to join us.”

“I’ll be down in a minute,” he grumbled. Baekhyun threw him a salute before shutting the door once more. So much for staying away.

Rinsing out the last of the shampoo, Sehun turned off the water and stepped out onto the bath mat, leaving behind water-induced footprints as he dried off with a towel and headed back to his room to get dressed.

Down in the kitchen, a majority of the mates were already eating whatever meal Kyungsoo and Dana had taken the liberty of making. From the smells that floated in the air and the clanking of spoons against porcelain bowls, it seemed that Dana had made her famous soup. Excellent. He was starving.

“Here.” Junmyeon all but shoved the fresh bowl of soup into Sehun’s hands, sloshing the liquid and almost making a mess on the tile floor. It didn’t take the second coming of Einstein to see that Junmyeon was still a little irritated with him, but the alpha would get over it soon enough. Being the youngest in the group had its advantages after all.

Happily taking the warm meal, Sehun shuffled over to the side of the kitchen, leaning up against the counter next to Luhan, who was watching his mate with careful eyes as she sipped tiny spoonful’s of soup. Harper was still adjusting to life here as well as everyone adjusting to her now constant presence. It was hard not to be cagey around her, especially since she’d almost killed Minseok. Most of the mates liked her – even Ji Yeon had warmed up to her after a while. But Sehun still kept his distance. It was hard, seeing his closest brother go through that. It stung even more knowing that he didn’t confide in any of them about it. Slowly but surely, they were all moving past the incident, but Harper still kept to herself when it came to a majority of the wolves.

“Okay,” Junmyeon sighed when he was done with his own bowl. After placing it in the sink and getting a side-eye glare from Minseok was that was easily ignored, he moved a little closer to the center of room, arms crossed over his chest. “It’s time to finish our conversation from earlier.”

“Which part?” Jongin asked after he finished slurping up what was left of Kimberly’s soup.

“The living arrangements part,” Junmyeon replied.

Baekhyun pulled Hae In onto his lap while she didn’t seem the least bit bothered, continuing on her side conversation with Lottie. “Where did they sleep last night?”

“In Jongin’s room.”

Sehun barely bit back a growl in time at that news. There was no reason to be jealous, but that didn’t stop the emotion from rearing its ugly head in that moment. A tiny crack appeared near the rim of the bowl when Sehun’s grip had tightened before he checked himself. Glancing to make sure no one had noticed or was watching him too closely, he slyly adjusted the bowl so his hand was covering the break. Then he lifted his eyes and immediately regretted it.

You were staring at him. Not point blank, but with little flickers as you tried to keep your concentration focused on Junmyeon. Something kept pulling your gaze to him. Feeling cheeky, Sehun smirked, pretending to be cocky about your earlier encounter. That seemed to pull you out of it as you cleared your throat and adjusted yourself in the chair so you were profile to him.

“They can keep my room,” Jongin offered. Sehun had to put the bowl down behind him before he smashed it to pieces.

“Then where are you going to go?” Jongdae asked aggressively. On the pack’s side or not, he was still distrustful of the witches, evident by the way he never let Jiyoung go whenever one was around. He seemed to easily forget that Soomi was the main reason that Jiyoung was even around with his mark on her neck.

Jongin shrugged. “I can stay at Kimberly’s.”

Said mate was currently fighting back a beaming smile at that suggestion.

Junmyeon, however, dashed those hopes as he shook his head. “No, I’d rather us all stay together for the time being.”

“She can take my bed.”

All eyes snapped towards Sehun as soon as the words left his mouth. He hadn’t even had time to think about the words before they’d escaped. But he knew it would be the only solution that wouldn’t cause him to go insane.

“Sehun, are you feeling okay?” Luhan joked beside him, elbowing his side for good emphasis.

He threw Luhan a look before saying, “Tao and I have two beds in our room and there’s two of them. It makes sense, that’s all.”

He cringed internally, wondering if he put a little too much defense into his reasoning.

“Then where are we supposed to go?” Tao whined as he pointed back and forth between himself and Lottie.

The latter scoffed. “I think you mean ‘you’. I have a place to sleep.”

“At your parents’ house,” Lanie scoffed teasingly.

“Hey, I’ll take rent-free while I can,” Lottie argued back playfully.

“That, and you enjoy sneaking Tao through your window at night,” Hae In snorted.

“Girls,” Junmyeon scolded. “Can we stay on track here, please?”

Only Lottie seemed the tiniest bit remorseful while the others just shrug.

Yes. Let’s get back on track and finish this so I can leave again. Avoidance might not be the best answer right now, but with you so close, he was having a hard time concentrating on anything else. No wonder the others were so nauseating when their mates were around. To feel that you were real and tangible was an almost irritable urge.

Great. Now he was making himself sick.

“Sehun does have a point,” Kris agreed, much to his relief. “But where will they go?”

“There’s plenty of floor space,” Sehun said. Tao whined, but didn’t give any further protest to the idea.

Evie, however, had another suggestion. “Why don’t we go into town and get a fold out couch and put it in the basement? There’s plenty of room down there and I’m sure you’d both be more comfortable.”

“Why don’t we just get the pullout couch for them?” That question quickly earned Tao a slap on the shoulder from Lottie. “Ow!”

“You can’t just make them sleep on a pullout couch,” Lottie chastised. “It’s called chivalry.”

You rolled your eyes, having moved to a positon where Sehun could see you again after his initial offer. “We can take the pullout, it’s not a big deal.”

Sehun hated that idea more than you staying in Jongin’s room, although he couldn’t quite figure out why. “No, we’ll take it. You’ll take the beds.”

You apparently didn’t take kindly to his word usage. “Are you ordering me?”

Sehun scoffed. “No, I’m telling you, there’s a difference.”

“I don’t think there’s much of a difference there,” you argued.

Junmyeon growled, effectively ending the verbal boxing match before it could get too out of hand. “This was not the fight I was expecting to happen.”

Soomi looked uncomfortable and guilty as she ran her lithe fingers through her hair. “I know you wanted to keep us close by, Junmyeon, but maybe it’s really best if (y/n) and I go to a nearby hotel. Surely there’s a place outside of town on the way here that has a room.”

Junmyeon shook his head. “No. I promised Mother Willow that we would look after you and I’m not going back on that.” Turning to the rest of them, he declared, “This is what is going to happen: (y/n) and Soomi will take Sehun and Tao’s room. Kris and I will go into town and buy the pullout today and get it down to the basement for Tao and Sehun. End of discussion.”

A few grumbles of agreement made their rounds throughout the room before settling into silence. Content for the time being, Sehun pushed off the counter and left the kitchen.

**

What the hell was that all about? You pondered on that for the millionth time as you unzipped your suitcase on one of the beds. The question had been bouncing around your head since you watched Sehun leave the kitchen with no answer in sight. Was this supposed to be his way of making up his attitude from this morning? If it was, he was terrible at apologizing.

Knock, knock.

“Come in,” you called out as you started pulling clothes out and walked over to the dresser that Junmyeon had picked up for you as well. As much as you didn’t mind living out of your suitcase for however long this was to last, you appreciated the thought anyway.

Whoever it was didn’t announce themselves when they entered the room. You knew it wasn’t Soomi as she said she was going to call Mother Willow and update her on the fact that you’d made it safely and were settling in. Phone calls like that were never short and sweet with Mother Willow and poor Soomi had left less than five minutes ago. Since your visitor didn’t seem to be in much of a hurry, you continued to unpack with your back to them.

“The other bed is more comfortable.”

You stiffened at the voice. What did he want?

Turning around slowly, you crossed your arms over your chest and lifted a brow. “So, what? It’s a bed.”

The wolf’s stance confused you. He kept shifting from foot to foot as if he was agitated about something. His hands were stuffed into the pockets of his jeans and the muscles in his jaw were tight. He didn’t respond to your snarky comment which just confused you further.

You huffed, “Did you need something?”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For this morning.”

“This morning?”

“Yeah.”

Silence.

You knew what he meant by this morning. And, truth be told, you were over it, wordlessly accepting the apology. That didn’t mean you wanted him to think you were a pushover.

Sehun looked away at the dresser, frowning. He took a deep breath, wincing like you smelled bad before releasing the used air out of his lungs. As soon as his eyes were back on you, your heart did a back flip. You tried to swallow to get it back down in its proper place, but that did little good. There was so much happening in his deep brown eyes that you couldn’t even begin to decipher what he was thinking.

“I’m sorry again, about what I said,” he repeated, finally easing whatever tension had been building between you. “If you need anything, let me know.” With that, he turned back towards the door.

“Did Junmyeon put you up to this?” you asked suddenly before he could disappear.

He froze, barely looking at you over his shoulder. His eyes flashed with conflict before he motioned to the other bed with head. “That bed’s more comfortable. Use it.”

And he left.

Rolling your eyes, you scoffed. Well, there was your answer. Yes.

And yet, even with how irritated you were in the current moment, you found yourself picking up your suitcase and moving over to the other bed.

Because it was more comfortable.

At least, that’s what you told yourself.