#the only respected way is to grin and bear it until the abuse stops

[constantvariations]

"Ruby wouldn't be angry at Jaune because she would understand it was Penny's choice" as if grief over losing a close friend again after going through so much to save her again wouldn't manifest in absolute rage that blocks out suicide fetish logic. The writers refused Ruby her anger not only to protect their precious Jaune, but because they think certain emotions are evil

I'm constantly thinking about Blake in V5 attributing spite to Adam as if it's a bad thing. Spite is the emotional version of "hold my beer," and is responsible for some incredible things

Lord of the Flies by William Golding is a spiteful response to The Coral Island by R. M. Ballantyne, a story with the same premise of several middle class English boys being stranded on an island. Where Ballantyne has the boys having "wonderful adventures" such as... saving women and children from being killed and eaten by the native Polynesians, Golding depicts the boys falling into savagery as time and isolation grows their paranoia to the point where they start killing each other. Golding was pissed at the saccharine portrayal of English boys as the height of humanity because he was a teacher who taught that exact demographic and damn well knew better

After a teacher said he wasn't smart enough to get into college, Huey P. Newton taught himself how to read and got into law school. When the college committees were more into intellectual talk than action, he said, "Fuck this, I'm gonna make my own group," and he did! It became an international organization that had the FBI shitting themselves! That's the power of spite, baby!!

The writers are using emotions as a shorthand for a character’s morality, which is why Ruby can't be mad at Jaune without losing her status as a hero and why Adam's anger at injustice makes him irredeemable from day one. Ruby's ptsd disappears with a triumphant smile and musical number while Ironwood's vilifies and dehumanizes him even after his death

The writers have tied "negative" emotions to evil and "positive" to good when they're neither. Emotions are a body's response to stimuli, similar to goosebumps and crying. Think of it as a "check engine" light on your car's dashboard. What someone does because of their emotions can be good or bad, but emotions in and of themselves are morally neutral

Really wish people would learn that

[warystares]

FULL NAME lindsay amos buchanan NICKNAME(S) agent buchanan / uncle linds ( only by his niece ) GENDER / PRONOUNS cis man / he + him AGE/ BIRTHDAY thirty-seven / may 1 ZODIAC ☼ taurus ☽ cancer ↑ virgo HOMETOWN elderslie, scotland OCCUPATION bodyguard AFFILIATION / ROLE unaffiliated ORIENTATION / STATUS homosexual + kinsey scale 5 / single STRENGTHS steadfast + observant + astute + loyal WEAKNESSES guarded + overbearing + distrustful

HISTORY.

TW implied homophobia / drug use / brief implied child abuse + domestic abuse / violence / home invasion / murder

from the outside looking in, the BUCHANAN household is almost picturesque ; with a modest but lovely two-story in the heart of elderslie and two children, a son and a daughter, it would appear that graeme & eilidh have it all ! graeme has a government job that provides well enough eilidh can stay home and mind the house and the children. lindsay amos buchanan is younger than his sister orla by two years, but the pair are incredibly CLOSE ; their father is strict ― they're mindful of their manners, their marks in school, for FEAR of his reaction if they don't ― and their mother is . . . well, lindsay suspects she hasn't been in her right mind in many years. the pills will do that, orla tells him. numb you right up. she tells him this is why their mother never says anything. lindsay expects ALL children must live like this. quiet, obedient. they protect each other, lindsay & orla ― best they can, at least. he walks her to class, she helps him with his coursework, and then they hide away in her bedroom and make up STORIES, elaborate tales of all the places they'll go once they only get out of elderslie.

to his credit, lindsay does well to appease his father and keep relative PEACE in the house for many years. he learns when to mind his tongue, how to behave. if he yearns for APPROVAL, he quickly learns what it feels like to go without. PRAISE comes in the form of a QUIET NIGHT ― no shouting, no dishes thrown. he is careful to make NO MISTAKE significant enough to not be forgotten after his father's spent a few long nights at the pub. not until he turns FIFTEEN. all his life, he's been keeping a secret ; from his parents, his sister . . . sometimes it almost felt like he was keeping it from HIMSELF. for a while, it isn't hard to keep it locked away ; between school, church, and chores, he doesn't have time for SINFUL thoughts. he can almost pretend . . .

his world ends on a brisk september afternoon at nearly three p.m. he's sitting on his bed with colin bigbie from trigonometry, trying desperately to figure out how to CALCULATE ANGLES and colin's tutoring him which should be helping. it should, but colin's sitting so close lindsay can smell his spearmint gum and he can't stop looking at his lips, the way he grins around the eraser of a pencil. he still remembers the way his mother SHRIEKS when she opens his bedroom door to find her son pinned under another boy in his own bed, a tangle of lips and limbs. ( how could he have let himself get carried away ? how could he have let himself get caught ? ) colin has the common sense to scramble out of the house long before his FATHER comes home. lindsay is not so lucky. he has nowhere else to go.

only a few months shy of his sixteenth birthday, lindsay enlists in the ROYAL REGIMENT OF SCOTLAND ; his mother nearly worries herself into an ULCER over the idea alone, but his father is SUPPORTIVE. thinks it's ❛ a wise move, ❜ in fact, that lindsay could use the structure ! she WEEPS over afternoon tea the day he brings home the forms, cannot even bear to look her husband in the eye as he fills them out. the more unpalatable TRUTH need not be said aloud, for lindsay knows it in his heart ― as far as graeme buchanan is concerned, he no longer has a SON, not in the eyes of GOD. perhaps if he leaves now . . . learns what it means to really be a MAN, to bring his family RESPECT in lieu of shame, of DISAPPOINTMENT . . . well, perhaps he might return home to more WELCOMING arms.

THIS, lindsay thinks as he packs a sparse duffel the night before he leaves for phase one training, that's what he WANTS out of enlisting. he wants to feel like he belongs again. ( has he ever ? has his father ever actually been PROUD ? ) ❛ no but for christ's sake, fuck 'em all, linds ! honestly ! it's all a bunch a' shite, and anyway, you'll always belong here with me, ❜ comes a tearful reassurance from his sister over a shared rooftop cigarette the very same night, a possible last ditch effort at convincing him to stay. IT DOESN'T WORK ! his mind is made up, and when she pinky swears that she gets it, that she UNDERSTANDS and could never hold it AGAINST him, lindsay believes her. he CRIES when she HUGS him goodbye the following morning. ( in spite of his best efforts he cannot hide red eyes & mottled cheeks from his father as he climbs into the car. he says NOTHING but lindsay can feel his gaze ; he cannot bring himself to meet it for the entirety of the SIX HOUR drive from elderslie to berkshire. )

the ROYAL MILITARY ACADEMY SANDHURST provides twelve months of intensive training to all prospective young officers ; lindsay is DESPERATE to succeed because, in his mind, there is no other option. he learns to operate on a STRICT schedule and quickly becomes regimented, disciplined. but lindsay does not socialize with the other young men in his barracks. many of them are quick to make friends ― he sees them being RAUCOUS in the mess hall, hears them SLAGGING OFF their superiors when they're out of earshot ― but lindsay always keeps to himself. he never joins in ! in his spare time, lindsay pens letters. they're mostly to orla ; he tells her of his SUCCESSES, embellishes his happiness in neat lines signed with love. the letters he receives back are the highlight of his time at the academy ― they keep him going. occasionally he'll write to his mother & father ; to those letters, he hears NOTHING in return. his mother takes his phone calls on HOLIDAYS ( he expects that's the only grace his father allows ) but beyond that, they make no effort toward significant contact.

at least not until he GRADUATES ; they show up for that, all three of them, but make no mistake it is not a GRAND AFFAIR. he knows from his sister's letters things have not grown better in his absence but WORSE ; his father's temper flares, and without lindsay there to take the HEAT, his mother & sister suffer in his place. at dinner that evening, orla announces her plans to move OVERSEAS ; she's nearly twenty now, after they've got relatives in AMERICA, distant cousins in the states, and she intends to relocate with their help. her news doesn't go over well ; their father SHOUTS, their mother WAILS and when they leave, it is with the assurance that the entire lot of them are banned from what was lindsay's favorite italian place in berkshire FOR LIFE. in the end, it doesn't actually matter though, does it ? he's LEAVING again anyway.

lindsay returns home for TWO WEEKS while he awaits his assignment ; he helps orla pack & does his best to avoid CONFLICT with their parents. when she leaves for new york, lindsay is the one who takes the family car to drive her to the airport. ( he finds out that day that maybe he doesn't know how to say goodbye to his sister without crying. once can be written off as a fluke, but twice ? ) he doesn't know what to expect when he receives the call specifying the location of his first tour, but lindsay can be certain that BELIZE does not even make the list. he didn't even know they had anyone stationed in belize. ( if he's being honest, before he knows he's going, lindsay couldn't have confidently pointed out the country on a MAP ! ) within seventy-two hours, he's on a plane. unlike with orla, when his parents leave him at the terminal, lindsay sheds not a single tear. on the flight, he thinks of his mother's OUTPOURING of emotion and wonders if it's sincere. does she mourn the loss of both her children ?

the STIFLING HEAT of the south american sun ― surely impossibly the same sun that casts clouds over his village back home ― FRIES pale, freckled skin within hours of landing, but lindsay learns quickly that he enjoys the PAIN ! it provides a welcome distraction. a lucky break, it would seem, because it is found here in no short supply. TROPICAL ENVIRONMENT TRAINING, it's called. how to FIGHT in the jungle ! from dawn to dusk, he and his battalion trudge through gnarled, swampy undergrowth ; they learn to camouflage themselves in the wild, how to use NATURE to their advantage. he learns to blink past the BURN of sweat in his eyes, to CLAW his way forward when his limbs threaten to give out. his limits ? clearly he's been underestimating them all his life ! out here in the HARSH WILD, nobody cares about his story, where he came from. nobody cares who he LOVES. they only care that he can perform. ENDURE. it matters not who he is, only what he is capable of.

belize teaches lindsay buchanan that he is a very capable man !

when he first enlisted, it was without a clear, intentional path in mind ; he'd known then that he wanted to SERVE HIS COUNTRY, but he hadn't the foggiest what he could even OFFER. would he be sent to KITCHEN DUTY or put on the FRONTLINES ? were there even front lines ? six months after arriving in belize, lindsay completes his training. he's ADAPTED extraordinarily well to the environment ; his superiors watch as he takes lead of his battalion, seizes CONTROL to lead his brothers & sisters-in-arms to safety. he watches his team with the FIERCENESS & PRECISION of a HAWK ! when his entire battalion completes the program with flying colors, lindsay is asked to remain in belize. for someone so young, he displays POTENTIAL. for the next five years, LADYVILLE becomes his new home ; he immerses himself in its CULTURE just as much as its jungles. his accent twists the words in a funny sort of way, but he learns to speak spanish & belizean creole ; he drinks belikin and shares panades with locals. he becomes familiar with the forestry, teaches it to HUNDREDS. and he writes to orla about all of it.

one day, when she writes back, lindsay learns he's an UNCLE. when his tour ends, he hops on the first plane he can catch to the states so he can meet his NIECE. her name is elspeth buchanan and lindsay is convinced he falls in LOVE the second he holds her in his arms. he spends several weeks in new york with orla ; he sleeps on her couch and spends day in and day out with her to make up for all the time they've LOST. she tells him ellie's father isn't in the picture, and lindsay makes her pinky swear that she's safe, that she's okay. he wishes he could STAY, but he's given another assignment far too quickly. he tells himself he won't CRY this time when orla & ellie leave him at the terminal, that he can keep it together ! he can't, and they're both LAUGHING through their tears as she makes him promise they'll meet here again in a few years and he relents on one condition : she sends him WEEKLY photos of elspeth in the meantime.

when he lands again, lindsay is in NIGERIA. he has been assigned to the UK's permanent outpost ABUJA to aid in the training of the nigerian military. what he lacks in knowledge about the country & terrain, he makes up for in a PASSION for the sharing of knowledge, of valuable, LIFE-SAVING SKILLS. hausa & yaruba are more difficult to learn than spanish, he'll admit, but he spends enough time there that he becomes at very least conversational in a few different languages. when he returns to ELDERSLIE after another five years, he does not sound the same & the streets no longer look like HOME. his country beckons him back before he can visit orla, but he promises SOON. he still writes every chance he gets ; she convinces him to start video calling because ellie is talking ! his parents don't see their only grandchild, don't get the PRIVILEGE. he visits them once while he's back on home soil. once in three years. it's TENSE. his mother doesn't recognize him. his father shakes his hand.

it takes fifteen years, but lindsay can finally feel the WEAKNESS in his grip !

time slips through his fingers FASTER than lindsay can stop it and before he knows it, the year is 2025. he's back in berkshire and, as it turns out, that little italian restaurant ? they don't even RECOGNIZE him now. lindsay is in his apartment when he receives a phone call from an unrecognized number. his cousin from new york, bearing news of his sister. GRAVE NEWS. he can barely make out the details over the RINGING in his ears the moment he realizes what they're trying to say. ❛ . . . it was a break in . . . she'd just gotten back from work . . . didn't even know she'd been struck . . . 'm so sorry . . . ❜ and just like that, LINDSAY BUCHANAN'S WORLD SHATTERS.

by some grace of god, elspeth isn't HOME when it happens ; their cousin had been watching her while orla was on shift, had just gone to take her back and opened the door when . . . ( she saw it, the poor girl SAW it ! ) lindsay requests IMMEDIATE DISCHARGE and his years of dedicated service allow him to catch the next flight out of heathrow to new york. he has to begin making arrangements. it takes SIX DAYS to find a flat in the city and get ellie moved into it ; with his cousin minding her for a few hours, he packs up his sister's apartment in a single night. delicately, he tucks away YEARS of memories into boxes ― some he's seen, many he's missed out on. he does this ALONE, and he realizes a truth he's known his entire life. HE WILL ALWAYS CRY WHEN HE SAYS GOODBYE TO HIS SISTER. this night is no different. he weeps openly on the floor at the center of her flat, surrounded by sweaters & pillows & photos ― he cries for every little piece of her that he is forced to say goodbye to. his grief echoes off the walls. he gives so much that by the time they BURY her, lindsay has no tears left to shed. he is exhausted. and for this, he is GRATEFUL. it allows him the ability to stay strong. for ellie. from this day forward, his needs will forever take the back burner to hers.

he is no father, but he will RAISE her best he can. he owes as much to orla.

to provide for them both, lindsay secures a position at SENTRY SOLUTIONS. his extensive military & combat training make him the perfect fit for private security, and he finds that he approaches his new career with an inherent ( and unhealthy ! ) sort of dedication. blame it on the GUILT ― he wasn't there to protect his sister. he couldn't save her ! but damn if he can't protect everyone else ! and if he can't, well, he thinks he might DIE trying. he installs state of the art security in his flat and still OFTEN takes ellie along on jobs with him to ensure he can keep an eye on her, too. she's polite and well-behaved ( sometimes at night, when he speaks aloud to his sister . . . he asks how she ever managed to come up with a child so UNLIKE her. ) and for the past five years, it's yet to prove a SIGNIFICANT problem. he knows when he can take her, after all ― assignments at the ballet, or when he's working with opal ― or when it's BEST he try to leave her with family. problem is, he doesn't have very MUCH of that left. it's just HIM & ELLIE for the most part.

against the world !

WANTED CONNECTIONS.

REGULAR CLIENTS ― these would be people lindsay has been assigned to bodyguard via sentry solutions. this could be someone he works with regularly, or a one-off assignment for an event or a public appearance. lindsay is among the best of the best that sentry has to offer, so you can rest assured that you and your assets will be protected. THE COUSINS ― when orla moved to new york, it was with the aid and support of distant cousins of theirs that had been overseas for generations. your muse helped her get set up and played a large role in helping her raise elspeth. they were likely the one watching her the night orla was attacked in her home and the first one to reach out to lindsay with the news after it happened. i imagine they're very close and lindsay still leans on them for support from time to time. FOUND FAMILY ― but family doesn't have to be blood, and your muse proves that ! whether they met through sentry solutions, a grief or support group ( he doesn't talk about it much, but he can't deny that they help ) or maybe they live on the same block, lindsay's found comfort and a sense of home in your muse. he might not be the most affectionate, but he is loyal, and if he's in your corner, chances are you've got him for life. THE ONE HE'S AFTER ― lindsay tries not to pay attention to rumors but he's heard through the grape vine that your muse might've had something to do with the home invasion that ultimately led to the death of his sister five years ago. is he misinformed ? were you sent to steal something from her ? was it a mistaken address ? it doesn't matter. lindsay is no vigilante but something about knowing that the hands that stole his his sister's life still scour the city makes his blood boil. he's got his eye on you. FRIENDS FROM ABROAD ― in all his years with the scottish royal regiment, lindsay traveled the globe. he spent most of his time in belize and nigera, but he made his rounds to several countries when he had the time, and for all that he lacked in social inclinations when he was young, he made up for as he began traveling to new places and experiencing new peoples and cultures. maybe your muse is also ex-military and trained with or under him ( the program in belize hosted many, not just the scots ) or maybe they met in one of a dozen different cities in south america or africa. whatever the cause, he's just grateful for a familiar face in the city. LITERALLY ANYTHING ― give me friends, enemies, lovers . . . he's a lil' guarded with his heart actually but like . . . i am honestly open to whatever, y'all ! just let me know if you wanna plot with him

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Hue and Cry III

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape; abuse of power, threats, chase, whipping, blood.

This is dark!medieval!Bucky Barnes x reader and explicit. 18+ only.  Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: You face a reckoning for evading your lord.

Note: Today I start my job!!!! I won’t be able to check in until the afternoon but hope you guys have a great Monday!

Thanks to everyone and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. ����

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Your pleas were silenced by Lester’s single threat to cut out your tongue with his sword. He assured you that so long as you were mostly intact, his liege would show his gratitude. He took you back through the corridors with some direction from the steward but the lords had already left the entrance hall.

He dragged you up the winding stairs, higher than you’d been in that castle, and you shook more and more with each step. You were trapped, there was no way out. Even if you tried to run and he didn’t cut you down, the gates had been closed and Lester had set all the other livery men on guard.

You planted your heels as you saw a familiar back. Lord Rogers strode around the corner and eyed you and the man in his mail and tunic. He gave a crooked grin and watched you curiously but his expression was more knowing as he got closer.

“You seek Barnes?” he asked Lester.

“I do, my lord, I would return to him his property,” Lester countered tersely.

“I will see her to him,” you squirmed at his promise, he seemed entirely too understanding of the situation.

“My lord, with due respect, I did discover her and I have sworn to Lord--”

“I will make him know you did bring her, uh…”

“Lester Cordray,” he supplied, “might I accompany you then, to see that she tries no tricks.”

“I can handle the girl. You might have brought her to me but it was I who did discover her truly,” Steve grabbed your elbow and pulled you to him, “now away with you before I speak of more than your diligence to your master.”

Lester muttered a ‘my lord’ and left you with the clomp of his iron steps. Steven watched him and turned with his hand still on your arm. You struggled with him as he wrenched you onward.

“You knew?” you breathed.

“You think I pluck any woman from the dirt and put her in my own castle,” he scoffed, “Lord Barnes is an old friend and he did put out the call for aid in accosting his errant and deceitful maid.”

“I did nothin--”

“You stole, as I have it, and more, you lied to me,” he spat, “you’ve wronged two lords and your single offense alone would warrant a whipping if not the dungeons.”

“No, no, I did not steal, my lord, and I did lie but only to protect myself. Lord Barnes, he… he was going to--”

“You swore a duty to him and you ran. Whether you stole, it does not matter for your evasion betrays deception.”

He thrust you forward and you hit a wooden door. He knocked beside your head as you righted yourself. He wrenched you back and huffed. He reached for the handle and pushed the door open. He nudged you in ahead of him and followed.

“Buck,” he said evenly, “as I promised, I believe this is the one.”

Your gaze met Barnes’ impenetrable glare. He saw in a wooden framed chair, elbows bent on the arms, and watched you without flinching. Only his eyes moved as he looked you up and down. He gave a subtle nod.

“I refrained from the switch but I might send for several to choose from,” Rogers offered.

Barnes considered him then looked back to you, “a grand idea, Steve,” he mused, “but before you do,” he tugged at his tunic.

Steve chuckled and reached around you. He grabbed the collar of your dress and tore through the bodice, jolting your body against his. You cried out as he split the fabric with several more rips to the very hem. He pushed it down your arms so it heaped around your feet and did the same to your shift. He swatted the back of your head when you tried to cling to the thinner layer and stepped back only as you in only your stockings..

“I doubt she would run now,” Barnes still did not break his stoic sneer, “the switches… and some wine.”

You hugged yourself and shivered. Steven left for a moment and returned again. You were further unsettled when Barnes did not bid him to leave. You trembled and searched every nook and cranny of the chamber for an inkling of hope. There were only the lords and the thick air sewn with your fear.

A knock came and Steven went to the door again. He shooed away the servant and pushed the wood back into the frame. He plunked the bottle of wine on the table that stood at Barnes’ elbow. He held out the long switches for the other lords perusal as he uncorked the bottle with one hand.

“Her thumb,” he said and swigged from the neck.

Steven crossed to you and checked each switch against the width of your thumb. He chose the one closest and handed it to Barnes as he stood. The men shared a conspiratorial look and you cowered as Lord Rogers turned on you again. You didn’t reach the door before he yanked you back.

He grabbed the back of your neck and bent you over as he angled you around. He presented your ass to Barnes and you felt the thin birch against your flesh. 

“Please, my lord, please, I was only afraid. I did not know your intentions, I am innocent, untouched. How could I--”

“Is that meant to discourage me?” Barnes snarled, “let her scream.”

He pulled back the switch and it lashed across your rear. Your thighs quaked at the force and your flesh split at the impact. He whipped you again and again and again until every inch of your ass seared in agony. He didn’t stop, laying licks across your thighs until you fell to your knees. You sobbed and screamed in pain as Rogers’ hand remained on your neck and he urged you back to your feet.

“You have a physician,” Barnes asked plainly, “I wouldn’t risk festering… I’d like to hold onto her for a time yet.”

“I will have him tend to her,” Steven said, his tone coated in disappointment, “an easy punishment for a thief.”

“It is not all,” Barnes assured, “not close to it. Get her on the bed before she passes out,” he bid, “and do not be so grim, Steve, you will have your reward. Patience, my friend, you know me to honour my promises.”

“I know it,” Steven said as he took you to the bed and you let him lay you down on your stomach. You were dizzy and weak from the pain. “I’ve been patient. A week or so and she has lingered under my roof and I did not touch her.”

“A feat for you, no doubt,” Barnes said, “and I thank you for that but I need time.”

“Buck--”

“Don’t push me. Not right now,” Barnes warned, “it is the last thing I need with the prospect of the capital before me.”

“Certainly,” Rogers relented, “I shall leave you then.”

“As you will,” Barnes resumed his seat as the other lord retreated and the sound of the door marked his exit. 

You reached back and touched your tortured bottom and winced. You bit your other hand and sobbed at the pain.

“Do not touch it,” he barked, “you would cause it to worsen. Be still… be good.”

🏰

You didn’t stop sobbing until after the physician left. Your flesh was still raw and ravaged. You stayed on your stomach as any brush made the cuts burn. Barnes said nothing, the silence worse than any snipe he could have sent in your direction. He only tutted as you tried to cover yourself with a blanket and snatched it back.

He paced and gulped from the bottle. He looked out the window at the sun and sighed. He went to the door without looking back at you. “I must see to my host,” he said, “do not think you will get past this door should you have the gull to emerge as you are.”

“My lord,” you sniffed as he awaited your response in the pressing silence.

The door announced his leave and you pushed yourself up carefully. You groaned at every movement and looked around the chamber. Your clothing, even if they had been sheared near in half, was gone. The physician had removed your shoes and stockings, your blood stained along the top of the latter. You quivered as you stood and walked on your hollow legs.

You peeked out around the window frame onto the green, the autumn blaring in russet, amber, and gold. You kicked yourself for staying so long. You had days to plan your flight. You couldn’t have truly believed that you’d never be discovered so close to Barnes’ lands. Even on the far coast, you would never be certain.

You went back to the bed, unable to sit, and languished in your discomfort. When the door opened again, you kept your eyes to the floor, legs and arms crossed as your only defense. Barnes entered and latched the door. He walked around the room and sat to remove his boots. You winced as you felt the bed shift behind you.

You gasped as his fingers grazed the lashes across your rear, his touch as hot as your skin. He pressed firmer until you cried out louder and he retracted his hand. He harrumphed and leaned against the carved headboard.

“Why did you run?” he asked, “I did not hurt you. I offered you what any of your bearing would be honoured to have. You spurned me and made a fool of me.”

“My lord, I was scared--”

“Scared of what, pray? Did I touch you unkindly?”

“I told you I did not wish for that--”

He slapped your thigh with the back of his hand and you yelped and shook in agony. You folded your legs up and cradled yourself as you braced for another strike.

“It is not upon a servant’s purview to refuse her master, you say ‘yes, my lord’ and do as he wishes,” he hissed, “you don’t not assault him and make him give chase in little more than his cloth.”

“I am so sorry,” you wisped as you whimpered, “I am so very sorry.”

“You sob and grovel, you whine and blubber, and yet I don’t believe you,” he snarled, “my most obedient servant, you betrayed me wholly.”

“My lord,” it was all you could say. If you argued, it would goad him further and it was, as he said, uncouth for any servants to speak back against their master.

“And now, you lay with your back to me and would not look at me,” he continued, “you were well trained, you are aware that it is an offense to present me with the back of your head so boldly.”

You uncrossed your arms and pushed your legs down. You rolled onto your back and exclaimed at how it hurt. You sat up with effort and kept your eyes on the blankets. You bowed your head and awaited further remonstrance.

“My apologies, my lord,” you murmured.

“Look at me in my eyes, damn you,” he demanded.

Your eyes flicked up and met his. He was angry, more angry than you’d ever seen him, and he was hurt. His jaw tensed and he exhaled sharply as he turned away from you and hung his legs over the bed. He shook his head and raised two fingers to signal you.

“Attend my wardrobe,” he growled, “I am spent.”

You rose and went to him. He let you unbutton his brocade, a garment stiffer than his usual grey jackets. You removed his sleeves and then the vest, and he raised his arm as you lifted his tunic and led it down his metal one. He stood and you fumbled nervously with his breeches. You dumped the garments in the woven basket in the corner and he huffed impatiently.

“Well,” he said, “I require a night shirt… and you’ve not finished.”

You swallowed and went to his trunk. You sorted through the contents and took out a long linen shirt. You neared him and he tore it from your grasp and dropped it on the mattress. He nodded and you caught his intent. You hooked your thumbs in the top of his undershorts and shoved them down in a single swoop. You followed them down and unhooked them from his feet.

He waved you off and unbuckled the straps that held on his artificial limb. It fell away and he plunked it on the square table beside the bed. He sighed and stared through you.

You tugged off his socks last as he sat and stood to retrieve the shirt. He watched you as you opened the hole to pass over his head and he tickled your stomach as he lifted his arm to poke his hand through the fabric. 

You let the shirt fall down his torso and he leaned back on the heel of his hand, his member twitching beneath the hem. You kept your eyes straight, afraid to glance directly at him.

“You will sleep on the floor,” he said as he pulled at the wool blanket folded across the bottom of the bed and tossed it onto the stone, “feed the fire before it dies and extinguish the candle.”

You backed away as he slid under the blankets and reclined. You did as he bid and gathered up the thin blanket as you huddled down in front of the hearth. You wanted to cry but had no tears left. If you had only relented to his whims, he might still treat as more than a nippy dog.

[dinthehottotty]

Drunk on You - Jack 'Whiskey' Daniels

Warnings: Just some smutty drabble inspired by a new toy....

A/N: I wrote this on mobile so sorry I don't have the drop down bit. Also go gentle on me, this is my first Whiskey piece....

No. No, no. No, no, no, no. Nonononononono! This... could not be happening. Mortification was creeping in. Shame was shuffling from the corner of the hotel room.

It had taken ten minutes for you to begin to realize the weight of the situation. Still you couldn't bare looking to your right. If your legs could just stop shaking, that would be great.

You were a grown woman. An adult. Always prided yourself on your own efficiency. You got the job done, and done right no matter the energy and time. You did it independently for the most part, that's why you'd been hired by Statesmen to begin with. You were an amazing spy with a nerve of steel.

There was only one thing that ever got to you. Agent Jack 'Whiskey' Daniels. What an asshole. You'd never met such a surecocked, womanizing, smug bastard man. He pissed you off so much. You never used to let his advances bother you, but somehow over the years he wiggled his way under your skin. Now a single look from him made you seeth and bristle like a wild animal.

Your pride was now wiped away like a dry erase board. Your mind slowly is beginning to gain its bearings while you tremble in a puddle of your own fluids on your hotel bed. The light of the lamp next to you is a reminder of your vulnerability.

Sparing a glance to your right, everything about you is slow and hesitant. Jack is lounging beside you comfortably, a satisfied smirk coating his face. He's got his eyes closed, his fingertips tapping the air with a song you've got no idea about. He looks almost peaceful in the warm light of the dimmed lamp. And it would be if his stupid porn 'stache wasn't tilted up in a cocky smirk.

Your stomach chooses this inopertune moment to gurgle loudly. Weird, you swore the nausea was due to the naked rodeo clown beside you. Weirder yet, he almost looked good without his yellow sunglasses and cowboy hat. Less like a want to be country music star and more like a Latin lover.

His head lolls your way and his eyes bulldoze you with his thrilled smirk. Even in the low, unflattering light his brown eyes are warm and remind you of the warm gooeyness that is sliding from between your legs. You want it to not feel good, but your so boneless from the last... fuck, you don't even know how long it's been.

"Worked yerself up an appetite, did ya, darlin'?" Your only response is to gulp and you have to look away from him. A shiver rolls through you and he chuckles.

That's the worst part of this. Not the fact that you actually caved and slept with the sleeze of man, not the fact that he was the only person you genuinely hated in regards to company. No, the worst part of this, was how wrecked he had you. Jack Daniels is singlehandedly the best lay you've had in your life and it wasn't even hate sex.

Granted you should be screaming at him to get the fuck out of your hotel room and raging that he barged in on you in the first place.

Ginger had been so polite in regards to leaving you in the room by yourself for a bit. Laughing as you called after her 'if there is an emergency, don't call me, get the boys!' And then you forgot to turn on airplane mode.

It wasn't that Statesmen couldn't afford two rooms for you both. Instead, she was your near and dear friend and missions served as your sleepovers. You'd both spend free moments giggling and gossiping about the other agents. And also your sex lives and preferences. Also, your newest toy that you hadn't gotten to try.

A tiny egg with a little tongue and suction on it. The catalyst. You'd been prepared when your eyes and ears left to give a good review only to very quickly discover just how delightful and overwhelming the little tool was.

Too aware of how Whiskey was leaning over you with a grin, you suddenly feel nervous. "Don't tell me I fucked the sass out of you, sweetheart. I do love that wicked tongue you've got." He thumbs your lower lip and you find your self holding in panting. For fucks sake it took you nearly ten minutes to stop after he'd finally rolled off you.

It's pitiful that you just let out a tiny whine, pushing weakly at his chest. It makes his grin deepen, his dimples practically shining. "Don't go soft on me now, girl."

"Need minute," you finally rasp, voice hoarse. He leans down, shocking you with a hungry pass of his mouth over yours.

You should want to fight him, but your mind feels as boneless as your body.

There is a noise. A beep of the door unlocking with the card swiped.

Ginger is back.

She still knocks, bless her heart. It's like Whiskey doesn't even notice, instead just drawing his mouth over your jaw and tasting your neck lazily. He must know. Either he thinks it's housekeeping or he just doesn't give a fuck.

"Rosé?" She calls out from the hallway by the door. "I hope I gave you enough lead time to try-" she gasps as she rounds the corner and finds you wrapped up with a man you despise. "Oh, lord! What even happened?" She averts her wide eyes and Whiskey chuckles warmly over you.

"Decommissioned," you rasp out, complete mush under the mouthing at your neck. "Sorry." Teeth appear and your vaguely aware that Whiskey is laughing with delight against you.

He lifts enough to flash a grin at Ginger.

"You hate him! What do you mean 'decommissioned'?" She throws her hands up.

"What's the racket?" Eggsy calls, strutting in with Gallahad. Both of them freeze at the sight of you practically preening under the warm body over you. "No fuckin' way," the kid demands when Whiskey jerks the blankets up around your naked form.

"Now, I don't mind the company, but if you boys want a show, I suggest you go find the HBO channel back in your respective rooms. The lady is going to need a hot meal and a nice nap before she goes anywhere." You don't even register that you're nodding along with his statement.

"No way you bagged Rosé," Eggsy demands. "She looks drugged!" The heat of a big calloused hand rolls up over your side under the sheet and you let your eyes fall shut. Ginger just shakes her head like a disappointed mother.

"Not drugged," you manage to offer. It earns you a happy purr from the smug agent above you and he rolls a hand between your legs unabashedly. Your still too sensitive and jerkily shove his hand, gasping. "Out, please," you murmur, no bite to your words as a warm mouth finds the hollow behind your ear.

Ginger quickly agrees, shuffling quickly out of the room. Eggsy, even with Gallahad's prompting tries to stick around, giving you shit until the mouth leaves your neck.

"The lady politely requested you leave. Find the door, boy." He snarls like a caged animal and it sends warmth down belly. You find yourself uncaring and unfurling beneath him as Eggsy is lead out of the room.

"Hungry," you moan, trying to glower when he goes to reposition and settle between your thighs. It earns you a cocky grin.

"Atta girl!" You don't know what you expect, but it's hardly him pulling your legs up and proping them over his shoulders while he reaches for the phone.

You both moan when he sinks into you, wettly and just as easily as before. "Fuck, feel so good, baby." And he leans over, picking up the phone and dialing. There is ringing as he cradles the phone between his shoulder and ear, rolling his hips forward. He's rewarded with the obnoxiously loud squelch that accompanies his thrusts. "What sounds good to eat?" Whiskey asks as you pant and writhe beneath him like his cock isn't stretching you beyond capacity.

"Everything," you gasp out.

"Could you send us the works? Whatever you've got on special." You can't pay attention to anything else he says, in the back of your mind your mind you know your a mess.

It's when you hear the tiny motor start that your hand is jerking down and your snatching his wrist. "Jack, no, I can't-" you rasp as you stop his hand from bringing the little egg down on your clit.

"Why not?" But it doesn't actually sound like a question and his eyes are glinting down on you.

"Is too much, hurts."

"You weren't complaining earlier."

"Overstimulated." He gives a growl, shutting the vibrator off before hauling your knees into the crook of his arms. It has you moaning unabashedly as he changes angles, stirring the pace up.

"Feels so good, oh fuck, feels good. Don't stop, please don't stop, always wanna be full, fill me up please." What kind of effect was this? You never babbled.

"What a good girl," he rumbles, "finally giving into how desperate she's been for me. Do you want to cum around me again?" He watches you falling apart beneath him, a complete wreck.

"Can't, can't cum. Felt like I was cumming the whole time that toy was on my clit. Hurts." A hand rubs down your belly, a direct path to the heaven between your legs that he's still fucking. You scramble for his wrist again but he's stronger and you let out a cry as he brushes a knuckle over your swollen and abused clit. It just makes him chuckle when you arch off the pillow below your hips.

Your so wet that it's coating your thighs and making him glide against you like your coated in oil. Everything was wet and warm.

"C'mon girl, don't tell me yet that I've won?" He rasps. There is a need that builds up at those words. An anger as you manage some kind of weak glare up at him. You fumble for him.

You intend fully on crushing his mouth against yours and devouring him in response to his quip. It seems to surprise you both when your lips move more tenderly than either of you anticipate.

Whiskey goes stiff in your arms, fingers tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck. There's a moment you think you've killed the mood but then he's sink down against you and tenderly kissing you back.

It's not unexpectedly fun and wild like the rest of this desperate affair has been. Instead, his hips roll slow and smooth, no rush or reason beyond just feeling you. The heat of him consumes you as you breathe into each other's mouths, drinking the other in and soaking in hot hands.

"Shoulda done this sooner," you manage against his mouth and feel his chuckle rumble you both.

"Offers been there," he groans. "Spend the night in my room," he pleads gently. It has you shivering.

"Okay," you sigh, mush beneath the fulfilling stretch he was giving. He could ask you to kill Eggsy here and now and you'd probably say yes. Just as long as this never ended. You were drunk on Whiskey.

[mythicamagic]

Sesskag Week: Day One ‘Green’

Title: Stop me if you’ve heard this one before

Summary: Kagome witnesses Inuyasha and Kikyo in another loving embrace and runs away, stumbling straight into Sesshoumaru that moonlit night. (My attempt at an old fandom trope.)

Rated T

Words: 4,000

You can read this on Ao3, Dokuga and Fanfiction.net 

AN: I just wanted to try my hand at an old sesskag fandom trope that I reckon was in the height of popularity from the early 2000s- 2010s. Other tropes from that time included Abusive Inuyasha, no one knowing what the canon end or final battle was like, and mokomoko being sentient. Ah...old memories. If this fic feels like it's from a bygone era, well...that was the intention lol. For Sesskag Week Day One - Green.

-----

Standing frozen stiff, Kagome stared ahead. A gasp remained locked behind her teeth. Slim fingers dug into the bark of a tree she'd hidden behind, gazing around the trunk towards a couple cradling each other tightly.

This was the second time. The first had hit harder inside her chest, the slam of heartbreak cracking the fragile shell of first love that had closed around her heart.

But she'd made a promise to Inuyasha; to remain by his side. She needed to get over this haze of green misting her eyes, the jealousy roaring through her veins. Inuyasha and Kikyo used to be lovers, it was perfectly natural and humane to want to hold his lost love.

That didn't make it any easier to see.

In fact, the emotion welling up in her throat threatened to burst louder than before. Fearing the strength of her own reaction, Kagome stepped back. She took another, then another, whirling around to flee into pitch-black darkness.

I wanted to be more mature about this, she thought. The tears stinging her eyes bespoke of her anger, worry, and heartache- like an old wound had been freshly ripped open anew.

Kagome couldn't be understanding or mature, not like poised Lady Kikyo likely could. Kagome was 15, emotive and sparking. She was fire, passion, a roaring flame of anger that could climb so high nothing would stifle it.

Stumbling over tree roots in the dark, quiet woods, Kagome ran blind. When she felt that she'd covered enough ground, far away from the lover's embrace, she stopped abruptly in the middle of a meadow. Sweat beading her temple and throat burning, she threw back her head.

And yelled.

She threw all turbulent emotions into it, crying so loud her windpipe protested. The noise became horse and broken before she stopped.

Standing within that moonlit clearing, Kagome caught her breath, tears threatening to spill over.

"Must you make such noise in the dead of night?" a steady voice drawled.

Her chest constricted, breath halting. Shadows peeled off from the trees, a figure revealing itself under the moonlight.

Kagome blinked hard, trying to fight tears as Sesshoumaru stepped closer. She moved back to keep distance, vaguely wary. Shit, she'd forgotten her weapons.

He wasn't an enemy per se anymore but they weren't exactly allies either. Since he'd adopted that human girl, they seemed to be in more of a stalemate. Nonetheless, the caprice of the Killing Perfection's moods were unpredictable.

"M-my bad, I didn't think anyone was around."

"You cried like a wounded animal," his lips curved, as though enjoying the thought. "Take heed, girl; such wailing will disturb demons with keen hearing- and not all are as forgiving as I tonight."

"Right, duly noted," she mumbled, rubbing her arm. Damn it. She'd just wanted a place to cry. Sesshoumaru was the last person she wanted to feel vulnerable around.

Golden eyes slid up to observe something beyond the trees. Turning to follow his line of sight, her chest constricted- glimpsing a trailing soul collector in the sky.

"Inuyasha's dead priestess uses those creatures, does she not?"

"Y-yeah, they're Kikyo's soul collectors."

His attention returned to her face, resting heavily there. It disquieted her until at length, he finally made a noise. "...Hn."

The Daiyouki smoothly pivoted, walking out of her available vision to meld within thick darkness again, but she sensed him linger beneath the trees, perhaps taking a seat.

"Keep the snivelling to a minimum."

Kagome startled, blue eyes widening. The first tear fell- closely followed by the second. Soon a stream of them flooded down her face, and she crumpled to her knees, palm clasped tight over her mouth as she tried not to sob.

She wasn't sure how or why. How she could suddenly fall apart in front of him when Kagome prided herself on not crying in front of anyone if it were possible. The why also remained a mystery- why did he invite her to stay? Sesshoumaru was not a charitable sort. Perhaps his sadistic streak enjoyed the salt of endless tears.

Kagome stayed there, quivering in the moonlit clearing for a good while, grass cushioning her bare legs, arms wrapped around herself protectively. When at last the sobs abated, she shakily stood.

Without a word to the demon who had watched her like a voyer of her pain, Kagome headed towards the village after piecing herself back together.

She couldn't see Sesshoumaru's expression, nor the way in which citrine eyes followed her figure until she stepped out of sight.

---

It wasn't like Kagome cried after every damn encounter with Kikyo, though they did leave her worn and exhausted. She felt mighty proud of not bursting into sobs the second Inuyasha's eyes lingered on her a little too long. But Kagome could bear that. She could bear many things.

It was fine, totally fine. She was fine!

Until she wasn't.

It had been two months since that emotional night and thankfully Sesshoumaru hadn't acknowledged her fine display of despair and teenage hormones. In fact, he seemed a little quieter during their encounters while hunting for Naraku, pinpointing her amidst her friends and eyeing her carefully sometimes.

So it was with mild surprise that Kagome stumbled into him again on one such occasion where she needed a good cry. And then again a few weeks after- followed by another encounter near a waterfall a month later. Every time, Sesshoumaru said nothing. He merely waited a respectable distance away, not particularly looking at, nor acknowledging her sorrow as she let out pent up frustrations.

What should be an immensely private thing had changed. Kagome wasn't sure what to feel about it, especially when he began erecting barriers around the area.

Almost like he was ensuring her privacy while continuing to invade it himself.

"W-why…?" she choked out one evening, sitting upon a log with only the Daiyoukai for company. Inuyasha and the others were none the wiser, sitting back at camp further within the forest. "Why are you here, hanging around? Is it fun for you to watch this?" her anger simmered, misdirected.

Sesshoumaru's lazy gaze slid over to her, reclining at the base of a tree. He huffed, drawing a knee up to gracefully drape an arm over it. "Your wailing is an assault on my hearing, I derive no pleasure from this."

"Then what's the deal? I find it hard to believe you're doing it for me."

"Hn, you are correct, I am not," he freely admitted. "This act of concealment is out of acknowledgement. Warriors must not show weakness in battle, nor to anyone but a select few. I am merely ensuring your wish to hide your pain is successful since you are so terrible at doing it yourself," inhuman eyes pinned her in place. Her breath stalled at their intensity. "Your desire to conceal tears and weakness is unexpected for one as emotional as you."

Kagome picked at her fingers. "It's not out of a sense of duty or warrior pride as you seem to think. I just don't like burdening people with my problems. Only...all this energy piles up and explodes out as anger at Inuyasha anyway, I'm not suppressing or hiding anything at the end of the day," she gave a self-deprecating smile. Letting out a long whoosh of air from her lungs, Kagome turned to him.

"For what it's worth, thanks. For uh- concealing me. I still think it's odd that you're going to all this trouble but I'm grateful."

He arched a brow, unruffled and outwardly placid.

Wiping the remaining tears away, she gave a weak smirk. "Urgh, I blubber so loudly over a guy I really shouldn't be in love with. Kinda stupid."

"Indeed," he drawled without sympathy, glancing away.

"And you're still a jerk," she hummed, smiling slightly. But a weird, considerate one. Was it possible to be both considerate and a jerk?

Sesshoumaru did not look at her, tilting his head back to gaze at the branches overhead.

"You 'blubber' so loud a 'barrier' is necessary in order to keep your privacy. Inuyasha would catch your scent otherwise."

"Can Naraku see us like this?"

"The barrier does not mask us from sight, it merely hides scent. It is effective on Inuyasha and other demons but the spider could easily survey us from a distance."

Kagome sighed, rubbing her eyes. "Gotcha," she murmured, falling into a strangely companionable silence with him, before asking; "have you ever been in love?"

His reply was immediate and crisp; "no. Such things are for fanciful beings."

Biting her lip to keep from mentioning his 'Great and Powerful Father' had fallen victim to such fanciful things too, she hummed.

Sesshoumaru frowned in her direction. "Speak."

"I just think- when you do experience love, it's gonna knock you off your feet."

He sneered, "you think yourself an expert on the subject?"

"Gods no! Do I look like one?" Kagome grinned, gesturing to her tear-stained cheeks.

Sesshoumaru searched her face, visibly relaxing slightly. He tilted his head, surveying his sharp nails. "For what it is worth, if I had an opinion on the matter- which I do not," he assured. "I should think your fanciful 'love' emotion is not supposed to cause such pain. I question your dedication to it."

"My feelings for Inuyasha aren't something I can turn off. Believe me, I would if I could," shifting she gazed up at the stars, smiling gently. "Wow, Ursa Major looks so clear and close tonight."

Youki brushed her senses, her only warning. Soft grass crunched beneath boots as Sesshoumaru joined her on the log, sitting beside her. Mokomoko brushed the exposed skin of her knee. His eyes narrowed. "You are referring to the stars?"

Kagome blinked with surprise at his sudden piqued interest, raising a hand to point them out. "Yeah, a constellation. Ursa Major starts there and ends there," her finger drifted.

Sesshoumaru's blank features became lofty, huffing. "That is the incorrect name for it. Those stars are called Satoko."

"Who told you that?"

"My instructor when I was young. And this collection," he reached out, plucking her hand out of the air and redirecting her point to another constellation, "is Mineko, a volcano spirit."

Her skin burned at the contact, feeling his calloused palm, rough from years of training- clasping the back of her hand. Kagome blinked, feeling strange. Her stomach jumped, and she felt grateful and confused when he released her.

"I-I see! Tell me more about them, are they linked to your demonic heritage?" Kagome asked, flexing burning fingers in her lap.

Even hours afterwards, the sensation of warmth and strong youki flitting over her flesh continued to itch at her skin.

---

"I don't want to talk to you! JUST BACK OFF!"

Inuyasha's expression flickered, open hurt briefly appearing before white ears pinned flat to his skull. "FINE! Go running home again, see if I care!"

Kagome stormed away, hands balled into fists. She didn't call for Kirara to fly her to the well, she couldn't be bothered to haul herself back to the future and continue their long and tired trend of long-distance pining followed by disgruntled reconciliation.

She was tired.

Miroku, Sango and Shippo were tired too, judging from the multiple sighs sounding out behind her.

Before she could step out of earshot, she heard the monk murmuring to Inuyasha, encouraging him to follow her and make up. Likely to save everyone the hassle of another drawn-out spat.

Oh no.

Hadn't anyone listened to what she'd said? She didn't want to be chased in some coy 'let's have a fake argument' way. Real hurt and bone-weary annoyance soured her mood.

Hurrying away, Kagome began to run alongside a stream, jogging through a sparse forest and hoping to put distance between them. So lost in her thoughts of avoiding the Hanyou was she that Kagome burst through a youki barrier without noticing, glancing over her shoulder with paranoia.

By the time she detected wafts of steam brushing her skin, it was too late to stop. She gaped upon facing forward, almost crashing headfirst into a well-sculpted chest.

Long strands of silver against bare skin caught Kagome's dazed attention, gaze travelling up to find golden eyes staring down at her. Sesshoumaru paused half-naked before a hot-spring he'd likely intended on bathing in, tipping his head to one side in a silent demand for explanation.

"Kagome!" a distant voice resounded through the trees.

Panic erupted inside Kagome's heart and she turned to the demon. Her hands latched onto his remaining arm, blue eyes stinging.

"Please..."

She couldn't articulate what she wanted, even though it was so simple. Something thick clogged her throat.

The Daiyoukai lifted his attention to the trees. He then moved swiftly.

Sesshoumaru tossed his red and white hankimono over her, enclosing it tight around her body. It shielded Kagome from sight as her vision became swallowed by white silks.

Kagome jolted as a hard force shoved her down into dewy grass that perspired from heady steam saturating the air. Before she could react to the plains of a lean body pressing against hers, his weight pinning her to the ground, she heard branches shaking. Twigs snapping.

Her loafers were ripped off her feet, tossed somewhere further away. Likely out of sight. She heard them clatter over the sound of her drumming heartbeat, unable to see what was going on.

"What the- Sesshoumaru!" Inuyasha snarled, sounding slightly out of breath. "The fuck are you doing, hanging around here?"

A clawed hand minded the folds of the hankimono apart just enough to expose the side of Kagome's cheek- firm lips pressing against it. She stiffened. Sesshoumaru kissed her skin heatedly, his sigh billowing hot breath over her sensitive skin.

"Clearly I am enjoying myself with a woman. Do not interrupt, whelp."

Kagome could barely breathe, face turning steadily red. She lay frozen, reeling.

"Keh, whatever. Just tell me if you've seen Kagome pass through here."

He must not be able to smell me...

"Can you not keep tabs on a simple miko, brother?" Sesshoumaru purred, his hand gliding over her covered thigh, stroking back and forth. "Did she flee from you? I cannot say I blame her."

A snarl ripped through the hot springs. "Piss off! I'll find her myself!"

Furious sounds of bushes being slashed aside rang out, Inuyasha's swears becoming fainter as he drew further and further away.

Left with a demon straddling her and enclosed in luxurious silks, Kagome exhaled. She blinked, briefly dazed as the cover was lifted from her face, eyes adjusting. Dappled sunlight stretched across Sesshoumaru's face as he lingered close with an unreadable expression.

Kagome swallowed. "Thanks," she managed to say.

She's never been this close to a guy before, well not like this, anyway. Inuyasha carried her on his back or occasionally in his arms if the situation got dire, and they'd hugged. But this felt different.

Sesshoumaru braced himself over her using his one available arm, corded muscles leading down to a tapered waist. He was handsome in an aristocratic, cold sort of way – all hard angles and sharp edges. Her polar opposite. The heat of his bare skin bled through her school uniform, their hips melded together, and Kagome was struck by something painfully obvious that had eluded her until now.

There were...other options besides just Inuyasha.

Clearly, the Hanyou knew this little nugget too, since he flitted between herself and Kikyo.

But really, Kagome hadn't given it much thought. Hojo liked her but was easily dismissed. Kouga liked her but she'd always been too busy to really give him a chance.

And Sesshoumaru?

Her attention was helplessly fixed on him while the demon craned his neck down, scenting her hair.

Sesshoumaru had never been on the table before. Did he even look at her like that?

Golden eyes slanted to meet her, half-lidded. Her stomach did a flip, thighs twitching. Soft pink lips parted, and his attention flew to her mouth, lingering.

Before she could say anything, Inuyasha's voice sounded out somewhere close by again. "Damn it, Kagome! Just come out! Quit hiding!"

Kagome found herself sighing- stilling when she caught Sesshoumaru's dark rumble. His lips peeled back with displeasure, body leaning up and away from hers, climbing off.

Remaining sprawled on the ground for a moment, she calmed her racing heart. Picking herself up unsteadily, Kagome unwrapped the hankimono from around herself, awkwardly folding it as best she could and handing it back.

"I better go."

He inclined his head. "Until next time."

Next time.

Her gut wrenched. The next time she became upset with Inuyasha chasing after Kikyo. Oh wow. It really had become something so commonplace it felt inevitable.

That wasn't right or normal. That wasn't how she wanted to live, was it? Anticipating one crying session after another?

"Actually, let's meet up," she said, setting her shoulders back.

Surprise brightened his gaze. Sesshoumaru's lips twitched, "meet up, hm? You make it sound like an illicit affair."

Her expression darkened, "no. I'm not into that," she snipped, pushing her vindictive mood down. This was not an offer out of petty revenge. She just wanted to see him out of choice for once. "I brought a telescope. Let's use it tomorrow when it gets dark."

He agreed to it, watching her leave in that quiet, interested way he usually did. Kagome glanced back in time to see him partially turned away- hankimono clenched in his grip and lifted to his nose in a careful inhale.

---

Kagome actually felt quite happy about the meeting. Anticipation had raced through her veins during the entire day, though she didn't breathe a word about it to her friends.

After finishing up her food, she'd hung around camp late into the evening, before inching away with a weak excuse.

She didn't notice Inuyasha's keen eyes trailing after her, too preoccupied with hurrying around a nearby waterfall and retrieving her telescope that she'd hidden behind some rocks earlier.

Carrying the heavy thing up to the crest of a decently sized hill, she staggered upon finding the Daiyoukai already awaiting her at the top.

Kagome stopped and stared. She then felt a genuine smile curve her lips. How strange, that he could invoke such a reaction.

"Did I keep you waiting?"

Sesshoumaru lifted his chin haughtily, grunting. "I am not some lost puppy following you around, miko. I sensed your approach from my camp and generously decided not to stand you up."

Kagome grinned. What a big response. Almost like he was lying.

Giggling softly to herself, she arranged the telescope set, angling it up to face the distant cosmos. "Okay, you're gonna love this. I'm going to bore you with astrology and point out zodiac signs."

"These fancy foreign words do not sound boring," he uttered, leaning in close to view the stars with faint amazement, perhaps not anticipating the clarity of their view. Kagome felt his hip brush her side, her cheeks immediately blazing red. She tried to temper her reaction but failed miserably, looking at him briefly.

His placid features were much too close, familiar dark youki humming in the space between them. Comforting. Golden eyes met hers, ever watchful. Waiting.

"Sesshoumaru!"

They immediately flew apart as though they'd been doing something scandalous, Kagome's heart leaping into her throat.

Inuyasha stood a little ways away, teeth on display, hand resting on his sword. "Get the hell away from her!"

"Inuyasha- wait," she tried to cut in, but Sesshoumaru was quicker. Lifting his remaining hand, he fed youki into it, allowing deadly fingers to elongate into murderous talons. However, much to her surprise, he faced Kagome while flexing them.

"I will kill her if I please, Inuyasha," he rumbled. "She is a mere fanciful human."

Blue eyes widened, but Kagome clocked onto what he was doing immediately. It lingered there under his calm features that he tried to harden into contempt.

He was playing the villain. For her.

Likely out of some misguided desire to keep everything at the status quo, because he believed it would be easier on them both if they weren't seen as friends. Everything halted inside Kagome. She felt like she'd been coasting through her days without really questioning it.

"Bastard!" Inuyasha snarled, ripping his sword from its sheath.

With a strange sense of calm, Kagome raised her head. She then stepped in between them both, placing her fingers atop Sesshoumaru's sharp, transformed ones.

"That's enough," she said quietly, lowering his large hand.

"K-Kagome? What're you doing? Get back!"

"I said; that's enough, Inuyasha!" Kagome grit her teeth, tension gripping her fiercely- until it abruptly left all at once, rendering her exhausted.

"We need to talk," she said softly, gazing at him meaningfully.

Inuyasha blinked, lowering his sword as his ears pricked and lowered.

Turning to Sesshoumaru, she smiled weakly. "We're going to have to cut this meeting short, sorry."

"We can always reschedule."

Kagome gentled, a warmth pooling inside her that she hoped to revisit soon. However, the Daiyoukai hadn't made it three steps away before familiar laughter spread over the vast countryside beyond their hill.

Miasma leaked out of the sky, waning flowers on their stalks and killing the grass, rendering it dulled brown.

Naraku appeared in all his true, villainous glory- at exactly the wrong time nobody wanted to deal with him. However, absolutely no one could ignore this fight, as a completed Shikon jewel rested in the palm of his hand.

Kagome's stomach dropped. She automatically accepted her bow and arrows from Sango and Miroku when they arrived, looking grim-faced and out of breath. Inuyasha lifted his sword again with determination blazing in his eyes.

The Final Battle had begun.

---

They say 'time heals all wounds.'

Kagome would like to have a word with whoever 'they' were because this sentiment proved false. Time muted pain. It concealed it under layers of civilian life, responsibilities, family dinners and get togethers with friends, but her deep wound never really healed. The pervasive desire to return back to a life that had been stolen from her.

She couldn't say it had been perfect in the Feudal Era but she still missed it terribly. Missed her friends, travelling, exploring, strengthening her burgeoning powers.

She also missed someone she hadn't anticipated longing to speak to.

After killing Naraku and getting her hands on the jewel, Kagome had made her wish;

'I wish Kikyo would come back to life.'

It had resulted in trapping Kagome in the future, the Bone Eater's Well closing, barring entrance. She'd figured the look on Inuyasha's face had almost been worth it, his gob-smacked expression kind of hilarious.

Perhaps the wish had been an out of nowhere impulse. Who knew. All Kagome knew was that a part of her had died that day on the hill with the telescope- the candle of first love snuffing out. She still cared for Inuyasha of course, she wouldn't have wished Kikyo alive otherwise, but the act said something. They'd never be anything more than friends.

After trying her hand at dating a few boys in class, Kagome had broken up with them and remained single for the better part of a year. There wasn't anything wrong with them, per se, but it had felt disingenuous.

It wasn't them she wanted to speak to.

At the age of 18, the miko got her chance. Inexplicably, and without warning or provocation, the well reopened again one night.

Kagome stirred awake, lured downstairs by the promise of magic. It pulsed strongly like before, so she slid her legs over the rim of the well without fear that it would be a oneway trip.

Leaping down while still clad in her patchwork style pyjamas, dark hair whipped upwards as blue light swallowed her whole.

Immediately the smell of city smoke was replaced with distinct smells of petrichor. Fresh scents guided her feet to land gently on the bottom of the well, looking up at dark, cloudy skies.

Climbing out and feeling moisture lingering in the air dampening her hair, Kagome looked up, breath hitching.

The clearing looked exactly the same. Achingly nostalgic.

It sprawled empty and lonesome, awaiting her in complete silence. Kagome noticed the dirt disturbed around the well from how often she and Inuyasha had travelled through it.

Breath catching, hot tears stung her eyes.

Laughing weakly to herself, Kagome tried to rub them away in vain, more rolling down her cheeks. Unlike the usual times though, these were happy tears. Relief threatened to buckle her knees.

"I'm home," she shuddered.

"...Welcome back."

Snapping her head up, Kagome swallowed an embarrassing noise, warmth melting into her expression. She took a step, and then another, walking over to Sesshoumaru as he stood a little ways away, moonlight highlighting his hair.

"Y-you're here?"

Golden eyes flitted over her face, gentling a touch. He reached out and brushed pale knuckles against her jaw, catching tears upon it. "I sensed you. As usual, you blubber too loud, miko."

Choking on a sob, Kagome laughed, catching his hand and pressing her lips to the inside of his wrist.

Sesshoumaru stiffened, attention zeroing in on her. Kagome held his gaze as best she could with watery eyes, smiling.

"Date me," she stated plainly.

No second-guessing, no 'will they, won't they?' no more pining or questioning. Kagome refused to do it again.

He seemed somewhat taken aback by her forwardness for a moment, before a strange kind of intensity livened his expression. He wound his single arm around her waist, pulling her in close.

"What boldness, Kagome," he purred, lips ghosting the side of her ear. "But you can do better than that. Are you certain that is all you want from me?"

Kagome blushed hotly, shifting to catch his eye and smirk. "I just made it back here after three years. Let me catch my breath," she teased, hooking a hand under his yellow obi. "But...yeah, I might want more soon, you jerk."

Sesshoumaru rumbled with approval, swiftly ending the charade of teasing and swooping in. His lips claimed hers firmly, and it was not a kind, sweet kiss but she didn't mind, pressing herself against him. His tongue delved into her mouth, brushing against hers as a clawed hand snaked up into dark hair, gripping tight.

Smiling against his mouth, Kagome trying her best to keep up with his rough kiss as he bit and sucked her lips, inhaling her scent. He almost seemed elated, kissing her so quick and eagerly, like he'd been starving for it.

Out of curiosity, Kagome slid her palm over his chest, finding his heart racing.

Sesshoumaru broke away to plant heated kisses against her neck. He panted, the hand in her hair shaking with want of her.

Kagome stared, slowly looping her arms around his shoulders. "You...want me?" she said quietly like an obvious revelation. It felt so strange and surreal.

He huffed with amusement against her lips. "Hn, it appears you have made me fanciful, miko."

Brightening and smiling widely, Kagome pushed up on tip-toe. Guiding his mouth down with palms cradling his striped cheeks, she kissed him again, pouring every powerful emotion left unsaid into it.

End

[thenovelartist]

Burned Beginnings, chapter 1

Novel decided to do Adrienette April on a whim. Each post until the end of April (or such is the plan) will have 3 prompts in it.

She also discovered she’s very rusty. Bear with me here. XD

Next>>

1. AU

Marinette had thought she’d grown used to Chloe’s bullying, having to had endure it since they were little. However, with high school came a new name that became a regular part of Chloe’s vocabulary, alongside “hot” and “sexy” and “dreamboat”.

“And Marinette would never catch the eye of someone so perfect.”

Honestly, Marinette had thought she was over it, but on a particularly bad day, she’d snapped back at Chloe.

“Well, clearly he isn’t that perfect if he fawns over someone whose only redeeming quality is pretending to be pretty.”

That had led to a fire alarm getting pulled and Marinette left to blame for it. Anyone who tried to come to her defense was shut down, and Marinette had been suspended.

Which had started an all-out war.

After being stuck at home, wrongfully, for three solid days, Marinette had snapped. She’d decided that if Chloe was going to build a bonfire and poor on the gasoline that she would be there with a match. By senior year, Marinette’s record had taken a hit for it but Chloe’s reputation was in the toilet.

Marinette would take what she could get.

However, she supposed she hadn’t fully thought out the consequences. As much as she played with fire, she should have realized she’d get burned sooner or later.

And she did. Third degree.

We regret to inform you your application has been denied.

Those were words she grew tired of seeing yet came back from every school she applied to. With that in mind, she’d called up her girl friends to tell them what had happened.

“Hey, Marinette,” Alya had said upon seeing the letters. “Don’t get me wrong, I feel really bad for you. But… I did warn you—”

“I get it,” Marinette had surrendered, knowing that Alya was completely right. “You tried to warm me of the consequences, and now I’m paying for them.”

The girls had slipped into a moment of silence before Alix spoke up. “Hey, I can ask Max if he can do a little digging so you at least know why, yeah?”

Marinette had raised a brow but agreed. “Only if he’s not busy with his own college stuff.”

“Oh please, he’s too smart for college. He started up some robotics company in his free time and is already making bank on it.”

It took a week for Max to come back with a full report. Marinette had to give him props for working fast as he did.

“Hacking into the system was the first thing I could think of,” he’d explained. “In the side notes, there was mention of your attendance record and suspensions.”

“They were all wrongful suspensions,” Alix had countered.

“Doesn’t matter to the school,” Max had said with a shrug. “But even then, I thought there had to be more to this than just attendance. There were other students who had the same notes yet were accepted. So I shifted focus to digging up background on all the directors of the school. After hacking a few emails, I discovered Audrey Bourgeois happens to know a lot of directors or administration members in all the fashion schools of France. Considering the contents of most of those emails, it has become clear that Marinette was wrongfully barred from every school she’d applied to. And that there’s nothing that can be done about it because we only discovered such scandal through highly illegal means.”

“So…” Alya had begun, turning her attention to Marinette. “Where does that leave you, M?”

Marinette’s lips had pursed in thought. It was funny how things turned out, because despite her anger, she somehow had been peace with what she was faced with. “I think that the last place I want to be is in an industry full of liars and people who use their words to manipulate anyone they damn well please.”

That was how she ended up working full-time in her parents’ bakery. They never said a word about it, but she knew they were disappointed. Of course they weren’t mad about her still being here and working in the bakery with them, and she knew her parents still loved her more than anything.

But she knew that with as many dreams as she had and had shared with them, they were disappointed on her surrendering it all.

“Sorry, Maman, Papa,” she whispered into the empty kitchen as she plopped the baguettes she formed onto a baking tray. “Just give me a little time to figure things out. Seems like lofty dreams are a lot easier to crush than I realized.”

 2. Rebellion

A son can only bear the world of their parent’s expectations for so long. He wasn’t Atlas, but after a few years of acting like him, Adrien decided to dump the globe. To hell if it broke. He’d smirk in satisfaction at his father’s disappointment.

At the very least, the fact he no longer had the weight of the world of his shoulders made the far-too-common disappointment lecture easier to bear.

His strategic rebellion had started harmless enough. At sixteen with a rapidly growing forced modeling career, he’d given his father an ultimatum: he gets to grow out his hair, or it all goes. It had been shocking the amount of power the razor in his hand had given him. It was the perfect harmless threat. His father had been furious, throwing a fit about Adrien acting like a child, but after being gaslit for so long, Adrien had finally come to realize the abusive techniques for what they were. And he wasn’t going to roll over and take it any longer.

That day had ended with Adrien being grounded but ultimately the victor of their stand-off.

After that, he’d begun ditching certain events. He’d always liked fencing, so he never ditched those lessons, but attendance for his home-school lessons, mandarin lessons, and piano lessons had all been decided on a whim. His father had hardly been pleased by this, but to Adrien, that was the point. The lectures soon washed into one another so much that Adrien could practically recite the words that roll off his father’s tongue verbatim. He’d come to realize they were strategically meant to hurt. To humiliate. And as such, he’d stopped taking them personally.

Then came the fun part.

He got earrings. Honestly, Adrien hadn’t really cared for the piercings one way or another. In one way, there were a hassle, and caring for new piercings was a pain in the butt. However, they had been worth it to see his dad so royally pissed off.

Then came the ditching of certain photoshoots. There was a reason Adrien had held off on this one for so long: he cared about the people running the shoot. There was no reason they needed to be collateral in this battle between him and his father. After all, they were just employees doing their job; Adrien didn’t want them to suffer for his rebellion. With that in mind, Adrien had planned out his absences of these photoshoots. Again, he didn’t want to drag anyone else into his mess, so he had always organized a replacement model. Shoot would always go on, just not as planned.

And that was enough to drive his father mad.

It always put a smile on Adrien’s face.

The last touch was an unexpected one. He hadn’t even thought about going this far. Yet, a friend of his not only put the idea in his head, but gave him the art to go with it.

“Is that a tattoo?”

Oh, how he wished he would have taken a picture of his father’s face. The large black cat surrounded in a green, wispy smoke that wrapped around his forearm was truly a work of art. He’d had to think carefully about this decision, but in the end, he quite liked it.

“Yeah. I’m eighteen; I can ink myself if I want to. Why? Is that a problem?”

Adrien might be wearing a cat on his arm, but the grin on his lips was downright wolfish.

Eventually, it all had come to a head and blew up in his face. Adrien couldn’t say he’d been surprised. In fact, he had been fully expecting it. He’d already found an apartment to rent and had begun sneaking most of his important things over there before his father could kick him out. So when Adrien found himself kicked to the curb as soon as he was handed his general education certificate, Adrien had been prepared.

But mostly, he was free.

What a joyous day it was.

However, now that he was free, he knew he needed a job. Not because he needed the money, per se, but because it was time he started acting like the average adult. He never got to go to school, so now, it was time to pick up a mundane, first job that everyone hated but would “serve him well later in life”. Mostly, it would just be something normal.

The easy places to apply were food shops and retail stores. He’d work one for a while before deciding what his next life step would be. Chloe had been quick to offer him a job at her father’s hotel, but Adrien was vehemently against the idea. Over the span of his rebellion, Chloe’s behavior and attitude towards him had grown notably worse, and he had a feeling cutting ties with her would be his next step in life.

In the end, he’d scored a job he definitely was underqualified for. He’d applied partly out of spite and partly because ‘why not?’ He’d heard about this bakery enough times from Chloe to know the “cruel bitch who did nothing but mercilessly harass her” lived here, and that was enough to pique Adrien’s curiosity. At a bakery as popular as that, though, he hadn’t been sure he’d get a call. And when he did, he knew he would do everything he could to present himself as a reliable and respectable man eager to work, but he never thought he’d end up hitting it off with the owner.

Which somehow ended up with him agreeing to work at Tom and Sabine’s Patisserie.

Going into that job, he swore to himself he would do what he could to prove himself worthy. He knew there had to have been better applicants, so Adrien didn’t want to disappoint the very kind owners who dared give him a chance. Soon, his days were spent working hard while covered in flour and surrounded by bread all day. Well, bread and all the sharp and hot objects in your average kitchen.

He just didn’t think that would include a wicked sharp and smoking hot young lady that happened to be his bosses’ daughter.

 3. Game Night

“Mama, Papa, please go. You two hardly ever get out of the house.”

Marinette watched her maman put a hand over the mouthpiece of her phone while her papa turned to her. “But I’ll be busy that night. We have a massive order scheduled for the next day.”

“I can handle that,” Marinette quickly countered with a grin. “You know I’m a night owl, anyway. I’ll get it done, and you two can go enjoy game night with your friends.”

Her parents spared each other a glance. “Are you sure about that, Marinette?” Maman asked.

“Positive. Papa already talks to the bread too much, so he really should talk to people for a change. And while you have to deal with people all day, I know you want more than to just have short conversations filled with small talk. So please, go out and have a social life for once.”

With one last look, her parents relented. With a smile, her mother took her hand off the phone. “We’ll be there.”

Papa turned to her with a grin. “I was going to spend that time teaching Adrien how to handle those orders. I can leave teaching him in your hands, right?”

Her grin fell. Adrien Agreste. What the hell a washed-out model was doing working at her parents’ bakery was beyond her. Admittedly, over the last month she’d been working with him, the most she’d say is that maybe he wasn’t too bad a guy. Papa certainly sung his praises. But that still didn’t answer the question of why he was working here of all places. After all, he was Chloe’s friend and suspected lover.

“Don’t think I don’t see that look on your face, Marinette,” her maman chastised. She’d hung up and set her phone down already, fully giving her attention to her daughter. “No matter your personal feelings, you really should give him a chance.”

“He’s a good kid,” Papa said. “Maybe a little rough around the edges, but I can tell he really does want to learn and do his best.”

Marinette sighed. This wasn’t the first time this talk had happened. She remembered having a talk with her parents after his first interview. There were a few other people who were far more qualified for the job, but Papa said he liked Adrien’s personality and spirit the best. So in the end, all Marinette’s objections had fallen upon deaf ears.

She sighed. “Fine. I’ll give him a chance.”

With a smile that made Marinette loath to disappoint him, her papa patted her head affectionately. “Thank you, Marinette. I think you’d like him if you got to know him.”

Not likely. “I’ll do my best, Papa.”

“Really, Marinette,” her maman warned. “Unless you have a valid reason, you need to put aside your feelings for the sake of the bakery running smoothly. Can you manage that?”

Appropriately chastised, Marinette bowed her head in embarrassment. Maman brought up a good point: Marinette shouldn’t let her anger towards Adrien affect the bakery. Her parents didn’t deserve that. “Yes, Maman. I’m sorry.”

With a smile, her maman came up and wrapped her in a hug. “Thank you, Marinette.”

Marinette hugged her back. “No, thank you, Maman and Papa, for everything. I won’t let you down.”

Papa wrapped his arms around both her and Maman. “Thank you, sweetheart. We love you.”

“I love you, too.”

[wonlouvre]

pairing: doctor!wonwoo x lawyer!female oc genre: modern royalty, arranged marriage, fluff and future angst word count: 2.8k WARNINGS: hospital, injury, child trafficking, child abuse, hostage taking, guns, police, violence

author’s note: we have reached part 4!!! i think our couple’s relationship development is quite slow. please bear with me/them, they’re getting there!!! :’((( also, i am still very much thankful and overjoyed for the kind feedback that you guys gave for the previous chapter. i hope you guys are looking forward for this one. enjoy!!! :)))

four: let’s get you home, princess | masterlist

Wonwoo is not addressed as Your Highness inside the hospital premises. It’s actually rare for him to hear Your Highness ever since the royal decrees have been relaxed. His close friends, family and even colleagues have been calling him by his name or profession for the longest time. However, the King and Queen still must be addressed with utmost respect, regardless of who the person may be to the Royal Family. 

Things just got different when he started living and working at your kingdom. He had said that it’s okay for him to be called Wonwoo most especially by senior doctors who have been practicing even before he was born. But it was still awkward so they stuck with Dr. Jeon. These days, some young residents and interns still stutter and it just makes Wonwoo laugh. 

From time to time, Wonwoo is withdrawn from the hospital because of his duties as the Prince. Duties such as to make an appearance, attend a meeting or speak at an event. Said duties usually eat up most of his days in a week. Days where he could and should have been at the hospital, doing what he pledged to do until he dies. 

Wonwoo is loyal to the crown, but he is also committed to the people he promised to serve. 

The wedding planning has started and he’s relieved that you and him both have reached an agreement to hire a full-time planner that will arrange whatever the desires of your hearts may be. He’s grateful that just like him, you are happily married to your job. It’s a lame joke, but Wonwoo can never be bothered to care. So far as the wedding planning goes, you have been looking at venues such as hotels, private gardens or beach resorts. Initially, his parents offered to hold the wedding at their kingdom but you humbly requested to have it at your homeland instead. 

It was no issue to the King and Queen, definitely understanding where you were coming from.

Wonwoo admires that side of you. You seem to always know what you want and when you do, you speak up at the right time with elegance and confidence. He believes it’s the lawyer and princess in you altogether. 

The thought of you puts a smile on his face. He hopes you wake up soon so he can see you.

“Wonwoo?” 

His thoughts popped like a bubble when his name was suddenly called. He clears his throat and faces the owner of the voice. It was Soonyoung and by the looks of his grin, Wonwoo’s sure he witnessed him daydreaming. 

Wonwoo rolls his eyes and goes back to the charts he’s been reading. “What do you want?”

“That’s not how you return the favor of your friend who brought you a fresh batch of clothing,” his friend chides, bumping his shoulder against his tall friend. “You seemed to have had a great night, our Prince.”

It’s trivial, really. But Wonwoo’s cheeks blushed at the reminder. He will never tell anyone but staying with you yesterday until the early hours of today made him feel something he doesn’t know. It’s absurd how he can’t pinpoint what that something is, but he won’t deny that there is. 

“Shut up,” he grumbles like a child, ignoring the cheeky giggle Soonyoung emits. 

Speaking of Soonyoung, he was born in your kingdom and moved to the neighboring one when he was only a baby. Both his parents are doctors also who have the heart and passion to offer their services voluntarily. They were only set for a medical mission before going back in a month, but the King and Queen (Wonwoo’s parents) recognized and applauded their kindness, offering them a place to stay and permanent positions at their Royal Hospital. 

Being of the same age, Wonwoo and Soonyoung grew up together and became best of friends. 

It’s no question that he’s attached to the Prince wherever he goes. 

“Dr. Jeon,” another voice calls for him and this time, it sounded desperate. 

Wonwoo looks up and finds a young resident, looking disheveled and stressed. “What is it?”

“I have a young boy, 10-11-years-old, crying in pain while clutching his left arm,” she explains the basics before continuing, “He was brought by someone who seemed like his brother not older than 14-years-old. They weren’t accompanied by anyone.”

“Ask for their names and address,” Soonyoung suggests while standing straight and crossing his arms. “I’m sure we can find some contact details from the statistics office.”

The young intern shakes her head. “They’re not talking. All the older boy is saying, begging rather, is for us to help them.”

“X-ray?” Wonwoo asks and pumps some sanitizer on his hands. 

“The result is on the way.”

Wonwoo nods and starts walking to where the boys are. “Let’s see what we got then.”

The emergency department is always hectic and anyone that says otherwise is unbelievable. Regardless of what the case may be, Wonwoo stands that if they are brought here, it is an emergency. Usually, they range from new parents bringing their newborn baby who can’t stop crying in the middle of the night or some bringing their seven-year-old for a cast because they fell off the bike while playing with their friends. They all seem to be treatable and can be discharged in an hour or so. But sometimes, you can never be too sure. 

Wonwoo knows because he has witnessed it already. That one baby that’s been crying was actually fighting a fever and that one kid who fell from the bike? It was having trouble with his balance and movement. 

It’s not the first time that young children came to the hospital by themselves. They’re soon followed by their parents or guardian afterwards most of the time. Wonwoo supposes the kids this time around are in shock that they can’t form any clear thoughts at the moment. 

But Wonwoo doesn’t think that’s the case at all once the curtains were pulled open. 

“Oh my,” Soonyoung blurts out, surprised. 

Wonwoo expected two boys looking dirty and blushing from playing under the sun all throughout the day. He expected them to be silently crying for their mom or dad. He expected them to be at least healthy and on their way for a speedy recovery once they got treatment. But no, Wonwoo was wrong.

The boys looked awfully hungry and dehydrated. Their clothes were smaller than what their body looks like and the older brother is missing one pair of his shoes. He noticed bruises on some parts of their body. There’s even a nasty cut on the older boy’s bottom lip. 

Something’s wrong and Wonwoo is not a fool to not notice it. 

Wonwoo releases the breath he’s been holding and smiles genuinely. “Hello, I’m Wonwoo.”

Silence. 

He looked at Soonyoung before proceeding to meet the boy’s height who’s sitting on the chair beside his brother’s bed. “I’m going to take a look at your brother now, if you don’t mind.” 

The older one finally looks at him, his eyes dead serious. “That’s what they have been saying ever since we got here. Why can’t you just treat him already?”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Wonwoo tries to calm him down, noticing his tear-stained face and shaking voice. “Your brother will probably need a cast. We’re just waiting for the x-ray results to come out to know for sure. I just need to ask some questions, alright?”

The boy’s bloodied lip trembles as he nods his head. 

“I’ll go get the result,” Soonyoung says and leaves without forgetting to close the curtains.

“What’s your name?” 

“They call me Jung,” the boy answers, weak and unsure. He then points at his sleeping brother, “He’s called Sam.”

Wonwoo’s brows furrow in both confusion and doubt. Why wouldn’t they have official names? Looking at the brothers’ state all over again, it didn’t take Wonwoo long to comprehend what’s really going on. He turns his head to the resident and locks eyes with her, who’s already grasping the situation at hand. He then gives her a nod, signalling her to immediately call children’s services.

Once she leaves, Soonyoung arrives with an envelope. 

“It’s a fracture, but won’t need surgery,” He says happily and Jung sighs in relief. 

“But, you’re staying here for a while,” Wonwoo takes hold of the envelope from his friend. “We just need to run some more tests.”

Soonyoung looks at his friend with wide eyes asking, what are you talking about? But Wonwoo ignores him and keeps his smile in the hopes that the boy doesn’t grow any more agitated.

“Your brother is okay,” he assures Jung and squeezes his shoulder. “We’ll put the cast on his arm and clean the cut on your lip shortly. Stay here, okay?”

He pushes his friend out after the boy gives them a nod. Soonyoung was still glaring at him at the nonsense he spewed out earlier. Wonwoo puts a finger on his lip, gesturing for him to not say a thing yet until they move to somewhere more quiet. 

“What is going on?” Soonyoung whispered-shouts when they reached what seemed to be the fire exit. “What tests are we still running?”

“It’s a lie,” Wonwoo answers and smooths the lines on his forehead, thinking and thinking on what he should do. “We need to keep them here. I think… they’re victims of abuse and trafficking.”

Soonyoung’s jaw drops while his legs grow weak, making him stumble. This is nothing new to them. But even so, it still makes him sick to the stomach. He just nodded as he didn’t need to say anything else.

“I already asked for children’s services and they could arrive here anytime soon,” Wonwoo continues. “They looked like they escaped. I won’t be surprised if someone suddenly barges here, claiming they’re the parent or guardian.”

“What do we do when that happens?”

“We keep them safe,” he answers firmly. “No matter what.”

Every staff at the Emergency Room was alerted about the situation of the boys. Authorities were also called and they’ll be arriving soon. Wonwoo gave strict orders to not disclose any information about them to anyone who claims they are the parent or guardian. Any affiliation they assume is not acceptable unless they can prove it. 

The boys were transferred to a ward once Sam’s treatment was done. Wonwoo brought them some food, water and spare gowns to rid them of the excuse of clothes they’ve been wearing for who knows how long. It’s unbearable to imagine what they have gone through but seeing them get comfortable is enough to bring some peace to Wonwoo’s mind. 

He requested Soonyoung to stay with them or at least check on them from time to time and make sure no one goes inside their room other than the designated staff. He just needs the representative of the children’s services to arrive and they’ll start knowing what the next steps to take from there. 

Now that’s settled, Wonwoo can now go back to his routine and job.

Or not. 

“You’re Highness.”

His security detail stands before him, complete and blocking his way to the elevator that could bring him back to the Emergency Room. Wonwoo can notice the tense and nervous expressions on their faces like children about to admit the trouble they just caused. He had requested before that they be posted on the sides to not hinder him from working. They’re only to jump into action when it’s life threatening and by the looks of it they’re here in his face just to do that but he still asks.

“What are you doing here?”

The head of the group bows his head. “The Emergency Room is being held hostage by armed men. We need to leave as soon as possible.”

Wonwoo’s heart almost felt like it stopped beating. “No.” 

He needs to move. He needs to go back there. He can’t just leave.

Wonwoo forces his body against the men standing firm on their positions, only to be held back. His head of security nods at his men to not let him go and carry him if they have to. 

“No, no, no!”

Wonwoo thrashes from their hold as he screamed for them to let him go. He can hear his security speaking to his mic to prepare the vehicle that would transfer him to safety but in that second all men drop to the ground and shield him when an ear-splitting clap suddenly reverberates through the walls.

A gunshot was fired.

Meanwhile, you were brought to the top floor of the hospital at one of the private rooms reserved for the members of the Royal Family when you insisted on staying. Jeongyeon and the rest of your security detail were more than distressed at your stubbornness, fearing for the earful they’re going to get once this is all over. But they would rather have that than leave you and neglect their duty.

“Your Highness, we really have to go,” Jeongyeon reiterates, still trying to convince you while shaking your shoulders. 

You shake your head and avoid her eyes. “No, we can’t just leave the people here. We can’t leave…” you pause then whisper softly, “Wonwoo.”

Jeongyeon nods. “I know, I know. But the Royal Police are on their way and the Prince’s security detail is already with him. The two of you cannot stay here any longer. It’s an order from His Majesty.”

You swallow the lump on your throat. You can’t think. You can’t process whatever the hell is ensuing downstairs. The lives of innocent people, your innocent people, are at stake. 

You just can’t leave. You have to do something. 

“We’re not leaving this hospital until those armed men are immobilized.”

Jeongyeon wishes to plead further but all you hear was ringing when the sound of what you’ve been fearing the most resonated inside the room. 

Security scrambles and moves at a speed of light to protect you with their bodies. They were screaming among themselves but you fail to register what they’re saying. You fail to hear nor see your surroundings.

Everything became a blur.

Everything became nothing as your heart beated a thousand times faster than normal and the only person running through your mind is no one else but the Prince who was beside you just last night but is now in imminent danger.

Please, Wonwoo. Please.

“Their Majesties condemns the hostage taking that occurred at the Royal Hospital,” Prime Minister Lee starts, looking straight at the camera. “Their Majesties assures and promises the public that they will be held accountable for the crime they have committed but most importantly for the distress and trauma they have caused the patients. They commend the prompt action that the Hospital’s Security and Royal Police have taken resulting in no casualties.”

“Prime Minister Lee!” A reporter raises their hand. “Can you confirm that His and Her Highness Jeon Wonwoo and Y/N were at the hospital when the hostage took place?”

“Yes,” he answers, “Her Highness, Princess Y/N, was admitted to the hospital yesterday after fainting at her office…”

You switch the TV off with the remote before throwing it on the couch. You walk to the window with crossed arms and watch the Royal Police vehicles leave one by one after clearing the Emergency Room and declaring it safe. It’s now back to its normal operations. 

Apparently, the gunshot was fired by the police, wounding one of the hostage takers. They took advantage of that distraction to finally hold them down and arrest them right away. There’s no official statement from the Royal Police yet as they are still investigating further. You make a commitment to get to the bottom of this.

They’re gone now.

But Wonwoo is still unheard of. 

He’s safe, they told you. But that didn’t stop you from biting your nails, walking back and forth and pulling your hairs from the roots. You need to see him. 

“Your Highness,” Jeongyeon calls for you and your head snaps up. She gives you a small smile before opening the door she’s holding wider.

Wonwoo enters with a tired smile and you almost burst into tears. You ran to him as fast as you could, but your legs were weakened by worry, you almost fell. It’s a good thing Wonwoo meets you halfway and catches you in his arms. 

You take every tangible thing about him. You take and you take as you hold his waist tightly and bury your face to his chest. “You can’t do that to me.”

Wonwoo sighs in content upon breathing in your scent and hearing your voice. He wraps his one arm around your waist while the other holds your head gently. He stays silent and just holds you for as long as he desires. After the horror that transpired earlier, holding you like this is what he desperately needed. 

“Let’s get you home, Princess.”

[anne-i-write]

promise

| requested by anon: “Hello ^^ can I ask about the reader Albert Xreader . How would Albert react if he saw that his younger brother (original William) and his mother did not like Albert's girlfriend because her family helps lower class people. What would Albert do if he saw that his brother and his mother were abusing his beloved. sorry for the hopless idea 🙏” |

albert james moriarty x reader

word count: 1107

tw: lady moriarty being lady moriarty and mentions of death

a/n: wow okay um,, i swear i had a plot in mind but in order for it to somehow work, i delayed the burning of the moriarty manor. i hope this is coherent enough to understand and that hopefully this was what you wanted!!!

Noblesse oblige was something that William James Moriarty and his mother took to heart.

They didn’t care about the happiness and gratitude that their deeds brought to the working class; if it made them seem like angels in the eyes of their social circle, then they would grin and bear it. But if they had to spend more time than needed around “filth,” they would simply turn their nose up and leave.

That’s why they despised you and your family.

It was when they first saw you at a tea party, your parents looked perfect, not a hair out of place. You, however, had lightly stained clothes and messy hair. It disgusted Lady Moriarty. How could a baron have the gall to have their child look like that in public?

It was at that same tea party that you met Albert James Moriarty. He had taken an instant liking to you after he saw your untidy state. He heard the whispers about your appearance and the disappointment you brought to your parents but he couldn’t help himself from approaching you.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I must smell horrid.” You apologized when you saw Albert coming closer. The boy laughed as he stopped in front of you. “No need for apologies.” He smiled and you let out a soft breath. “You smell fragrant if you ask me.” He said, referring to your extremely strong citrus perfume.

Your eyes widened before shaking your head. “I knew Mother sprayed far too much perfume on me,” You muttered before Albert laughed. “You seem disheveled, are you alright?” A light smile crossed his face when you offered him a chair for him to sit down.

“I was busy helping around town, I forgot to check the time and left in a hurry.” You smiled and Albert’s eyebrows raised. “I would have looked more presentable if I managed my schedule correctly.” Albert shook his head and watched as you leaned on the table, which would have gotten him an earful from his mother if he repeated your actions.

“You’re giving me the look.” He tuned back into your voice and he saw your uninterested face. “How old are you?” He watched as your lips quirked into a small grin and you leaned back. “Quick to the questions, aren’t we?” He rolled his eyes and you chuckled.

“I’m 11.” You caught the glint of surprise in his eyes and Albert huffed, an amused look on his face. “You’re quite testy, aren’t you?” You both leaned back, sly grins both on your lips, no doubt enjoying the unidentifiable atmosphere.

“You mustn’t be much older,” You quickly replied and his green eyes narrowed. “I’m 13.”

“So you aren’t much older!” His heart skipped a beat when you laughed. “I’m (Y/N) (L/N),” You said, sticking out your hand for him to shake.

“Albert Moriarty.”

And thus, your friendship began and quickly blossomed into what can only be called childhood love.

You two had often kept in touch through letters, much to the displeasure of his mother. Not only was she disgusted by your unkempt appearance, but there was no reason to entertain a family of a lower status. You and your family spent too much time around the “filth” in the town, and she refused to have Albert tainted by your nonsense ideals.

A few years passed and Lady Moriarty decided to hold a 16th birthday party for her eldest son.

Of course, by Albert’s wishes, she reluctantly sent out an invite to your family.

“Where are your parents, dear?” She asked in a sickly sweet tone as soon as you stepped into their manor.

Thankfully, you looked much more presentable in her eyes, but the stench of the working class was stuck to your clothes. “They couldn’t make it today, so they wanted me to send their regards.” You smiled, hands folded politely in front of you. You watched as her eyes turned cold and she moved to the side, her face painted in a forced smile.

“You might want to change your clothes, darling. It could prevent you from finding a suitor if you continue to grow up that way.”

The comments never stopped since then. Since Albert was around you most of the time, they never physically attacked you.

Of course, you being you, you caught onto their implications quickly. You had to persuade Albert that he should leave it alone, but it never sat right with him.

It was on one day your parents invited them over that Albert had finally had enough.

“You don’t have to hold your thoughts in about my mother, you know?” He muttered as you both sat in the library. You looked up from your book, a somber smile on your face. “It’s nothing I haven’t heard before, Albert.” He hated the way you were criticised, especially when you did nothing wrong.

“My father’s simply a baron.” You sighed. “If I complained about someone of higher status than him, I wouldn’t dare think about the consequences.”

Albert huffed, putting his book down. “They think they’re so powerful just because of Father’s name. The most he is is an earl.” He stared at you intently before a thought crossed his mind.

“I know we’re young, but will you be my spouse?” A strange noise came out of your throat and you quickly shut your book. “Albert!” You sputtered, face hot.

You had harbored a small crush on the Moriarty brother, but only your wildest dreams have you ever heard him utter those words. “We’re not even--”

“My mother wouldn’t make snide remarks anymore. You’ll be treated with the respect you deserve and I’ll make sure of it.” He was so sincere you almost agreed.

“Albert, I appreciate the offer, but we’re nowhere close to the age of marriage!” You exclaimed and he smiled. “Then I shall wait for you until you’re 19.” The genuine tone in his voice made a shy smile blossom on your face.

“You promise?” Albert smiled and his heart fluttered at your breathtaking smile. “I promise.”

He really intended to keep it. He promised.

But when he saw his mother and brother attempt to frame his adopted brothers, every little comment that they made about you and everyone lower than them filled his mind with a calm fury. It was when the Moriarty manor burned down did he realize that your promise would have to wait longer. He was heartbroken that he would make you wait longer than needed, but his mother and brother dying in that estate brought a sense of relief.

That was three fewer people that would no longer harass you anymore.

moriarty the patriot general taglist: @zoehanji

[crossdressingdeath]

Seeing your post about how JYL has a 'ranking system' in her head when it comes to WWX and JC hits so hard, but honestly, the more I read into the Jiang family dynamics, the more I agree. JYL obviously loves WWX, but I don't know if she's capable of putting him above JC. And we see her defending him, and she obviously gives her life for him, but she was also reacting in the moment. Not to speak lightly of her sacrifice of course, but I just feel like there are certain limits to how 1/7

far she's actually willing to go for him. I was initially one of JYL's staunch defenders, and always said that, unlike JC, she didn't have the same amount of political power as him, wasn't in a position to do anything about the Wens, ect. But...I'm starting to question if that's really true. JYL may not have had much direct political power herself, but she was the sister of a sect leader, and even if JC was unwilling to help, JYL had just married into the richest and most powerful sect 2/7

at the time. It was a love marriage, JZX adored her and would've done anything for her if she'd just bothered to ask him for it. Madam Jin also cared for her and respected her, and between her and JZX, had JYL actually bothered to tell them anything, I'm sure they would have been able to sort something out. Or she could have had it as a condition of her marriage - I'm not marrying into the sect that's trying to kill my brother unless you tell your father to stop. Had it been reversed and 3/7

The Lans were calling for JYL and JC’s deaths, no way in hell WWX would’ve just married into the sect, regardless of LWJ’s involvement. Instead she just doesn’t really do anything. We see no proof that she ever tried to see WWX after the wedding dress incident, which — god I instantly saw it as a sweet gesture, but now it just bothers me, because your brother is living in squalor, and you decide to show if the expensive dress that you’ll be 4/7

wearing when marrying into the sect that's trying to kill him, you bring along one bowl of soup for him, and don't even try to explain WHY you're marrying into said sect. Beyond that, we don't see a single moment up until her death where JYL actually seems concerned about WWX, puts in effort to try to see him - she doesn't even ask him how he's doing the one time she does come to see him. When we compare that to how WQ treats WN, yeah, she's outwardly not as loving or sweet, but she 5/7

goes to the ends of the earth for her brother, even going as far as to betray her sect and risk WRH's wrath because he asks her to. And now we come back to that ranking system you mentioned before - yeah, it really does seem like JYL places her blood family first, which definitely hurts, but in comparison, despite only knowing him for a shorter amount of time, WQ truly grows to think of WWX as a second brother. And she treats him as such, at an equal level with WN - after JZX dies 6/7

WQ doesn't attack WWX for what happened. She doesn't try to come up with a way to sacrifice WWX instead and let WN survive in his stead. She and WN, two people who have become WWX's family, both give their lives to protect both him and the rest of their remaining family members. And it's just frustrating to think that the one member of WWX's adopted family who we all thought treated him like an actual brother, might not have really been on his side after all. 7/7

Yes! To start with the wedding dress thing, because it drives me nuts when people treat that like some super sweet act of love: JYL shows up in the Burial Mounds with no money, no sign of having tried to talk the sects around, no news outside of her own, no food beyond a couple bowls of soup (one of which she gives to the guy who can’t eat), and doesn’t so much as ask WWX if he’s okay. She literally came all that way to have a family meal, ask WWX to name the future nephew it’s becoming increasingly clear he’ll never meet, and tell him about her impending marriage into the family that’s currently doing everything in its power to destroy WWX’s life. Like, if you think about it that entire visit is such a slap in the face; “Here’s a bowl of soup while the people under your protection are starving, oh by the way I’m going to marry the son of the guy actively trying to get you killed, okay bye”. All you can say in regards to her helping WWX is that she does potentially manage to persuade JZX to invite him to JL’s one month celebration, but if memory serves the novel never actually specifies whose idea that was and it was JZX who decided to go get WWX after JGY told him about seeing JZXun heading in the direction of the Burial Mounds. And even then JZX does the same thing JYL does; sees WWX outnumbered and surrounded and tells him to stand down. At least in JZX’s case you could argue that the actual fighting hadn’t broken out and JZX probably trusted in his authority to be able to sort the situation out so long as WWX wasn’t actually acting aggressive (or defensive, rather), and he’s also physically strong enough that he may well have been able to intervene if the cultivators had attacked. JYL, when she does the same thing, has no authority and no physical power to defend WWX with. And yeah, both JZX and Madam Jin adore JYL, and neither of them seem super fond of JGS (JZX respects his father, but I don’t get the sense he loves him); if JYL had asked them for help it’s entirely possible they would’ve started at least circulating her version of events and demanding a proper investigation into what happened. But there’s no mention of her so much as trying, and she doesn’t offer to ask them when she visits WWX.

And yeah, compare WQ to JYL and it’s... well. WQ is so quick to offer WWX her love and care? She’s harsh, but she loves him and views him and WN on such equal footing that she and WN willingly hand themselves over to the Jins for WWX’s sake without her so much as bringing up the possibility of saving WN instead. There’s no ranking for WQ; WWX and WN are her brothers, and she loves them, and she’d do anything to protect them. When it becomes clear she can’t save WN (like hell the sects would let him live, and by this point it’s pretty clear that WWX won’t be able to protect them forever) she throws her whole weight behind defending the brother she thinks she might still be able to save, even if it means bringing WN with her to die. WQ knows WWX for... a year or two? Maybe? The timeline is a little hazy. Not long compared to JYL, anyway. And yet she’s willing to walk all the way to Lanling to die in the hope of saving him. It’s for her whole family, yes, but she makes a point of including him. Basically, I think this fandom needs more stuff wherein the Jiangs and Wens survive and the Wens are fully like “Our brother now, you don’t deserve him”.

The thing with JYL is... she loves WWX, she genuinely does, but he is never going to be first for her. To the point where she outright enables JC’s abuse, in places; she always expects WWX to be the one to grin and bear it. Hell, one of their first conversations involves JYL cheerily allowing WWX to cover up JC locking him out of his bedroom and scaring him out into the woods by threatening to set dogs on him! Let me rephrase that: she allows a traumatized nine-year-old to hide the fact that the kid her dad expects him to share a room with locked him out of said room on his FIRST NIGHT and threatened him with his LITERALLY WORST FEAR, and as far as we know makes no attempt to tell JFM herself. To keep JC out of trouble. That is such a thing! WWX was scared to the point of running away and JFM expects him to share a room with the person responsible for that and JYL goes along with him promising not to tell JFM so that JC won’t get in trouble! And from that day forwards everything is just “Boys will be boys” to her. Like, let me put it this way. Before LWJ (and arguably the Wens before that, although WWX saw himself more as protector than protected there) JYL was the person WWX trusted to protect and care for and comfort him above all others, yeah? She’s the one he thinks of as having his back? He doesn’t tell her about JC trying to kill him. JC tries to kill WWX three times before JYL’s death, and WWX doesn’t say a word to her about any of them. You could argue that he doesn’t want to involve her, but... JYL pretty clearly takes JC’s side every time JC starts having a go at WWX. When he chases him out of their room, when he starts snapping about how annoying WWX is, when he stabs WWX... She never outright says it, but there really does come a point where by staying neutral you’re siding with the aggressor, and she reaches that point a lot. Hell, the stabbing is one of those aforementioned near-murders! JC stabbed him! According to WWX (who downplays serious injuries, he never exaggerates them) he had to hold his guts in! WWX is talking about a pretty fucking serious injury (and JYL grew up in a cultivation sect, I don’t believe for a second she doesn’t at least know what constitutes a serious injury) while JC whines about a broken arm like it’s worse than having to physically hold your guts in until you can reach a doctor and JYL acts like those are equal! JC could easily have killed WWX and has enough training with the sword to know better than to go for a blow like that in a staged fight and JYL doesn’t even suggest he should apologise.

Honestly? The more I think about JYL the more it pisses me off that she’s treated like WWX’s best sister more than WQ is. Imagine WQ seeing one brother stab the other in the gut and take the former’s side because the latter broke the former’s arm. Imagine WQ so much as considering allowing a child to cover up the kid he’s supposed to share a room with locking him out and scaring him into running away. She wouldn’t! Because WQ sees her brothers as equals. She won’t pick WN over WWX just because they’re blood siblings; she loves them both, and will choose based on who she thinks is in the right. And she wouldn’t just stay neutral to avoid rocking the boat, oh no. If WQ heard WWX say that WN stabbed him and did enough damage that he had to hold his guts in... oh boy would WN have a bad day. The thing with JYL is that she seems like a good sister in comparison to the rest of the Jiangs; stick canon JYL into a family that genuinely loves WWX and sees him as equal to their other children, and she would not look anywhere near as good.

[magioftheseas]

The Capital Magical Defense Force

For @oumota-events

DAY 1: Magical Boys AU

Rating: T​+

Warnings: Violence, blood, death mentioned, darker implications. Yeah it’s one of those magical au. The daaaaark subversions.

Notes: This is the longest one because we’re starting off with a big bang~ It’s not that long though. It’s just not a ficlet unlike the others. I did really enjoy writing this though. It’s a pretty...fun...au. Yeah. Haha.

Ao3 Link

In just about every world, there are unseen forces to make sure a system works a certain way. That the cogs in the machine turn without fail and that any disturbances are dealt with promptly. These unseen forces can be mundane and dull—but they can also be fantastical...while still incredibly dull.

In this instance, there are two worlds. The dull, mundane one and the dull, fantastical one. The only way to transverse is through contracts between the respective denizens, and it turns out that said contracts are necessary to keep everything in order.

There are benefits, truly. If one world collapses, the other is taken with it. It is within everyone’s best interest that the denizens work together—even if certain manipulations need to be made. After all, the greater good is such a vague and nebulous concept. It’s more encouraging to offer personal gains.

Like, for example, keeping someone alive, be it from sickness or the aftereffects of a horrible, terrible, despairing accident. The desire to live is a powerful force shared among many, both dim-witted and intelligent. It’s an efficient deal to make, especially when the other side of the exchange is not only responsibilities, but special, magical abilities to deal with those responsibilities.

Shame, then, that one particular being blessed with those abilities, those responsibilities, that gift of survival...doesn’t seem to fully appreciate it. Certain arrangements have been made. That being has been assigned to the same areas as another being of a similar caliber, but far more keen to do what must be done.

This is as much an experiment as it is an effort to keep matters under control. Observations are to be as follows...

--

“In the name of the stars, I’m gonna kick your fucking ass!!”

The town hero known as Starboy was being filmed again. Floating about, sending so-called comet punch after comet punch. The monster squealed under the abuse, but it didn’t squeal as much as that fucking eyesore that tailed the magical boy around as he cursed colorfully under his breath.

“This jackass just doesn’t know when to quit!”

“S-Starboy-kun,” the thing whimpered. “Please watch your language! Kids idolize you!”

“Sorry!” Starboy exclaimed, focusing more on the fight thankfully. “It’s just—let me protect the city first!!”

With a battle cry, Starboy summoned all his strength for a starstorm, pummeling the monster more and more until it fizzled out of existence. Starboy was left slumped on the ground and gasping for breath, but still found it in him to whoop for joy.

Unfortunately for him, that moment of victory was short-lived.

“Geeeez, Starboy-chan, I thought you’d really get trampled this time! You didn’t even need any help!” Another magical boy landed on the scene, right next to where the monster had once been and plucking up the fragment which was all that remained.

“H-Hey!” Starboy shouted, more like wheezed. “What the hell—that’s not yours to take!”

“It’s payment for making me worry so much,” he cackled. “You really should be more careful! You don’t want to be killed in the line of duty, now do you?”

Weakened as he was from the fight, dodging Starboy lurching towards him was child’s play.

“D-Dice!!” that eyesore shrieked. “You and Starboy-kun should be working together! Why are you doing this?!”

Dice gave that thing a cold stare, but grinned in Starboy’s direction.

“Because I like you. That’s a lie. I like messing with you. Also a lie! I really—love you, Starboy-chan!”

“Quit messing around!” Starboy gasped. “Y-You—if you need those damn fragments, you don’t have to steal them! You’re a magical boy, aren’t ya?! You should be helping me defend the city! And then I’d split them with ya even!”

Aah. This guy...

“Oh Starboy-chan, I actually, truthfully loathe you,” Dice sighed.

“D-Dice!” the thing shrieked and without looking, Dice had fired a beam that knocked the pitifully contemptible creature out, much to Starboy’s dismay.

“S-SHIROKUMA...!”

Before he could go to help, however, Dice had seized the bow of his uniform, yanking him to not-quite eye level.

“If you know what’s good for you, you’d stop bothering with that thing and join me instead.”

Starboy only scowled.

“Why the hell would I join you when you act like a villain! I-If I could, I’d beat your ass too...!”

Such a remark gets Dice shoving him back, knocking him onto the ground. Starboy glared up at him defiantly, his stare only darkening as Dice grinned.

“It’s a joke, obviously!” he chirped. “After all—what sort of desperate loser would want to ally with an idiot like you?”

Starboy shouted at him, but whatever he shouted, he was already long gone. Starboy shouted again but, being the justice-obsessed type, he switched gears to muster up the strength to go stumbling after the fainted Shirokuma. Scooping the pitiful bear head-looking creature into his hands, Starboy avoided the incoming paparazzi and gracious civilians and rushed off to safety.

The ideal worker. Starboy will be a great boon of energy in the future once his limit is reached.

--

“Dice is such a fucking dick,” Kaito grumbles, rubbing ointment onto his bruises. “We’re both working for the same thing but for no reason at all, he’s self-serving and a piece of shit.”

He observes himself in the mirror, rubbing at the circles under his eyes. He’s been going at this whole magical boy hero thing for almost a year. It’s getting harder and harder, but for the sake of the city, he can’t give up. He’s its protector, after all.

Still, it’s getting difficult. His wastebasket is filled with bloodied tissue and bandages. Shirokuma, at least, is currently resting in a bucket of warm water. Dice’s attack had been as sudden as it was vicious, and for what?

“Why is he such a dick?” Kaito asks, but Shirokuma hums.

“Some people...are just bad. It can’t be helped. I’m sorry if that sounds despairing, Momota-kun.”

“Bad, huh.”

It’s not the first time he’s gotten that answer. When he describes Dice to his sidekicks, he more or less gets the same response. Harumaki even goes out of her way to call Dice a supervillain, which Shuuichi agrees to, but...

Here’s a secret that no one else knows. The crack in the foundation so painstakingly paved for black and white heroism.

Dice has saved his life more than once. When blood rushed up his throat and his knees buckled in, Dice would swoop in and let him save face. It would be passed off as Dice once again taking advantage of the situation...but it always, always happens when Kaito is facing death head-on.

Dice is a dick. A self-serving piece of shit. Possibly a supervillain.

He’s also definitely looking out for Starboy. It’s happened too consistently for Kaito to be convinced it’s unintentional.

If Dice insists on helping him, then surely he can’t be a bad person...except he still acts like a bad person most of the time.

What a headache.

“Feeling better, Momota-kun?” Shirokuma chirps up at him in that big sweet voice that Kaito can’t say no to, even when he probably should.

“Never better!”

A thumps-up. A wide grin. Doing his damnedest to pretend like his lungs don’t want to collapse in on themselves.

--

“Starboy-chan is such a fucking idiot.”

Ouma slams his chest of fragments shut. He still hasn’t figured out what the damn things do, but Shirokuma insists on collecting them so they must be important in some sense. Sure, Shirokuma says that it’s something to do with negative energy and restoring balance, blah, blah, blah—but Shirokuma is a piece of shit liar. And Ouma hates liars.

But he thinks he hates Starboy the most. Or, at least, he finds Starboy to be the most frustrating dumbass in the galaxy.

Because it’s obvious, isn’t it? It’s obvious that Shirokuma is shady as all get out. It’s obvious that there is something deeply wrong with the magical boy system. There have been so many disappearances and it’s suspicious as all get out how Starboy in particular is being worked to the bone and pushed to the brink.

There’s something seriously wrong with all of it.

Ouma just needs to figure out what before everything goes wrong.

--

To become a magical boy, one needs resolve. To encourage magical boys, a wish is often granted to sweeten—and seal the deal. Ouma’s was a cowardly, stupid wish that he’s still kicking himself for to this day, although in hindsight he should be glad it was so simple. The worthless wish to live as everyone else was dead around him.

He’s still haunted by their faces. He should’ve wished for them but couldn’t. He was targeted and tricked, and now he’s stuck. But the least he can do is make everything difficult for those monsters along the way.

Starboy—aka Momota Kaito...well. Ouma doesn’t know what his wish was, but he suspects it’s as stupidly noble and short-sighted as he’s come to expect.

Oh, yes, he knows that Starboy is Momota Kaito. Who wouldn’t know that? They look the same—although Ouma suspects that magic is at play since no civilians have made the connection. Not even Saihara Shuuichi, a would-be detective.

It’s clear, however, that Saihara-chan has noticed the effects.

“This is the fourth time you’ve had to clear your throat, Momota-kun.”

Momota clears his throat again. He musters up a laugh.

“It’s just been dry. No big deal. You worry too much.”

“Gooooooodness, Momota-kun!” Ouma crowed, skipping in. “Are you dying?! Please, please don’t die! I haven’t even gotten to tell you how much I love you!”

Momota recoils when Ouma jumps on him. Saihara shrieks in surprise but Momota only growls as he tries to shake the brat off.

“Let—GO!”

Ouma does, but not without jabbing the back of Momota’s knee and causing him to topple over. Saihara rushes to steady him, shooting Ouma quite the ugly look. Ouma shrugs that off.

“Whatever it is you’re doing is killing you,” he merely states. “So, you should stop lest you traumatize my poor Saihara-chan.”

“I...” Saihara swallowed, looking like he’d hate to agree but when it came to Momota... “You shouldn’t overwork yourself, Momota-kun.”

“I’m fine,” Momota slurred. “Totally fine. I’m a goddamn Luminary, Shuuichi...” He says he’s fine while learning into Saihara. It’s a bright sunny day. People are no doubt stealing glances, and Momota no doubt has to hide his exhausted face in his sidekick’s shoulder. It’s a good thing Harukawa isn’t here.

Ouma scoffed. Saihara shot him another glare.

“If you’re just here to mess with Momota-kun, you can leave.”

Saihara’s hands tighten on Momota. Goodness, it really is like Ouma is the supervillain tormenting the tired hero.

How boring.

Ouma turns heel, smiling as he waves them off.

I shouldn’t bother. I shouldn’t have to bother.

--

No matter how many times he’s thought that, he ends up in this situation. With Starboy exhausted on the ground and a fragment pinched so firmly between his fingers that it’s this close to embedding itself in the skin. Shirokuma floats around Starboy.

“He’s getting close,” Shirokuma is saying. “He won’t be able to take much more. How despairing. So despairing.”

Ou—Dice swats the thing to the ground. It giggles up at him.

“You can’t save him, you weren’t able to save your other friends. Just give up, Dice-kun. Give into despair.”

It’s laughing, its laughter resounding even as Dice stomps the thing to bits. It’ll just reshape itself and find Momota again. No matter what he does, he can’t get rid of it. It’s part of a damn hivemind after all.

Sighing, Dice goes to Starboy once again, and Starboy is lying there almost prone. Looking painfully pale. His breathing is shallow. At least he’s still alive.

But for how much longer? And what am I even doing wasting my time with this idiot? No matter what I tell him or how bad he gets, he refuses to back down and Shirokuma just eggs him on.

He gets down, rolling Starboy onto his back. Starboy groans and for a moment, he blearily comes to.

“Di...ce... You...again...” There’s a couple of missing words. It’s clearly difficult for Starboy to speak. He groans, eyes screwing shut. When Dice helps him sit up, he coughs and there’s a thin stream of blood that trickles down his chin. “U-Urgh...hurts bad.”

“Well, yeah. You don’t take breaks, idiot.” Ouma tutted him. “Some of the monsters you take are mooks. You shouldn’t waste your time.”

“S-Shuuut,” Starboy slurs. He coughs again. “I’m...s’posed to be...a hero. A-A... Luminary.”

It’s because of shit like this that made it was so easy for Ouma to find Momota in the first place.

And Starboy—fucking laughs.

“Even through that stupid mask of yours, I can tell you’re disproving.” He musters up a bit more strength to speak, for all the good that’s doing him. “You’re really worried, huh?”

“I don’t trust Shirokuma,” Dice said simply. “You shouldn’t either.”

Starboy swallows. No doubt swallows back blood. He sucks in his breath. He shakes. He tries to shake his head specifically. Ends up slumping against him. Dice isn’t as gentle with him as Saihara was, but Dice still has little choice but to help him up.

“Stay with me,” Dice ordered. “You’re not allowed to die.”

He’s wasting his breath. Starboy’s definitely going to die at this rate even if it’s not today. All because—

“I’m a hero,” Starboy is slurring. “Heroes don’t—take breaks...they don’t leave people to die.”

“You’re not a hero,” Dice snapped. One step at a time. “You’re just an idiot.”

“It’s not...not about trust...” Starboy huffs at him next. “Not that...you’d understand that... Ouma.”

Dice doesn’t pause. Far from it.

...idiot.

Ouma Kokichi wonders if it’s a coincidence that he and Momota ended up in this situation together.

...

That’s right. Momota Kaito is going to bring you down. The hero! The Luminary! Won’t that be the Ultimate Despair?

(That’s how she would respond.)

Ouma Kokichi, always so close and yet so far, can’t focus on that right now. He has to save the life of a dying man after all. The results are sure to be favorable.

And yet, also so very—predictable.

Boring.

[1000roughdrafts]

Criminal

DeanxReader request from @rileynicole1967 based on the song Criminal by Britney Spears

A/N: I watched the music video to get an idea for how to go about this, so this fic is similar to that story line :) AND I HAVE A COMPUTER NOW, so I can finally post and write! <3

Warnings: mention of spousal abuse in the beginning, lots of fluff, eludes to sex, some swearing, violence, somewhat of an OOC Dean at the end, you’ll see why

Word Count:2.2k

Something people commonly say about a reason someone might stay with their abusers is that after the bad, the abuser will buy them flowers and jam them into a vase as empty as their apologies. But it's not always flowers. It's surprising them with lunch at their job, or taking them to dinner on a night they least expect, or they clean the house because they just know they've been working extra hard lately.

Y/N hid the bruises well under long sleeve shirts, hooded jackets, and she always wore pants. If eyes really are windows to the soul, how does one hide those kinds of injuries? Luckily these are more difficult to spot than marks on the skin, but sometimes someone will pop up who can read one's eyes like a book they've flipped through so many times the ink is smudged on the edges.

Y/N thanked her lucky stars that both happened in one night. Flowers came in the form of a trip to the bar she initially met Damian in, the man she spent six miserable yet wonderful years of her life with, and the latter came in the form of Dean Winchester.

In the back corner of the bar, at a table with a fake candle, she sat cradling a drink in her hands. Strings of lights hung on the walls and ceilings above five pool tables, four of which were occupied by loud, though respectful, groups of people. Damian droned on about something regarding work, a story he'd told about five times already, but she hadn't the spoons to bring that up.

She kept herself entertained by watching and listening to the people around her, noticing right away as two men walked through the door. The first man's eyes shot straight to the bar, his feet following suit. That's a man with a purpose, she thought. The other let his eyes scan the entire building along with the people in it before he'd even set foot inside. When his eyes ping ponged back to center, they landed on Y/N's, and in an instant, they read her story.

The man smiled, following the tall one to the bar. They ordered and sat to talk for a while, the man's eyes floating from the pool tables to the man in front of him and on occasion, her. She couldn't be sure what Damian was saying, but she was certain about the sneaky glances she shared with the mysterious man in the leather jacket.

"Dean," she heard the other say in an attempt to gain his attention. Dean, she thought, how fitting.

"Are you listening?" Damian hissed, waving a hand so close to her face she thought he might hit her.

Her eyes darted and narrowed at him, body jerking back. "Of course I am," she glared.

Dean's eyes burned like lasers into her until she returned the glance, his brows turned down in worry.

"Bullshit," Damian scoffed. His voice raised, "what did I just say then?"

She looked back to him, "something about work," she said and sighed.

He scooted the chair back, the metal scraping against the floor in a shriek. His shoulder tensed as he mildly shouted, "you know, I was fucking right about you. You have absolutely no respect whatsoever, do you? I oughta teach you a fucking lesson."

Dean, overhearing the conversation, shook his head and gulped down the last of his beer. He let the glass slam against the table on it's way down and when that wasn't enough to get that asshole to step back, he walked over to the vacant pool table, dramatically clearing his throat. He looked overa t her table, and then at the groups around him.

In a tone of authority he attracted the attention of the nearby groups, asking for one brave enough to take him in a bet. Sneaking a glance at her table, he hid his gaze by scratching his jaw as his head turned.

Damian distractedly looked over at the table, making eye contact with Dean before scoffing. Dean nodded at him with a smile, but Damian turned his attention towards Y/N. He relaxed his upper body, leaning his elbows on the table. Shaking his head, he muttered under his breath, "what a tool."

She masked her chuckle in a scoff, uttering a soft, "yeah."

He began talking about something unrelated, as if the last five minutes simply vanished into thin air, but she was just grateful the heat of his words were taken off of her. She looked over at the pool table, Dean's eyes already on her. His eyebrow raised in a question, and she flashed a quick, small smile in response.

He nodded, slipping the pool stick between his fingers to line up a shot. His eyes remained on hers as he bent down, aiming and missing. The group bellowed a laugh, and Dean's opponent lined up to make quite a few shots, ending the game with a sunken 8-ball. The men cheered, gaining the attention of Dean's main goal for an opponent, Damian.

"Ah, better luck next time," one of the men said to Dean through laughter, patting him on the back.

"Guess so," Dean smiled, looking at his feet.

Damian chuckled smugly, leaning forward to pull his wallet from his pocket. Y/N looked him over as he counted the wad. Stuffing the wallet back into his pocket, he gulped some of his beer, eyebrows hopping as he told her to "watch this", and set the drink down. She jumped a bit, gripping onto his wrist to pull him back into the chair.

She knew a hustler when she saw one. Damian didn’t like to be wrong, and he certainly didn’t like to lose. He ripped his arm away and leaned down.

His pitch was high and voice soft, as if he was talking to a toddler, “this is easy money, baby. Did you not see that guy just get his ass kicked?” he laughed again, licking his lips before looking over at Dean. Looking back at Y/N he spoke even quieter, winking, “drinks are on him tonight.”

“But,” she protested, but he was already halfway to Dean who stood chalking the tip of his pool stick.

“You up for a game?” he asked, "500."

“Oh, I don’t know,” Dean said, patting his wallet. “I just lost a good chunk of change, I-”

Y/N playfully rolled her eyes, resting her chin in her hand to watch the game.

“Tell you what,” Damian said, a tight, smug grin on his face, “you win, it’s double,” he shrugged, “I win, it’s just 300.”

Dean looked up at the ceiling for a split second, tilting his head while he contemplated the offer. His lips swished from side to side and then he smiled, “deal,” he said, holding out his hand.

-

By the time solids were wiped out and the 8 ball was left, Dean smiled at Y/N when Damian's back turned, slipping the pool stick between his fingers to line up a shot.

Eyes moving to Damian, he grinned, “8 ball, corner pocket,” then glanced over at Y/N. Damian just stood with his arms crossed. Dean kept his eyes on her as he bent down to aim and sunk the 8 ball.

He stood slowly, barely concealing his smile. Y/N felt a smile creep onto her face as well, dropping it when Damian threw the pool stick onto the table in a tantrum.

“This is bullshit,” he grunted, flipping around and marching over to Y/N. Stunned, Dean froze until Damian gripped her wrist, digging his nails into her skin as he yanked her so hard she nearly tripped over her own steps.

“Let’s get out of here,” he grumbled, taking his anger out on her wrist as he tugged.

“Hey!” Dean shouts, waving a hand as he shuffled sideways to get out from behind the pool table, “wait!”

Damian’s grip felt like a growing fire the more she tried to wriggle free. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Dean running up at them just as Damian whirled around.

He yanked her into him. "Stop fighting me,” he said through his teeth, bearing down on each word.

She loosened up, letting him keep his firm grip on her arm, but she was knocked back by Dean shoving Damian. He stood between them. Only surprised by the interaction, he charged at Dean, which only served as more of a pack to the punch Dean threw at him. He was knocked back with another punch, landing on the floor.

Dean shook out his fist, taking a few breaths before turning to face her. With his hand resting on her shoulder, he bowed his head to look into her eyes, “you okay?”

Shocked, she just nodded, her mouth agape as she looked at Damian. She looked back at Dean with next to no expression before running over and falling at Damian’s side.

Dean felt his insides squirm and weaken, like he’d just reached the end of a rollercoaster. He was sickened by the thought of how he treated her, and for her to just run to his side hurt him. But she surprised him when she reached into Damian’s pocket for his wallet, ripping out the 600 in bills before throwing the wallet onto his back. Dean chuckled a bit, but stowed it when she turned around to jog back to him.

"I believe he owes you this,” she shrugged, handing it over.

He laughed, looking down as he grabbed it. Stuffing it into his back pocket, he looked up at her, head tilted. “Dean,” he smiled, holding his hand out.

“Y/N,” she said, shaking his hand.

--

Dean rolled over, wrapping his arm around Y/N in the bed of his motel room. She flinched a bit, but hummed when she came to her senses. Smiling, she rotated to face him, tracing the outline of his tattoo with her fingers.

"Nice tat," she cooed, and he couldn't quite tell if she was being sarcastic or not.

"Thanks," he said, banking on sarcasm being the safest bet, "it's to keep me from being possessed by demons," he said with a lift of his eyebrows.

Her eyes bounced between his before she busted out in a laugh, "right," she played along. Her attention shifted, "and the gun is for?"

Confused, he glanced over to the nightstand, gun placed next to the clock.

He chuckled, "you don't want to know."

She pulled her head back a bit, but half of her lips turned into a smile, "mysterious," she laughed. "What are you, a drifter with a gun collection?"

"Something like that," he smiled, dipping his head to her neck, pecking small, soft kisses.

She'd never felt like she was the focus of another's attention until her time with Dean, and perhaps that was dangerous, but in the moment it was everything to her. He kissed her like he'd been kissing her for years, like he knew just how to get her going. She didn't want the night to come to an end, but with the sun bleeding through the curtains of his motel room, she knew she'd have to say goodbye soon.

"Are you a criminal?" she blurted out. In a laugh, she added, "I just can't take the suspense anymore."

He laughed, "in some states," with a small nod before rolling over to sit at the edge of the bed.

It was hard to keep up with him, to tell when he was being serious and when he was being sarcastic. She just smiled, sitting up to gather her clothes.

When dressed, she found a pen. Reaching for his arm, she rolled up the sleeve to his flannel, smiling before writing her name and phone number on his forearm.

"When you're in town next, or not too far away, call me."

---

Dean had never done this for anyone before, but something with this connection was different. It was like she saw him for what he really is under everything on the outside. They'd met up at least fifteen times since the first night, and he had yet to figure out what exactly drew him to her.

She knew exactly what she liked about him, though. The bad boy, criminal type that treated her like she should be treated, even if they were just hooking up. The kind with a soft side that bled from him in moments he least expected it to, moments where he was really trying to show just how ‘bad’ of a guy he is. 

"Let me come with you," she said in a rushed breath, gripping onto his arm before he could turn for the car, "whatever you do, I want to join. I don't have a life here," she relaxed her arms, letting her hand fall from his and back to her side. "Not anymore, at least," she said, softly shaking her head.

"Y/N, it's not safe," he said softly. Taking her with him meant confessing to all the lies he's told her, unraveling the truth about what he does; saving people, hunting things, the family business. He rolled his eyes at himself.

She gripped onto his arm again, "I'm serious, Dean," she said firmly, her eyes piercing into his, "please." 

Dean glanced at Sam, who gave him a look she could only translate to meaning ‘no’, but then it softened, and he looked at her. Dean just nodded, opening the door for her. Dean knew that she would learn soon enough why tagging along was a bad idea, and she’d leave when she knew what was good for her. He’d learn to never let anyone in the way he let her in, but until then he’d enjoy the company of anyone other than Sam. Y/N was just excited for a new adventure, whatever that may come with. Her mama would be disappointed, but all reason aside, she just loved the guy.

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[hotchley]

Hey congrats on 500!!! Can I request 4 from fluff with Hotch x Hayley (romantically) please and thank you <3

Thank you! This was so much fun to do! It got a little dark for fluff, and there were a few references that I couldn't resist putting in, so I do apologise. It may read as bittersweet. Imagine canon never happens. Under 1.5k, unsure of the actual word count.

I wrote this in the car, I'm now on holiday, so the rest will probably have to wait and I probably won't be very active. I'll be back properly on Tuesday/Wednesday :)

If you're wondering where Haley's personality came from... it's me. Don't read into that please. (/hj)

4: "your hair is so soft!

Trigger Warnings: past child abuse, toxic mother in laws, toxic masculinity, discussions of sex (no actual sex), slight implications of pressure in regards to sex- generically, not between them

read on ao3!

Haley can't quite believe it.

She's married.

She's married to Aaron Hotchner. She's Haley Hotchner now. And she knows that names aren't everything, because she would still be herself regardless of her surname, and Aaron has proved that he loves her for what she is, not who she is, time and time again. But it's still a nice feeling.

To see her name written as Haley Hotchner. To whisper it to herself. She hopes that, in the highly unlikely- almost impossible- situation in which something goes horrifically wrong and they can't be together, that she will keep his name as a testament to the life they are going to build together.

As husband and wife. Because he's her husband now. And she's his wife.

It still hasn't sunk in. They did only get married a few hours ago, and they haven't even packed for the honeymoon yet, much to Jessica's horror, but they aren't leaving till the next weekend so they couldn't really pack. Not without running out of clothes. Although she's not sure how much she'd mind Aaron not being in clothes.

It'll probably hit when they move into their apartment. Theirs. It won't be their forever home. They can't afford that yet. Their apartment is going to be in Seattle, because that's where Aaron is going to be sent, and Haley likes the school so they don't need to consider other options (thank goodness.) Their forever home is going to be in Quantico. They already know the house.

It's the one they saw whenever they went back to their own homes during the holidays. The one filled with laughter and light and love. It's beautiful. And the couple that live there know them, because Aaron stopped to help them get their cat down from a tree. But that's all too far into the future. Because when they hopefully move there, it'll be with the thought of their own family. And for now, she just wants to enjoy being his.

Jessica thinks she's being silly, to pin this much on what is essentially a piece of paper that gives them tax benefits, but Haley, being the youngest, sees it differently. Her parents respect each other, but they don't love each other. Not in the way they're meant to. And Aaron's parents only ever served as an example of the depths of the human capacity for hatred.

Her and Aaron love each other. In a way that is kind and gentle and respectful. In a way that is peaceful. In a way that will carry on until they're both no longer here. They love each other in the way that both sends the world spinning and slows everything down. In a way that will break the cycles of their families.

They've had it easier than some, but harder than most. She only hopes it's not all for nothing.

The sound of the bathroom door opening pulls her from her thoughts. She had assumed that her and Aaron would go straight to her apartment after the reception- she doesn't have a roommate anymore- but his mother had surprised them with a room at the fancy hotel. She would never apologise for the way she had treated Haley when they first became serious, or the way she spoke to Aaron at times, but it was something. And for that, Haley was grateful.

"Well hello there, my handsome husband," she says, unable to fight the urge.

Aaron flushes, just as brightly as he had at seventeen, and she smiles. It's just as cute. "I- hi, wonderful wife."

He's showered and changed out of his suit, just like she'd changed out of her dress. She's glad he's simply wearing sweatpants and his law school hoodie, because after wearing a dress for several hours, she couldn't bear the thought of anything other than her cotton mismatched pajamas.

Aaron's staring at her with such love and adoration in his eyes that she almost can't handle it. It's a look he only gives her when they're alone, and she likes that. It's almost like their own secret language. She smiles and laughs a little when he looks down, almost like he too can't quite believe how far they've come.

"So are you going to keep hovering there like some sort of creepy serial killer, or are you going to come and join me?" She asks.

Aaron blinks, then perches on the edge of the bed. She huffs.

"Aaron, we shared a bed when we were seventeen. It's wasn't a mistake then, so it can hardly be wrong now we're married," she says.

"Right, yeah sorry, I just-" he stops talking, suddenly afraid he's said too much. He doesn't move.

Haley sits up and moves next to him. "Just what?"

"I don't want to have sex tonight," he blurts out. His cheeks immediately flush again.

"Oh thank god, I thought you were about to say you wanted to get an annulment." Haley's not joking.

"You're not mad?"

"Honey, why would I be mad?"

"Well, everyone at work always talks about how they had- you know- on the night of their wedding, and how it was so good, and I thought you might think I was a freak if I didn't want to."

She wraps her arms around him, realising a second too late she didn't ask. He relaxes into her touch, and she uses that as her unspoken cue to shift even closer.

"Well, everyone at work always talks about how the first time was not fantastic and often awkward, so clearly someone is lying. But in all seriousness, I would never think you're a freak for not wanting to. We have the rest of our lives to do that. And if you never want to, that's okay too. I love you."

He kisses her forehead. "Love you too. Mrs Hotchner."

"I just had a terrible thought. Your mother is Mrs Hotchner."

The look of horror on Aaron's face is almost comical. "Don't ever remind me of that again."

"I won't. Are you up for cuddling and whatever is on at this time, or did you just want to sleep?" She asks.

"Sure, maybe we'll find something half-decent."

The lie down as they always have, with his head on her shoulder and her legs thrown over his. It's a strange position, but it works for them. As they settle on an episode of something called Dharma and Greg- Haley makes a note of the title because she wants to tape it, but Aaron denies any suggestion that he looks like Greg- she starts to run her hands through his hair.

Almost immediately, she finds a knot. He has the decency to look down.

"I was going to do it."

"Mhm."

"Hay, I just really hate brushing my hair. It takes so long, and it's so inconvenient and-"

"Give me your brush."

Aaron knows better than to ask her how she knows he even has one with him, and silently brings it over. She pushes him to kneel in front of the bed, sitting behind him and gently combing through his hair, only applying more force when she comes across a particularly stubborn knot.

Nobody's ever treated him with such care before. Haley knows that nobody ever taught Aaron how to brush his hair in a way that would prevent knots, so she won't judge him. She'll just calmly guide him as best she can. That's all anyone can do.

He's falling asleep by the time she finishes.

"Your hair is so soft!" She exclaims, as she runs her hand through it again, this time not coming across a single knot.

"It's all thanks to you," Aaron says.

Haley ruffles it, and it falls onto his forehead. He pouts, but she grins because she loves when his hair falls onto his face like that. It makes him look younger. More like the man she loves than the fierce agent most people know or the excellent prosecutor a few people remember.

She kisses him, and he smiles against her like he always does. And then she pulls him into the bed, and they fall asleep in each other's arms, excited for the greatest adventure of their lives.

[mediocre--writing]

Hey! I just read a couple of your drabbles and I LOVE THEM!💙💙

So if you don't mind, could you please do a Harringrove drabble/ficlet based on either of the two (or a mix of both, if you can) Twenty One Pilots songs "Tear in My Heart" and/or "Smithereens"?

Because, for me, Tear in My Heart is very Billy and Smithereens is very Steve👉👈

Thank you!!💜

Ok so love this and you have an amazing mind, just so you know.

This is like a 2 in 1 fic post so :))))

So smithereens and steve work so well together, like

“I go step to a dude much bigger than me/ for you I know that I would get messed up, weigh 153/ For you I would get beat to smithereens”

Like this is just Steve's personality. He got into a fight every season and barely ever wins without intervention. And like i could see him just being so overcome with emotions that he just does what he knows, which is self destruct.

Like with his fight with Jonathan, he almost accepts that Nancy was too good for him and thinks that he might as well take other people with him.

Then with Tommy in the parking lot, it’s not really a fight, but it shows that he has a conscience and fixes his mistakes.

Then with his fight with Billy, he only tries to protect the kids, even if he’s losing miserably.

I could 100% see steve having snuck into billy’s room during the night once (before he really knew about neil), not to do anything nefarious, but just that he had a really bad nightmare, because there was a small power outage, and billy is really good at helping him sleep afterwards.

And let's just say that Billy's alarm clock (which is always set for 5:30am, half an hour before Neil wakes up just to give him peace of mind) doesn’t go off because of the power outage.

And Neil comes to wake up Billy for school because he hasn’t woken up yet, and sees Billy spooning Steve and both boys are snoring and pressing bare chest to bareback, and so deep asleep that Neil lets them sleep, letting them wake up on their own.

And they do. Billy wakes up around 8am, feeling insanely well rested. He smiles and squeezes Steve before turning to sit up from his bed to look at his alarm clock, that’s blinking on and off and reads 3:18am, but the sun’s up and… the house is quiet.

Billy feels the dread settle deep in his chest, and swears he could cry if he were .000000001% more worried.

He hears the creaking of work boots walking around the house and knows, just from the tension lingering in the air, that it’s just an angry Neil pacing in the kitchen/ dining room and waiting for Billy to wake up.

He doesn’t know whether to wake Steve up and tell him to escape out of the window and run or just let him lay there anyway, it’s obvious that Neil already saw.

He let’s Steve sleep and throws a shirt on and slowly walks out of the room into the pits of hell, seeing Neil turn to him with an angry face a brighter shade of red than a firetruck.

As slurs are screamed and Billy is thrown into the walls and has family tchotchkes launched at his face, Steve wakes up after a particularly painful shove makes the wall shake, pushing a single picture frame fall off the wall on the other side.

Steve shoots up after that loud bang and hears a wail and muffled yelling before something else hits the wall. He grabs his shirt and puts it on as he walks out the bedroom door, seeing glass shattered on the hardwood leading to the family room, but what he sees around the corner is so much worse.

Billy’s bleeding in about twenty different spots, body curled in a ball in the corner of the kitchen, Neil standing over him, but turning to Steve with a grin.

Steve feels his blood boil as dots connect and loose ends are tied up, making the connection between Billy's bad nights and the new bruises he’ll sport under his shirt. The way he tries to hide it when he flinches at loud, authoritative men who are bigger than him. Why he told Steve to never call his house and why he is the way he is.

So Steve doesn’t think for another second before launching himself at Neil, slamming him into the floor, but that’s about as much as he wins that fight, because Neil is slamming him back and beating him the same way he did his son.

And billy, let’s admit it, is probably much stronger and a better fighter than his dad, but it’s so hard to fight back against an abuser that has controlled your life for so long. Even when you know you could win and that they deserve it, neil hargrove is still his dad and he could never get it into his head to hit him back.

But Steve was trying too hard to take him down because he was doing the wrong thing and losing terribly, never having won a fight once in his damn life.

Billy’s sitting up against the wall, ribs in excruciating pain and vision blurry, but he sees Steve getting up and kicking Neil once before backing up, and Billy sees his camaro keys in the dish by the front door.

So he stands up as fast as he can, ignoring the dizziness as if that would make it go away, grabs steve’s arm and shoots to the door, grabbing the camaro keys and shooting outside

He takes the driver’s seat, despite his dizzying head, just knew that he’d have to drive for a few miles then they could reevaluate, and Steve was clumsily getting into the passenger side.

Billy had only just started the car when Neil came rushing out the door, screaming threats and slurs as if that would make them stop their escape.

The camaro backed out of the driveway and shot down cherry lane in record time, going to the center of town, the least likely place Neil would cause a scene.

It isn’t until Billy puts the car in park that he can bear to look at steve.

He’s got a bloody nose and his shirt sleeve is torn off, hair disheveled from both sleep and the fight.

But billy looks so much worse.

He’s still hunched to the left from his ribs, he’s got tons of cuts along his arms, legs, and face from, what steve suspects, the broken glass on the floor. He’s also got this wild-animal-look in his eyes. One that screams, I escaped alive, but at what cost?

“Bill-”

“Why’d you do that?”

“Why-- I’m sorry are you asking me why I attacked your dad when he was kicking you while you were, literally, on the floor?”

“Ye--no, I-- but you got hurt, why’d you do that?”

“Billy, what did you expect me to do?” a shrug is all he gets in response--”If you saw my dad doing that to me, can you honestly expect yourself to stand there and watch it happen, or walk away and let it happen?”

Billy turns to face the grocery store--Melvad’s-- that they were parked in front of.

“It’s all weaving together in my head. All the bruises, the jumpiness, how you like to control things, it all makes sense, but what doesn’t make sense is why you wouldn’t just tell me, Bill,”

“And what exactly would you have been able to do about it, huh? You gonna take care of the situation or some shit, Steve? Trust me, I’m used to it and--”

“But you shouldn’t have to be ‘used to it,’ Bill, that’s abuse, and you don’t deserve that shit, not ever,”

Their conversation is halted by a tap on the glass by Steve's window, and the boys turn to see Joyce Byers looking more motherly than ever.

Steve rolled the window down.

“The hell happened to you boys?” she asked but corrected herself with a shake of her head, “Doesn’t matter, just come in to clean up, we’ve got bandages and antiseptic, free of charge,”

Billy wiped away the tears he didn’t know had formed and nodded to her, “We’ll be out in a minute, Mrs. Byers.”

“Joyce, please,” she demanded softly.

“Joyce, of course,” Billy offered a subdued smile.

She walked off and Steve rolled the window back up.

“Thank you,” Billy spoke quietly after a moment. “I’m glad he didn’t hurt you worse,”

“Billy, for you I would get beat to smithereens,”

“Well of course you would, you weigh like 100 pounds, not like you could put up much of a fight,”

“Hey! I gave him a black eye, thank you very much!”

“Oh, well, my bad, baby, then maybe you weigh 150, huh?”

Steve grumbled from the passenger seat, “153,”

Billy chuckled and grabbed Steve's hand over the console, locking eyes and smiling at each other, enjoying their small moment.

“We should probably get in there before Joyce comes out herself?” Steve sighed as he moved to take his hand out of Billy's.

“One more minute, please,”

Steve just tightened his grip on Billy's hand and moved towards the center of the car to rest his head on Billy's shoulder, Billy's head falling onto his.

-

Billy and Tear In My Heart thooooooooo

Like it fits him so well, again this is amazing.

I also see billy as a resident hater of america and it’s fucking government becuase, well, they have a history between his myriad of speeding tickets and, oh what was it, oh yes, the tentacle monster that impaled and possessed him.

And in California, there’s no cold weather where he lives, so there’s not exactly potholes to avoid.

The first time he drives into the cooler states and has to avoid potholes, he decides that his car deserves a vacation after this.

But the potholes become the biggest issue after he and Steve start dating.

He’s absolutely enamoured by this boy, because who wouldn’t be. He respects Billy's limits and can hold his own in arguments, and they fit together like missing pieces of a puzzle.

Steve has changed Billy, not that he’d admit it, but he’s softer now and all of his sharp edges have been baby-proofed. They’re still there and dangerous, but they’re more difficult to be stabbed by.

All the cracks in his heart have been filled with gold, like Kintsugi (a Japanese technique of repairing broken pottery with gold).

And Billy can complain and complain about Steve's clinginess, about his intrusion into his life, and his persistence to stay, but deep inside Billy's never felt more loved or cared for in his life.

But these damn potholes might just make him lose it.

Because billy is anything but a bad driver, he can control the car even when it’s going 45 over the speed limit, but now that steve falls asleep after their movie dates or when they’re coming back from barbeques with the party, Joyce, and Hopper, he’s driving the speed limit.

Which is just appalling.

But some of these potholes are so deep you could dive into them and not hit the bottom.

Like what the fuck, Indiana?

And, one time, Max is with them after a barbeque when Steve falls asleep and Billy slows the car down to what feels like snail speed, but is just the speed limit.

“Why are we going so slow?” Max asked as she leaned forward from the backseat to whisper to billy.

“Steve’s sleepin’,” he said, as if it was the obvious reason.

“You’re whipped,”

“Shut up, Shitbird,”

Max leans back into her seat with a grin on her face at the absolute mush her big, tough brother has turned into for Steve Harrington.

[2lim3rz]

Reunion After Death [40K FIC]

SO, I’VE BEEN LISTENING TO TO THE STARS HAHA, ANGST TIME! ANGST TIME DING DING DING, Y’ALL’VE HAD HAPPY SAD FLUFF TOO LONG!

Why am I so cheery about that? No clue, anyways have some Lorgar being dead, does this work in legit canon? NO! Turn the brain off and cry!

----

He awoke and there was.. an endless field. An endless field with the greenest grass he ever saw, with the most gentle of hills. Distantly, he saw a pond, maybe mountains. Taking a deep breath, the air was sweet and invigorating.

“Lorgar?” a voice roused him and he turned, his heart stopped.

“..Ferrus..? But- You’re-”

The man smiled, truly smiled until his eyes squinted. There was no lines of stress, only a healthy gleam of youth. His arms were no longer encased in metal. The sight was so foreign, so.. unsettling in a way.

“Dead? Yes, so are you, brother.” Lorgar stepped back at those words, took in well and truly how Ferrus Manus was dressed in traditional Medusian clothing. There was not one scratch or scar on his body.

Raising his own arms, Lorgar looked at them. He no longer had the skin he had as a Daemon Prince, neither did he even have the tattoos. It was… it was so liberating! So liberating to see the traditional Colchisian clothing on him. Yet where were they?”

“The others will want to see you, I’m sure, but someone else wanted to see you first.” Ferrus said and it shook Lorgar from his reverie.

“Me? Who?”

Ferrus shrugged with a smaller smile. Why was he so joyful to see him? Didn’t he know the part he played in his doom? Suddenly Lorgar felt a wave of what felt like anger before he realized what it truly was: Overwhelming shame.

“Someone who called himself your first father. He’s over there, at the pond.” the man raised his arm, pointing to the pond he saw earlier “We’ll be waiting at the tree on the hill. Take your time.”

Stunned, Lorgar watched as he walked away, whistling something. While he wanted to confront his brother on what he meant, he wanted to know whoever it was to claim to be his father. His father was the Emperor of Mankind before he forsook him.. was this some sick play of revenge? Giving him this taste of heaven and forgiveness before casting him out to a new hell?

How did he die? A heaven meant death. He already ‘died’ in a sense in his ascension, casting out his mortal flesh and blood to become a Daemon Prince. All he remembered was being in a fight.. a fight… that no details arose. He could not remember as he suddenly found himself looking at a man sitting by the water’s edge. He was so familiar.. why was he so familiar? Somehow it was not the Emperor, neither was it Kor Phaeron. The man was too thin, too wiry.

Turning around and standing, Lorgar fell to his knees.

It was Fan Morgal. While he could not recall the specifics over eons of memory, he could remember the blissful feelings. True familial love and not, what he now suddenly knew, was manipulative abuse.

“A shame we’re meeting this way, isn’t it, my boy?” his voice wasn’t the rasp it used to be, his resurrecting memory told him that. Just like him, he was dressed in robes, but it was odd. All Lorgar knew was the traveler's garb he wore.

He couldn’t speak as Fan approached him and hesitated.

“You’re..” Lorgar’s voice cracked. There was no helping it as it seemed the other found his resolve and hugged Lorgar tightly. With shaking arms, Lorgar returned the hug. Tears fled his eyes as he began to sob.

“I’m so sorry, Fan, I’m so sorry!” he felt as though he were a young boy in the arms of his first foster’s arms, it was almost liberating to felt himself blubbering his words “I- I didn’t know Kor Phaeron was going to.. I’m suh-such a disappointment and..”

Lorgar felt himself rocking slightly as Fan slowly rubbed his back.

“Hush, hush Lorgar. I’m not angry and I’m not disappointed. You just didn’t know, my boy. You just didn’t know..”

“But I could have changed! I could- I could have done something but.. but Tzeen.. and the others.. and then there was..”

“Hush Lorgar.” Fan’s voice turned more stern as he lightly pushed against Lorgar’s shoulders. The primarch let go as if the touch was fire, he still shook and clenched his fists. “I told you, I don’t hold any ill will against you. No! Give me a moment to speak now, you wily ulchao!”

Lorgar had began to protest against Fan Morgal. To try and ask why and of the things he had done. Yet he stayed quiet, both eager to have answers and still in shock of what was going on.

“It was only seventeen days I’ve had with you Lorgar. I.. admit I wasn’t the best of men, but I knew I’d make myself better the moment we had found you in that desert and it rained. That bastard Kor Phaeron may have lead you astray, but look at you now.”

Fan smiled, and though his bearded face was as though he was in his prime, Lorgar sensed the weathered age that loomed within “My boy’s all grown up! He became a leader for his people, shitty goals or not! You liberated slaves. And though you made those who followed you slaves of a different name, you stuck true to your goals and never wavered.That is something I respect, son. Besides, you’re going to find that.. in this place? The past doesn’t matter. Mistakes don’t matter.”

It hurt to cry so much, it did. It well and truly did as Lorgar looked to the ground and doubled over as though bowing. His first father was proud of him. Words that he never knew he needed to hear in all his life were spoken.

This time, Lorgar stood and lifted the man into a hug. Fan laughed heartily and Lorgar found him hiccuping along until his back was being playfully slapped. In return, the primarch placed the man back down.

“Now put me down, kid. You got brothers to see and I have kids to help.”

“You’re.. you’re not coming with me, Fan? I’m sure you’d enjoy meeting Ferrus- and.. brothers..? You sure they want to see me?” Sighing, Fan shook his head and patted Lorgar on his arm as if to encourage him.

“I think I’ve met him, he’s pleasant enough. I’m just as sure that he already told you that you’re meeting the other big boys, right?” Lorgar nodded slowly “Good. It’s not like I’m leaving you for.. oh.. a few hundred or however many years I’ve been gone, no. We’ll meet up right again soon enough and you can tell me all of your adventures, or we can tell stories just like old times.”

“..Just like old times..” he echoed back, taking a deep breath soon after and standing “Yes, yes I will. Thank you, Fan.” the man chuckled and waved Lorgar away when he began to search for a hill with a tree, and soon found it.

Just as he was halfway there, a massive winged shadow flashed overhead. It was much larger than the small songbirds he had glimpsed, and had the body of a human.

Sanguinius!

Lorgar looked overhead at the winged figure as he did a rolling flip in the air. Throwing his fist in the air and bolting out a cheer, Lorgar began to run for the tree and saw seven other figures standing beneath its shade.

He slowed his pace, his smile fading as dread took its place. There they all were! Konrad, with a healthy shine to his skin, no longer snarling. Then there was Magnus, red as can be! Perturabo, similarly to Lorgar in being bald, no longer did he have those head cables. Fulgrim, his fair and handsome appearance restored to its full humanity. With Horus, a companionable and happy grin on his face as he and Sanguinius embraced with laughter.

Two others, Lorgar did not recognize at first before it dawned on him that it was Mortarion without his respirator.. and Angron without his butcher’s nails.

He felt like the traitor he was to approach his smiling brothers. Well, not all of them smiled, but they certainly were all at peace. Nonetheless, he felt awkward and was the first to speak. Or would have if Angron didn’t stop him.

“Don’t you say it! Wise of the wise, pah! You ask the most obvious questions!”

‘Wha..what? What!” Lorgar was caught off-guard, blinking owlishly and stepping back with a yelp as Angron tackled him into a ferocious hug.

“Shut up! Shut up and just enjoy the moment you big word bastard!” Lorgar laughed at the new absurdity of the situation and at Angron’s words.

“Hey, thought I was that!” Horus barked over the new chorus of shouts and laughs. Angron soon let go and good-naturally slapped him on the back towards the gathering. A long moment of silence passed, they clearly awaited him to say something.

“You.. you all.. forgive me..? You forgive,” Lorgar paused, looking to the majority that had betrayed both the Imperium and their family “us?”

Sanguinius moved towards him as Fulgrim whispered something to Ferrus and the normally stoic figure cracked a snicker. Standing imperiously with his wings slightly flared, Sanguinius grasped Lorgar’s forearms and smiled.

“Of course we do, Lorgar. Why else are we all gathered here, laughing and carrying on? Sure, it was hard for some of us at first but.. you know..”

He turned and sent a look to Konrad who, despite his healthy appearance, gave an animalistic teeth-bearing grin with clattering laughter.

“We make it work!” the Angel finished, letting his arms go.

“Of course, you make it sound as if it was so easy, Sanguinius! Ferrus tried to chop my head of!” Fulgrim guffawed, just as Ferrus forced his brother into a headlock and harshly rubbed his knuckles on his head. The two shouted and yelped, playfully tousling with each other.

“We’ve forgiven and, in some ways, forgotten.” Mortarion shrugged from his post of leaning against the tree. Hearing his voice of what it was truly meant to be was off-putting.

“Don’t worry, we all looked at him like that when he first spoke.” Perturabo snorted.

“So.. we’re all dead then? All of us? How? I mean..”

It was Magnus who shrugged, responding with how they all couldn’t remember the circumstances of their deaths except for Sanguinius and Ferrus who only knew they were murdered by the other brothers when they saw them. The others, whose and if their deaths were known by the others, were told of how it happened. Which truthfully meant only Horus knew how he was killed.

“And that’s why you wake up.” it was Horus who spoke after.

“Wake up? But I’m dead?” When would this confusion end?

“Dead?”

“Mhm. You thought this could exist? Traitors never get what they want.”

Lorgar opened his eyes. He raised his hands, which trembled when they were revealed to be the same hands he had since his ascension. There was no heaven to be had. His brothers would never forgive him, not even the ones that were on his side.

[schnitzelbutterfingers]

the forgotten one- chapter 1

A/N: hiya there! chapter 1 is here!! i finally had some time to write chapter 1. it’s... angsty, as many of you all have guessed. we’ll see how abby is holding on and ethan’s reaction to what happened. a couple of things:

in this chapter, dr. sebastian ‘seb’ chacko (abby’s brother) and their mother jazmin chacko will make their debut! sebastian skipped two grades and is now the most famous and wealthiest neurosurgeon in the country. seb is 30 years old and is experienced in neurosurgery for 6 years. he is the only best friend of ethan ramsey.

seb and abby are both half-indians and half-mexicans. their mother is mexican and their father is indian. even though their father Abraham is spiteful and malicious , they still like being an indian and jazmin took the time to learn hindi (the official language of india) and malayalam (a south indian language and the one i speak). i am NOT a mexican, but i am an indian. there will be terms a couple of indian terms, so at the bottom, i will add a glossary of words, which will be bolded and will have asterisks (*).

and remember, abby is a 22 year-old second year resident and ethan ramsey is 30 years old with 9 years of experience in medicine.

forgive me if there are any spelling or grammar mistakes. lmk what you think! enjoy!

pairing(s): dr. ethan ramsey x mc (dr. abby chacko)

warning(s): angst angst angst I’M SORRY

word count: 2535

catch up here: prologue

_______________________________________________________________

Ethan’s POV

Dr. Abigail Chacko. Abigail Chacko. Abby Chacko. Abby. Rookie.

She is all Ethan could think about while he is driving. 

It’s Friday night. Cars are honking. People are laughing. Lights are flickering. The world is spinning. Yet every fiber of his being is thinking about the one woman that managed to flip his world upside-down. The one woman who broke down all his walls. The one woman who challenges him every day and every night. The woman who he can say is his girlfriend... kind of.

Abby came into his life like a wrecking ball, pushing past every limit even he didn’t know.  When he went to the Amazon for two months, every part of him wanted to call her, ask her how she is doing, whether she received any PITAs, wanting to let her know that he still cared about her. 

Seb was mad, mad, when he found out what Ethan did to her little sister. The Chacko let him know what Abby was feeling then: emotional, depressed, crying, not even smiling. He even said that the little sister he knew and loved changed so much, he couldn’t even recognize her anymore. Hearing that made Ethan’s heart break more and more. He was the reason she was feeling emotional. He was the reason she was depressed. He was the reason she was crying day and night. He was the reason she wasn’t smiling.

But Seb was understanding. He knew about his trust issues. He knew about his family life. He knew about his childhood. And he knew that Ethan thought going to the Amazon, staying 3228 miles away from her, not calling her, was for her own benefit. Seb told him that he forgave him, because he knows that Ethan cares.

Even after coming back to the Amazon, he still had feelings for her. She occupied his mind every second of the day. What was thought to be effortless and trouble-free was challenging and strenuous. After a while, he surrendered and let himself accept her. From the dinner with the governor and the trip to the art gallery to the kiss outside of his apartment and the Mass Kenmore heist, he quit bearing his bottled up feelings for her. 

The Senator assassination attempt was the last straw. Seeing Abby, his Abby, so frail and feeble, her skin so pale, still delivered him those haunting memories from nightmares he would see. Every time he sees Abby, even after that incident, he never wanted to let her go, afraid that something terribly wrong would happen to her. 

He then realized he was the idiotic one, pushing he away a lot. He told her about his feelings for her, and Abby was more than enthusiastic to let him in. They did it in the car and in the ski resort, and he was never more joyful and ecstatic than before. Their relationship is getting more determined than ever.  

He desperately wanted to give her a ride, but couldn’t because her shift hadn’t ended yet. And something still bothers him that it was a terrible idea, but he decided to let those thoughts pass, afraid of being negative.

But love? Do I love Abigail? Ethan thinks to himself. The truth is... he doesn’t know. He never knew love was possible until he met her, the whirlwind. It may take him a little more time to answer that question.

Instantly, he hears his phone ringing, disturbing him from his musing. It’s Naveen, his mentor and old friend.

The attending answers the call. “Hello? Naveen? Is everything alright?”

In return, he hears an audible sigh. “No, son, nothing is alright. And it might stay that way for a while.”

Ethan starts becoming worrisome. Did anything happen to Naveen. Did he get an update on the hospital? Is this the end of Edenbrook? “Naveen? Are you talking about the hospital?” Ethan asks carefully. 

“Where are you now?”

“I’m driving home. Why?”

“... You might want to park the car somewhere if I need to tell you this.”

“...Why?

“Just listen to your mentor, son. Park your car.”

Ethan does as he is advised, wondering where this is going. “Naveen, you’re killing me. What is happening?”

Naveen paused for a long time. “When I tell you this, promise me you will not overrea-”

“Just spit it out, old man.”

Naveen sighs again, this time penetrated with grief and concern. “...It’s.. it’s Abby. She was stabbed-”

And that’s when Ethan cut the call, his mind racing, his heart thumping, driving recklessly back to the hospital.

________________________________________________________________

Seb’s POV

Chicago. Chi-town. Attractive city. The buildings. The lights. The horizon.

Him and Ethan were lucky to get huge penthouses overlooking their respective cities’ horizon. While Ethan doesn’t genuinely appreciate the view of Boston from his penthouse, the view of Chicago nonetheless manages to take his breath away.

Today was an exceptional day for Seb. He performed a successful decompressive craniectomy to a carpenter who was in a massive car crash. Seeing their family happy after he told them about the successful surgery made his heart leap.  A craniectomy cost a lot, so he made sure the carpenter’s family didn’t pay at all. 

That is Seb’s goal. To help everyone, even those who can’t afford treatment. That is Ethan’s goal. That is Abby’s goal. That is their goal. He’s fortunate to have Ethan as his best friend and Abby as his sister. He treasures them both.

Seb and Abby had a mierable childhood, living in Aurora, Illinois, but a different one from Ethan. The siblings both got abused by their father every single day, Abby being assaulted the most. The whips from the belt. The slaps from his hands. Being tied up and getting tortured. They still brought nightmares to Seb.  Abraham is a very wealthy and elite lawyer, “fighting for justice.” But whenever poor people trying to get justice and freedom come to his door, he knocks them out, only letting rich people enter. The comic part is that Seb, Abby, and Jazmin didn’t receive a single penny.

Jazmin would get injured a lot while trying to save them, but failed when his people seized her away, locking her up. Every morning Seb wakes Abby up for school, he would see bruises, scars, dried-up blood, and seeing them made Seb’s eye burn with tears. Since then, he promised himself he would free him, Abby, and thier mother, from that prison. Together they moved to Chicago, Illinois, but still receive threats from Abraham and his gang, saying they will come find them. 

Two weeks before was a nightmare for both Ethan and Seb. Their sister, Abby, was stuck in the Senator’s room, with gas they didn’t even know of. Seb and their mother, Jazmin, hastily packed their bags and booked their next flight to Boston, with Jazmin crying all the way, wondering if they’ll ever see their daughter again. Edenbrook and Mass Kenmore together found a cure, and he always wondered if, after that, Ethan Ramsey and Tobias Carrick ever reestablished their friendship. 

Abby told them they didn’t need to be here and that she will be fine, but they still stayed there a week. Eventually, she kicked them both out, but not without a lovely smile, saying she will see them later when she’ll come to Chicago. 

Seb was filled with joy and literally screamed at the phone when he found out that Ethan and Abby are in a relationship. He was kind of melancholy that they kept it secret, but was still filled with content that Ethan finally, finally, gave up the fight. When Jazmin found out, she made gulab jamun* with him to celebrate. They were both cheerful  Abby had finally found someone. Ultimately, Jazmin told Seb that he needs to find a woman, too, which he knew was going to happen.

Seb is staring out the window, thinking about how they all got into the positions they are now. The lights are flickering in his eyes, but he pays no attention to them, but to the sun setting on the horizon, like the glow of a burning fire. He is paying attention to the deep orange and the small tinge of purple streaked across the sky when he hears a sudden crash in the kitchen. When he looks behind, he sees a woman with wrinkles, flour all over her clothes.

Oh, Mother, Seb thinks with a grin. He tried not to laugh, but lost with a small chuckle. 

“Oh, stop making fun of your Amma*! Has Abby called you yet? She usually calls early.” Jazmin replies, worried all of a sudden.

Seb sighs, shaking his head. “No not yet. Probably stuck on some kinda case. What are you trying to make today?”

“Classic Tres Leches Cake* My family special! Wanna help me?” Her eyes light up.

“Sure. You have the three milks, right?”

“Yep! Follow me!” And with that, she prods off to the kitchen.

Seb laughs again, following her, until he hears his phone ringing. He walks over to the couch where the phone is and checks the caller ID. It’s Ethan Ramsey.

“Amma, hold on for one sec. It’s Ethan. Probably because I forgot calling him today.”

“Sure, Mone*! Take your time!”

Seb picks up the call. “Hey, Ethan! Sorry I didn’t get to call you. I performed a successful-”

“Seb.”

He hears the voice of a woman. A sound that he can recognize really well. “Harper? What are you doing with Ethan’s phone?”

Harper’s voice is tense. "He didn’t want to call you. He didn’t know how to call you.”

What? What is she saying? Did I do something wrong? “Harper, what are you talking about?”

Harper heaves a sigh. “It’s Abby. She got stabbed by one of the patients here at Edenbrook.”

Time stands still as he processes her words. Suddenly the sunset, the view from his penthouse, didn’t matter anymore. My sister. Stabbed. By some jerk. She barely survived maitotoxin and now this. Tears burn in his eyes, but he forced to blink them away. Was that why she hadn’t called today?

“...How is she now?”

“She’s now in an emergency surgery. The stab wound affected her liver, and they’re trying to fix-” At that point Seb heard too much. He cuts the call.

When he turned around, he saw Jazmin with anxious eyes. “Is everything alright?”

Seb looks at his mother in the eye, tears obscuring his vision. “Amma...”

He spills everything out.

_______________________________________________________________

Ethan’s POV

Blood rushing. Heart hammering. Eyes reddening. Fear surrounding. 

The two emotions he can feel. Fear. Anger.

He wants, no, needs, to know who the hell stabbed his Rookie.

*Hours ago*

He walks into the hospital, each step with a thunderous clap, but at any moment, his legs could give away. Every one is looking at him with concern. He breezed through the hallways, eventually finding Naveen sitting on one of the waiting chairs. Naveen sights him and abruptly gets up.

“Ethan! I was trying to call you aga-”

“How is she?”

“Dr. Chacko was stabbed in the side, which affected her liver. They are performing an emergency surgery on her right now. Dr. Tanaka said to me that she will pull through.”

Ethan let go his sigh of relief, suddenly realizing that he was holding it for too long. He slumped down onto one of the waiting chairs, Naveen sitting next to him. “Are you alright, son?”

“Who hurt her? Who hurt Abby?”

Naveen exhales. “That’s what we don’t know. They said it’s a woman with grey hair, but she escaped from the hospital after stabbing Abigail. The security guards are checking the CCTV to figure out who it might be. And as for why, we don’t know. According to the patients in the ER, all Dr. Chacko did was ask the perpetrator why she was crying and the woman stabbed her. But don’t worry, my boy, they’ll figure it out.”

Rage fills through his blood as he hears Naveen’s words. She got stabbed. All because she was trying to assist a patient? If that ‘patient’ ever comes into his sight, he will break him or her. Break them. That’s all he wants to do. 

But he knows he can’t. He merely wants Abby to be alright. The surgery. 

At that moment, Harper enters the waiting room.

“Ethan? I just wanted to ask you if you wanted to call her brother and mother.”

Goodness. He forgot about that. His one and only best friend. How is he supposed to tell him that? Most of all, her mother. She was sobbing so hard when she found out that Abby was exposed to a deadly toxin. If he tells them that Abby was stabbed, how are they supposed to handle the news?

“Harper? Can you do me a favor and call them for me?” Ethan decides. “I don’t think I have the strength in me to call them.”

“Sure, Ethan. Whatever you need.” Harper says sympathetically.

Ethan hands her his phone and tells her his passcode. All the while Ethan wants to break down and mourn. He wants to punch the wall repeatedly until his knuckles bleed.

“Ethan?” he is knocked to the present by Naveen. Ethan abruptly stands up.

“Naveen, any word on Abby?” he asks worriedly.

Naveen flashes him a brilliant beam. “The surgery was successful. She’s sleeping now.” He pauses for a moment. “Also, Seb and his mother will be arriving in a few hours.”

“That’s great.” Suddenly, he remembers. “... Did you get any word on the perpetrator?”

The chief’s smile falls into a frown. “Ah, I was... hoping you wouldn’t ask that.”

Ethan eyes his mentor and friend suspiciously.”...Why?”

Naveen takes a deep breath. “Are you sure you want to hear this, Ethan? Because I don’t think you’ll be ready.”

“Just tell me who it is already, damn it!” Ethan glares.

“...It’s your mother, Ethan. Louise Ramsey. She was the perpetrator.”

The attending’s heart stops. Time stands still. All the motions pause as Ethan consumes this news in. His bowels turn to ice water. Fear overtakes him. Rage fills his blood. Emotions are piling up.

My mother? My mother?

“Naveen? Please just tell me that you didn’t say what I think you said.”

“I’m sorry, son.”

At this point, Ethan has heard enough and starts punching the wall, blood spilling from his knuckles, the wall breaking. It’s my fault. My god, it’s all my fault! I started believing in this woman again, only to be hurt again. This time, almost taking the woman I lo- 

“Ethan, STOP!!” Naveen’s voice cuts his thoughts off.

“I don’t care anymore. I’m gonna break that woman when I see her again.” Ethan’s growl is more than scary. It is haunting.

As Naveen tends to Ethan’s wounds, he can’t help but wonder:

How is he ever going to encounter Abby again?

________________________________________________________________

MYSTERY MAN’s POV

What Ethan doesn’t know is that a man is standing at the corner of the hallway, with a petrifying smile.

Yeah right, Ethan. Go ahead. Try to break Louise Ramsey. I dare you.

The thing is: you can’t. It’s alright to try. But you won’t succeed. Like she told Abby...

The game has just begun.

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

A/N (2): any guesses on who the mystery man is??

GLOSSARY

gulab jamun: an indian sweet which is sugary and sweet AND IS SO GOOD INDIANS CAN YOU RELATE

amma: an indian word which means ‘mother’ (i’ve only heard south indians (like me) using this word, but maybe north indians use this word??

classic tres leches cake: (had to do some research) a mexican cake made with three types of milk: evaporated milk, condensed milk, and heavy cream.

mone: means ‘son’ in south india.

tags: @missmiimiie​ @aylamwrites​ @starrystarrytrouble​ @udishaman​ @caseyvalentineramsey​ @queencarb​ @choicesstan1​ @newcolonies​ @arcticrivers​ @angela8756​ @takemyopenheart​ @rookie-ramsey​ @ohchoices @ohvamsey​ @ohramsey​ @natureblooms24​ @drariellevalentine​ @openheartfanfics

[cheshiresense]

Hadrian/Orion (I just can't let go of them, I love them so much) with an added Soulmate AU to everything else, please ?

Lmao Hadrian/Orion, what a surprise~ Let’s go with a classic ‘the one where you have your soulmate’s name written on your body’ AU.

1. In all 22 years of his first life, Hadrian never finds his soulmate. Plenty of people try of course (tattoos are a thing even in the magical world and people can be seriously weird), and even more of them want, to be the Boy-Who-Lived’s destined soulmate, but none of them were born with Hadrian’s name on their wrist, and Hadrian promised himself a long time ago when he was still a little boy in a cupboard under the stairs with no family and no real home, when he’d seen the name appear at seven years old and then learned that the person whose name was on his wrist belonged to him and no one else, he’d sworn he would never love another, not the way one should love a soulmate. It didn’t matter when Aunt Petunia muttered about freakish names, didn’t matter when Uncle Vernon told him his soulmate would be better off without him - Orion Black was Hadrian’s soulmate, and nobody in the world could ever take this one thing away from him.

It’s considered even worse manners to ask to see someone’s soulmate than it is to ask to see Hadrian’s scar, so nobody asks, not even Ron. There are shops that sell wristbands in all colours and designs, and in the magical world, those designs even move. Hadrian gets a solid black band with the constellation Orion stitched into it, and for years and years to come, when he was scared or hurt or alone, even just seeing the tiny silver stars winking back at him in the dark of night would make him feel safer.

The first time he shows someone the name on his wrist is… well, he doesn’t actually show anyone. But Sirius hugs him, tight and fierce, at the top of a Hogwarts tower after he and Hermione rescue him from Dementors, and when he pulls back, for a moment, his gaze catches on the band around Hadrian’s wrist. His face goes a little funny, recognition coiled with bafflement, but there’s no time for anything else, and sooner rather than later, Sirius is gone with Buckbeak.

(Sirius lives another two years before he dies. Hadrian is fifteen and angry at a world that would rather be led like sheep to a slaughter than face their fears, and his godfather pulls him aside and shows him the Black family tapestry and the only Orion Black on it.

“I recognized the constellation so I thought I’d check, just in case,” Sirius explains, and in this first life, he is the first and only person Hadrian bares his wrist to. The script is still there, solid blue and visible, so they’re definitely still alive, but there are no other Orions on the tapestry aside from Sirius’ dad. Sirius grins anyway, optimistic and encouraging in a way that momentarily wipes Azkaban from his face. “Who knows, maybe there’s a bastard out there who escaped my family’s attention. Or maybe it’s a muggleborn. I hear Black isn’t that uncommon a name in the muggle world.”)

The war begins again when Hadrian is fourteen. It ends when he’s twenty-one. The name on his wrist never fades, and he spends every day hoping his soulmate lives, that they don’t attend Hogwarts, that they’re not even on the Merlin-damned continent.

And then Fate comes calling, and Hadrian thinks maybe his soulmate had been much farther away from him than even he ever guessed.

2. Orion is born with Harry Potter on his wrist. He’d been dumped at a muggle orphanage shortly after his birth, and then that orphanage had been ravaged by a werewolf pack when he was two. Maybe that’s why nobody ever wondered exactly when his name came in. Nobody who might’ve known stuck around long enough to tell the orphanage, and with green script the colour of Harry’s eyes, everyone just made the most logical assumption after Sirius and Remus adopted him. But the truth of it is this - he was born five months earlier than Harry, with a name already etched into his wrist. Harry Potter - this Harry Potter - could not possibly be his soulmate.

But nobody knows that. Instead, their families see the name on Orion’s wrist, and then they see a completely different name on Harry’s wrist, and Orion becomes one of the very few destined for an incomplete soul. It’s just a figure of speech of course, his soul is as whole as anybody’s, but it sets him apart from the very beginning, garners pity as much as being a werewolf garners contempt, and his only saving grace is the fact that not even Harry would stoop to blabbing about Orion’s soul-name in public, even if it does make for very easy ammunition against him. Besides, it’s easy enough to sneer “no one will ever want to be your soulmate” and pretend it’s only because Orion is a werewolf.

So Orion spends the next ten years and change following Harry around like a dog begging for any small scrap of affection. It had been fine at first, for a few years, before Harry found out about the werewolf secret and changed. Even though he didn’t have Orion’s name, Harry had told him it was fine, they were still family no matter what. It was fine, until it wasn’t, and by the age of fourteen, Orion had almost convinced himself that he didn’t care. Didn’t care that his soulmate hated him. Didn’t care that Harry had turned most of their school against him. Didn’t care that most of the world would rather his kind didn’t exist.

But then Hadrian Evans had swept into his life like a natural disaster, changing everything he touched without even trying, pulling everyone into his orbit whether they liked it or not, and refusing to live in a world where Orion was treated as lesser, so he demanded the world change for Orion instead.

And for the first time in his life, Orion looks at his own wrist and wishes it was someone else’s name, because however much Harry had hurt him, broken him, left him feeling something very close to hatred, he’d never quite managed to stop wanting Harry to accept him, to like him, to finally see Orion’s loyalty and bring him back into the fold, not until he’d met Hadrian and realized that yes, he did deserve better.

3. The first time Hadrian lays eyes on Orion and Neville tells him his name, he knows, absolutely knows, straight down to his bones - yes, this is the one, this is my soulmate, this person was who I was waiting for.

He doesn’t march right up and reveal all, obviously. For one, it takes weeks to get past Orion’s icy exterior, with good reason. For another, the whole dimension travel thing is hardly something Hadrian can just go around telling people about. And for a third… well. Orion has given no indication that Hadrian Evans is what’s written on his wrist. He could be hiding it, like Hadrian, but Hadrian likes to think he would’ve noticed. Orion’s not actually that hard to read once you get past his walls. On the other hand, if he has Harry Potter written on his wrist, that’s a bit of a problem too. Which Harry Potter does it mean? Is that why Orion was so loyal to Harry even though the other boy had done nothing to deserve it?

But Fate gave Hadrian Orion Black, printed out in vivid blue the colour of Orion’s eyes, and surely Hadrian wouldn’t have been plucked out of his own world and dropped into this specific universe if the only Orion he’s ever met isn’t his soulmate.

Fate of course is no help at all.

In the end, he decides it doesn’t matter. Orion is fourteen - Hadrian isn’t putting a finger on him until he’s legal, and even then, it has to be Orion’s choice. Just because the universe has matched two people together doesn’t mean it always works out, and Hadrian isn’t going to be one of those arseholes who tries to force their soulmate into a relationship just because of what’s written on their skin. And soulbonds aren’t always romantic. There are plenty of platonic ones in the world as well.

Besides, he knows Orion feels a measure of gratitude to him for befriending him in the first place, which is just wrong, but the point is, Hadrian doesn’t want him latching onto the soulbond out of any kind of obligation. He wants Orion to like him - and possibly even fall in love with him one day - for him. Just because it’s him.

(Just Harry. A sham of a childhood, too much blood on his hands, and a whole war down the road, and in the end, just Harry is still all he can really be.)

As for Hadrian himself, it’s not as if it’s hard to like Orion. He’s standoffish and cold to those who’ve bullied him in the past or those he’s wary of because he doesn’t know them, and that’s his right, borne from years of bearing the weight of Harry’s verbal abuse. But he’s also overwhelmingly, heartbreakingly devoted to Hadrian once Hadrian proves that his kindness is genuine, and isn’t that sad? A little bit of kindness - eating meals together, studying together, decent manners and a smile - and that was all it took because underneath the frigid exterior, there was just a boy desperate for somewhere to belong.

So Hadrian is fine with simply befriending him. Even if Orion never figures out they’re soulmates, even if they aren’t soulmates, Hadrian can be content with what he already has. It’s not like he’s in love with Orion at this point anyway, he’s never been in love with anyone so maybe theirs will be a platonic bond in the end. Orion deserves the world, and that may or may not include Hadrian in the long run, but in the meantime, Hadrian will be damned if he lets anyone continue treating Orion with one iota less of the respect he deserves.

4. Of course, life rarely works out the way anyone plans it, and Hadrian has always, always been Fate’s bitch. In the end, it’s his wristband that gives him away, which Hadrian should’ve predicted, because Orion is Sirius’ son, and just like Hadrian’s Sirius, he recognizes his namesake instantly the moment he spots it one day, when the two of them and the rest of their friends are out by the Lake, enjoying a summer afternoon after their last exams of the year. Even Hermione probably can’t identify constellations at a glance the way the Black house can.

Orion goes preternaturally still, half bent over to spread a towel on the grass. Hadrian is sprawled out on a towel of his own, bisected by the shade of some nearby trees, and he’s down to shorts and a shirt, for once foregoing his robes. The wristband stands out starkly, and nobody else is around, all of them splashing around in the water instead. Orion had just come back up for a break, and it takes even Hadrian - relaxed as he is - a few seconds to realize the air has grown tense around them.

“Orion, what-” He half sits up, ready to hex someone into oblivion, and then he follows Orion’s line of sight, only to freeze as well when he sees his own wristband.

A strained minute of silence follows, like a breath caught and held, waiting for the drop.

Orion is in his sixth year, seventeen already as of February. It’s not like he hasn’t already realized - probably as far back as fourth year if he’s honest - that there’s something really off about Hadrian. Prodigy he might be, but there are some things you can’t learn just by being smart or good with magic. Hadrian duels like he was born for war, as terrible as that sounds, but he’s been tutoring them in Defense for almost two years now, and he has the reflexes and muscle memory of a veteran Auror. Orion would know - he’s seen his dad and Uncle James duel before. And the things he knows - he can brew everything from Anti-Paralysis Potions to Blood-Replenishing Potions to Veritaserum and make it look easy, but he doesn’t know even the most basic of household charms that a magical child would’ve grown up around, had to be assured that faerie lights at Yule didn’t actually hurt the faeries, and just last year when he’d moved into Orion’s house for the summer, he’d spent whole afternoons sitting in the children’s section of their library, looking at Orion’s old picture books - with miniature characters that reenacted the story live like a play when you opened the book - like he’d never seen anything more amazing.

(Remus had just looked sad when Orion had quietly mentioned it out of Hadrian’s earshot. Sirius had disappeared into the duelling chamber and blown things up for a few hours.)

Of course, those were things Orion had observed over time, the details you only knew if you were Hadrian’s friend and took the time to get to know him. But even a stranger on the street could probably tell you something was up if they saw Hadrian and Harry standing side by side and you told them they weren’t related.

Black hair, green eyes, the same nose and jaw and knobbly knees. The only difference between them, physically speaking, were superficial - Harry was a little taller, Hadrian didn’t wear glasses, Harry had messier hair, Hadrian had scars that Orion hadn’t quite plucked up the courage yet to ask about.

Even Hadrian’s surname was suspicious. Evans? What are the odds that his family name would just so happen to be Aunt Lily’s maiden name?

But it was such a far-fetched idea, that they could be related at all, when - personality-wise - they were so wildly different. They were even the same age, so unless the Potters had secretly given away Harry’s twin at birth, there was just no way.

And yet.

Orion slowly sinks to the ground. He drags his eyes away from the wristband to check Hadrian’s expression, only to be met with guarded stone features and eerie Avada Kedavra eyes. He doesn’t say anything, just watches Orion in return, but saying nothing is an answer in itself, isn’t it?

Orion releases a long, careful breath, feeling like a single wrong word now might actually get him obliviated. He knows Hadrian has it in him, has a lot worse than a memory charm in him, but Orion has never worried that it might turn on him one day. That he thinks it now, that he can look at Hadrian and see the warrior staring back - it just means this is important, and Orion cannot mess this up.

It’s not like he’s never thought it before. Common sense and logic usually buried the clues and dismissed his what-ifs, but when he’s alone and awake at night and can’t sleep, and there’s really nothing better to do than think of Hadrian, sometimes, he does wonder.

And it’s starting to look a lot like he might’ve actually been right.

He inhales and exhales again, looks once more at the wristband - silver stars on a black night sky, for Merlin’s sake, it might as well be his name wrapped around Hadrian’s wrist - and then he meets Hadrian’s eyes again without flinching. “I’ve wanted you to be my soulmate since before fourth-year Yule, when we both said we’d go the Ball without a date, so it pretty much felt like we were going together.”

His ears burn red, but he keeps his chin up and his gaze steady, and he gets the pleasure of watching some of the ice recede from Hadrian’s face as his eyes go wide and his lips part with genuine surprise.

And then he blushes, and Orion stares, brain stalling, and all he can think is, oh, he’s pretty, which Sirius must never know.

“Bloody hell-” Hadrian mutters, slapping a hand to his forehead, and then a twitch of his fingers and a mumbled Muffliato fizzles up around them to give them some privacy. And then he drops his hand, looks around, and promptly rolls his eyes before dismissing it again with another wave.

“Come on,” Hadrian says as he rises to his feet, looking simultaneously fatalistically grim and recklessly determined. “I’m not talking about this here. We’re going to the Room of Requirement.”

He pauses though, teetering from the balls of his feet to his heels and back. And then he sticks out a hand towards Orion, and Orion feels almost clumsy as he lurches forward to take it, letting Hadrian haul him to his feet, easy as anything.

“Wait, are you really-” Orion stammers out, because holy fuck is he actually right, and he knows he shouldn’t talk about it here, and he sounds like some half-wit, but-

Hadrian heaves a sigh, and then he lifts their joined hands and uses his free one to peel back the wristband.

Orion stares. Orion Black, stamped out in the looping cursive of his handwriting, as blue as his eyes will ever be, stares boldly back at him.

“Come on,” Hadrian repeats, hiding the name - Orion’s name - away again and tugging at his  hand. “I have some things to tell you, about- about who I am, and where I come from, and I’m not doing it here.”

Orion nods faintly, feeling dazed, but he follows when Hadrian moves, close enough to crowd him.

When Hadrian - Hadrian Evans, Harry Potter from another bloody universe - glances at him, as scared as Orion’s ever seen him, like this isn’t literally everything Orion has ever wished for, miraculously come true, and all Orion can do is press closer and clutch tighter at the hand in his.

He doesn’t know if he’ll ever let go.

5. It’s a while later before everyone knows. Literally everyone - there’s a dimension-traveller in their midst, blessed by Fate and Magic, and nobody wants to mess with that, although there has been more than a few letters from the Unspeakables since they found out.

But before everyone, their friends and families find out first. Harry looks like he’s swallowed a lemon, but at least he keeps his mouth shut, for the time being, and for weeks, James and Lily go around looking equal parts shocked and awed and a little like they’re not quite sure how to treat Hadrian anymore.

Sirius and Remus don’t give a damn beyond listening closely to everything Hadrian decides to tell them. Orion’s father looks achingly relieved every time he sees Orion and Hadrian together, and his dad beams ecstatically every time he spots them holding hands. Sirius isn’t quite petty enough to flaunt it in front of James, and not quite mean enough to say it in front of Harry, but in the privacy of their home, Sirius calls Hadrian “my godson” a lot, and every single time, Hadrian protests, but his face also scrunches up a bit like he wants to cry. He also melts and pretends he doesn’t whenever Sirius ruffles his hair or pulls him into a hug. That’s probably half the reason why Sirius keeps doing it.

On his part, Orion doesn’t care if only he and Hadrian knows or if the whole world knows. He has Hadrian’s name on his wrist, even if it’s not the name he uses now, the name he’s embraced along with the life he’s made for himself here, and Hadrian has his, jumping an entire universe to meet Orion, but more than that, so much more, Orion has Hadrian, and it wouldn’t have mattered even if their names hadn’t matched, he would’ve loved him regardless.

Because here and now, he has the way Hadrian looks at him in the morning when they wake up, soft and lazily content. He has the way Hadrian trusts him to have his back in battle, and the way Hadrian turns to him first, always, finding him in a crowd or asking for his opinion or just to know he’s there. He has the way Hadrian calms when Orion wraps him in his arms after waking from nightmares, and even when he can’t fall back asleep, he learns he can depend on Orion to stay up with him.

He has the sight of Hadrian wearing the Black family engagement ring, offered the morning after Orion turns eighteen, pressed firmly into Hadrian’s hands because Orion’s feelings won’t ever change no matter how many years Hadrian gives him to reconsider.

“What if you’re not ready though?” Hadrian half-pleas, because this is somehow still something he worries about, that he’s taking advantage, that Orion will want someone less broken, less sad, carrying less baggage.

“I am,” Orion says steadily, because he has never been more sure of anything. “I’m ready. But maybe you aren’t yet, and that’s okay. I’m just making my intentions clear. But however long you need, I can wait. I will wait. I promise.”

Hadrian looks at him after that like he can’t believe Orion is real, and Orion will treasure it forever.

Two years later, he has his own engagement ring on his finger, secretly crafted and given to him when Hadrian - clear-eyed and confident - proposes at their favourite diner in the magical district of Rome. Orion can’t stop grinning all night.