#very concerned that something is wrong with what i’ve been doing in admissions and she’s not telling me to avoid confrontation or something

[devilsskettle]

new work schedule published!! i think my manager is suicide baiting me

[finalgilmoregirl]

a/n : feeling angsty, no gender specified, no y/n.

payday. the day mike looked forward to and also dreaded the most. payday meant he was able to take his hard earned money straight to the bank, where he would cash his check... and then watch his earnings get flushed down the toilet as he made a payment on whatever bill he was behind, which was usually a few…

you knew this dilemma. mike voiced it to you every time he came home from the bank and flopped on the couch as he tried to list off all of the other things he needed to pay for with the little money he had left. now he has been good with budgeting, but there’s only so much you can do when you’re providing for yourself and a growing young girl. you paid for groceries and abby’s clothes every now and then but mike wouldn’t let you do any more, always concerned that he looked like he was asking for handouts.

so you tried to do a nice thing. you did do a nice thing, but to mike it seemed like the complete opposite.

when he had gone to the bank that week and attempted to make a payment on his water and heating bill, the bank teller informed him that it was already paid for.

“what- are you sure?” mike was confused. he knew he was at least two months behind on paying it. he had done the math earlier that week. just as his confusion started to make him spiral he was ripped out of his thoughts by the sound of the bank teller saying your name.

“excuse me?”

“it says here that’s who paid for the bill.”

which is what brought him storming through the door of his home. he tossed his jacket off and onto the back of the couch and began angrily pacing, stewing in his upset.

you playfully chased abby out of her room as you both went to the front room to greet mike.

“hey babe”, you said out of breath, smiling as you both came to a halt. “you okay?”

“abby, could you please go to your room?” mike said calmly, but by the flair of his nostrils and the way he kept a hand on his hip you know something was very wrong.

“why?” abby asked, confused and probably sensing her brother's bad mood as well.

“just go. please.” he repeated, to which the young girl complied, swinging her arms while she walked away.

you turned to him, now concerned. “what’s wro-”

“i went to the bank today.” he interrupted your question, causing you to stand up straighter in surprise. “i tried to pay for the water and heat, but they told me you already did.”

a feeling of anxiety began to creep into your body at his aggressive tone as you looked down to avoid his angry gaze. “yeah, i did.”

“why would you do that?” mike asked, walking so he was in front of you, less than a foot apart. you felt like you were being interrogated.

“i just thought—” you started, but he interrupted you again.

“you thought what? that i couldn’t take care of it myself?”

“n-no i know—” you suddenly became bashful, a little embarrassed even as you thought back to you calling a few days earlier to make the payment.

“cause i don’t need your help. i’ve been doing this on my own for a long time and i don’t need you coming in and acting like—.”

“hey!” it was your turn to interrupt him. you weren’t going to let him take your actions and twist them into something evil. “i live here too mike. forgive me if i want to contribute.”

mike scoffed and turned away for a moment, rubbing his hand over his eyes before he continued. “you know, if i had known you would be so overbearing i would’ve never asked you to move in with me.”

you visibly flinched at that as you felt a sharp pain go through your heart. you don’t know what exactly caused the pain. the comment itself, or the way he said it so nonchalantly, like he truly meant it.

you looked away as you felt your throat constrict. you weren’t going to cry, all that could do in that moment was look like an admission of guilt. even though you know you did nothing wrong.

“well,” you sighed, swallowing the lump you had felt forming. “maybe i shouldn’t have fought so hard to end my lease early.”

you were referring to the weeks you had spent fighting with the landlord of your old apartment building. you and mike had begun the moving process anyway, excited to start the new chapter of your lives together. now here you were four months later, almost ten months into your relationship and you wished you could just walk out of the door and go back to that very apartment like you often did when you and mike would argue early on in your relationship. sure it was lonely, but you just wanted to be away from mike right now. so you did the second best thing and walked out of the living room, trying to find any other place in the house that could serve you peace.

mike felt bad about his choice of words, and about his whole reaction to the situation. it was in your nature to help people in any way you could, but mike didn’t want you to see him as a charity case.

hours passed and he stayed in the living room. laying on the couch with his eyes closed as he tried to rest. hoping sleep could help the situation somehow, clear his head at least. this proved a failure though, as through the thin walls he could hear you in the deathly quiet of the house.

every sniffle made his heart race and every deep breathe you took made him want to wrap you in his arms and whisper gentle words to you. but for the life of him, he couldn’t get himself to get up and find you. too afraid that he’d make things worse.

it wasn’t until he checked his watch and saw it was nearing nine o’ clock that he’d have to talk to you sooner or later. he knew he wasn’t strong enough to go to bed without making things right with you.

he walked to abby’s room first, where she was sat on her bed reading. she’d been in here silently for hours. thinking about how he didn’t even think to check on her after the argument made his stomach turn. she did the same thing when their parents used to fight, keeping quiet and to herself until the storm had passed.

“hey” he said from his spot at the door. “did you eat today?” abby just glanced at him and nodded.

mike went over to sit next to her. “listen” he spoke softly, “we’re okay, alright? don’t worry about whatever you heard. everything’s okay.”

abby just looked at him again and set her book down on her bedside table. she laid down and closed her eyes, signaling she was ready for bed.

after mike gave abby her goodnight kiss and stayed with her until she fell asleep, he quietly left her room, now intending to find you.

he entered your shared bedroom and found that you weren’t there, however from his bedroom window he could see the backyard light was on, giving away your presence.

as he reached the back door, he saw you sat on the steps, with nothing but a thin long sleeve covering your arms against the chilly night. you had to have been there for a while, he thought. he slowly opened the door and a cool breeze hit his face, his hoodie giving him enough warmth to avoid shivering.

his steps were basically silent as he approached you, which is where he noticed the distinct box sat next to you.

a box of cigarettes. mike knew you had smoked before you had started dating. you quit for good when you realized the relationship was getting serious, you knew it was a bad habit. you had tried to quit in the past but your worries got the best of you. but now you had the right motivation, you didn’t want to be a bad influence to abby and mike appreciated that, being supportive in your journey to quit for good. it had been almost six months since you last smoked (cigarettes at least), and now here you were.

mike cleared his throat, “i thought you threw those away.”

you didn’t look at him. you just kept staring out into the view of dewey grass and blowing trees.

after a moment you answered, “don’t worry, i didn’t smoke one.” you looked at him for a second before looking back ahead. “i was just thinking about it.”

mike didn’t know what to say, opting to just take a seat next to you. he continued to study you, taking notice of the puffy rims of your eyes and chapped lips. the cold failed to hide the evidence of your crying.

“i thought it would be a nice thing to do.” you said softly, finally continuing what you were trying to say to him earlier. “you work so hard to take care of us. and i thought it’d be a good way to show my appreciation. to show that you don’t always have to take on every burden on your own.”

mike let out a deep breath and looked up, willing back the tears he felt building up behind his eyes. he knew you meant well. he had known that since the beginning. but he was too stubborn and stupid to accept that sometimes the people that care about him will do things for his own good. he needed you to survive. and you needed him.

“i don’t even know why i said that. about you moving in.” he turned to look at you again. he said your name quietly, almost whisper like. “ever since i’ve known you there’s not a day that goes by that i don’t want to wake up and see your face. you have to know that.”

you finally turned and held his gaze, making the beat of mike’s heart quicken. “i think so. it’s hard to know for sure when you reject my help so often.”

“what do you mean?”

“i want to help your problems mike, not make them worse. that's what i'm here for. i’ve shown you i’m in this for the long run and you know that, but if I'm somehow making things more difficult for you then maybe i should-"

"no no no please. you're not, seriously." mike sounded desperate. and that's because he was. he couldn't lose you over this. "you help me in a about a million different ways every day. and you shouldn't have to use your money to do even more if you don't have to."

you shook your head, looking down again, but mike leaned in closer to keep looking into your eyes. "you shouldn't have to kill yourself trying to provide for her anymore mike. if you really want this to work- then i can't just sit by and watch you take on the pressure alone."

you looked back up and finally into his eyes. you could see the hesitation, the fear he had at the thought of letting you do this and you regretting ever trying to help him.

"please" you pleaded, reaching your hand out and grabbing his where it was placed on his knee. "please let me help you."

mike squeezed your hand back and nodded slowly. he knew you, and he knew you wouldn't regret it.

[satansapostle6]

Kids | Rodrick Heffley

Spotify Playlist Link

Rodrick Heffley becomes obsessed when he finally meets his thirty-five year old band mate, Bill Walter’s, younger sister.

Warnings: Mature themes/language. Sexual content.

“Black Hole Sun”

“This Night Has Opened My Eyes”

Rodrick hadn’t gone to school for almost a whole week. No one had even seen him apart from his father and brothers(he had been refusing to acknowledge his mother’s presence ever since the incident).

Susan had since apologized for what she’d said about and to Sara Walter, but Rodrick refused to accept her many apologies so long as they didn’t include an admission of guilt. Although Susan was sympathetic to his pain, she still did not quite apologize for her role in the re-traumatizing of Sara, who still hadn’t spoken to him since everything that had happened at the Heffley house.

There was a gentle knock on Rodrick Heffley’s bedroom door as his father entered the room with dinner, concerned.

“Rodrick,” Frank Heffley said, cautiously entering room.

“Go away,” Rodrick mumbled, hidden under blankets and pillows alike.

“I brought you some spaghetti, and garlic bread,” he attempted entice him. “Your mom made your favorite.”

“Tell her I’m not hungry,” Rodrick said emptily.

“Rodrick. You haven’t eaten since last night,” his father stated, concerned. “You need to eat something. I’m getting concerned.”

“I’m not hungry,” he repeated.

Frank sighed, sitting down at the edge of the bed. “This isn’t healthy… Is there something else you’re hungry for? Maybe I can go pick something up.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“I’ll get you Taco Bell. Or McDonald’s! How does a happy meal sound?” he asked hopefully.

But Rodrick didn’t seem very receptive.

“What am I, four?”

“It was worth a shot.”

Frank looked at the lump beneath the covers, fully aware Rodrick hadn’t showered in about two days, and was so upset he refused to even listen to music, any music: it just all reminded him too much of Sara.

“Look, I know Your mom’s really sorry about what happened the other day. She’s apologized multiple times now, you know,” he reminded him.

“No, she hasn’t,” Rodrick insisted. “Not really.”

Rodrick heard nothing as Frank remained in the room for another moment, setting the plate of food down on the floor before silently leaving. Rodrick thought he knew where his father was going; back downstairs, and eventually upstairs again for bed, but he was wrong.

“I’m stepping out,” Frank Heffley announced to his family, before grabbing his jacket and leaving.

“For what?” Susan Heffley questioned, not receiving an answer.

*****

Frank knocked on the door, praying for an answer. After a few moments, the door opened, as he whispered a frantic thanks to whatever beings did or didn’t exist. But another obstacle was revealed.

“What do you want?” a voice said coldly.

“Bill,” Frank realized, immediately feeling incredibly guilty.

“That’s me,” Bill said stiffly.

Clearly, he’d heard everything, or at least enough.

“Bill, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he sighed, hanging his head in shame.

“Don’t tell me,” he responded laconically.

“See, that’s what I could use your help with,” Frank said, thrilled to be finally getting somewhere, “I want to tell your sister. Please.”

“Why should I let anyone in your family anywhere near her?” Bill demanded, his paternal instincts toward his younger sister kicking in. “All you Heffleys do is judge people, and hurt people. My sister’s barely left her room in a fucking week, and she won’t drink anything that’s not wine, or vodka.”

“Yes, I know,” Frank promised him humbly, “But I wanna fix that… Please. Just let me speak to her,” he begged Bill.

“Why? So you can just call us white trash again?” he asked expectantly.

“Words cannot express how awful I feel about that, Bill,” Frank breathed. “I know that Susan and I have both spoken ill about your family on multiple occasions… and I know that I’ve never made an effort to make you feel welcome in our home even though you’ve always been nothing but kind to us. It’s unfair, and I’m sorry,” he apologized.

Bill still had nothing to say as he studied him, wondering whether the apology was sincere.

“You and your sister have proven to be nothing but friends to our family, and we’ve spat in your faces every time,” Frank said guiltily. “I know I can’t make up for that kind of close-minded, immature behavior… But I wanna try. Please,” he begged.

Bill Walter stood there, silent, for a moment, considering his options before eventually opening the door out of kindness, despite the fact that he probably didn’t deserve it.

“Fine. If not for me, then for my sister.”

“Yes! Thank you! Thank you so much!” Frank gasped, eagerly following him inside.

“Who’s this asshole?” Randy called from his armchair.

“He’s probably thinking the same thing!” Bill shouted back as he silently led Frank to Sara’s bedroom.

Frank looked back awkwardly at the unpleasant man, not quite sure what to think. Bill knocked on his younger sister’s door, waiting for a response. “Sara?”

“Yeah?” she called.

“…Mr. Heffley’s here to see you,” Bill informed her.

“…Huh?”

“Mr. Heffley’s here to see you,” he echoed. “He wants to apologize. He seems pretty serious about it…”

Sara quickly opened her bedroom door, seeming to have been laying on her bed, drawing. Frank couldn’t help notice with his keen father’s eyes that she looked awful; her hair was a mess, her makeup didn’t look like it was all applied today, and beneath her eyes, black smudges were married with dark circles.

“Does he?” she asked sharply, cold eyes fixed on Frank.

“Yes,” the man nodded earnestly, “He does.”

Sara studied him for a moment, before turning back to her brother. “Leave us.”

“Are you sure?” Bill asked skeptically.

“Yeah,” she nodded, eyes fixed on Frank as Bill just walked away, knowing better than to question his sister.

Sara opened the door wider as Frank gingerly stepped inside, not knowing how to go about this interaction. She shut the door, crossing her arms expectantly.

“How are you doing, Sara?” he asked kindly, genuinely worried after having seen the state of her.

“I haven’t slept in three days,” she remarked. “So. Let’s hear it,” she said, sounding less confrontational than Frank had anticipated, given that she was more than entitled to her feelings of rage.

“Sara, I… I want to apologize. For Susan, and for myself,” he said slowly as she just listened. “We were judgmental, and unwelcoming, and unfair.”

“‘We’?” Sara asked.

“I’m equally to blame,” Frank nodded earnestly. “I should’ve stepped in more whenever Susan got angry at you. You did nothing to deserve that.”

“You’re right,” she said softly.

“Listen… I don’t want you to think we haven’t noticed the difference you’ve made in Rodrick’s life lately,” he told her. “Because we do. I do. He’s happier, and calmer, and he cares more, about school, and his brothers…”

“Then why did Susan say I’m a bad influence?” Sara demanded, as Frank prepared himself for the question.

“Sara…” he was afraid he didn’t have the words in his vocabulary to explain why she had been made his family’s scapegoat. “Rodrick and his mother have always had a very complicated relationship. She wants the best for him, and he wants her to back off,” Frank said.

“You know I’m not the best,” Sara reminded him. “I’ll never be.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” he interjected logically.

Sara paused for a moment, taking in what he said.

“Look, I know about what you and Rodrick do; you’re kids; both of you. Of course you’re gonna do all that stuff,” he admitted.

“But?”

“But, Sara, you’re a good kid,” Frank told her. “…My sons love you. All of them,” he expressed.

Sara’s gaze softened as she took in his point.

“Manny adores you; you’re one of the only people he still lets pick him up. And Greg thinks very highly of you,” he continued, “Greg’s thirteen; he doesn’t think highly of anything.”

“What’s your point?” she asked quietly.

“My point is, that we’ve taken you for granted,” Frank summarized. “Your influence on Rodrick, and our family, has only been positive, if anything.”

“And what do you want me to do?” she asked tearfully, a look of frustration in her bloodshot eyes. “Your wife hates me.”

“No, she doesn’t,” Frank insisted sympathetically, “She doesn’t know you.”

“She doesn’t want to,” Sara insisted. “She thinks I’m trash. End of story.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” Frank tried to convince her as she just stood there, a pained expression on her face. “Sara. Do you really want this to be the end of you and Rodrick?”

She was silent as she considered his question, her chest tightening.

“I’m not saying the two of you will definitely last forever,” Frank offered thoughtfully, trying to sound realistic, “But… is a little conflict gonna stop you from finding out for sure?” he asked, hopeful that she’d listen.

Sara looked up at Frank, a pain in the child’s eyes he wished he could heal.

“You can leave now,” she said with finality.

Frank tilted his head in confusion, unsure of what to make of her sudden conclusion of their conversation.

“Sara.”

“You said your piece,” she stated, looking more tired than anything. “I heard what you have to say.”

He was strangely shocked by her response.

“If you want me to go, I’ll go,” he agreed reluctantly, respecting her wishes with his hand on the doorknob. “But, remember. If you break Rodrick’s heart, our whole family goes down with him. That’s the kind of family we are.”

Sara’s eyes followed him as he left the room, leaving her to her thoughts.

*****

“This sucks,” Greg Heffley sighed, watching the edit of his and Rowley’s video of them on their bikes at the skatepark.

“Why can’t we get it right?” Rowley complained pitifully.

“Because. Sara always helps with these,” Greg reminded him as he flopped down onto his bed. “She always helps pick the clips, and the music.”

“We know good music,” Rowley insisted optimistically.

“No, we don’t,” Greg gave up. “Not like Sara. And even if we did, we still wouldn’t be able to use it as good as her.”

“What do we do to get her back?” his friend asked.

“Get a new mom?” Greg offered the only suggestion he could come up with.

He found he had meant that a bit too much.

“I miss Sara. Having you and Rodrick is like having brothers,” Rowley thought wistfully, “But having Sara is like having a sister.”

“Yeah,” Greg agreed, feeling the words deeply.

The two of them were sharing a rather melancholy moment, at least before their silence was drowned out by the increasing sounds of screaming coming from the garage. Rodrick and the guys had been practicing for their gig this weekend at a backyard party, and it seemed like they were reaching for peak of their song. Until it didn’t.

“Dude!”

“What the fuck?!”

“-Some dumb ass fucking shit—!”

Greg looked around in confusion as he tried to rational the snippets that he was hearing coming from downstairs.

“Are they fighting?” he wondered out loud.

“They play metal,” Rowley reminded him.

“No, this is different from that,” Greg said, leaving to go check on his brother’s band.

Rowley followed him down to the garage, and it seemed he was right. Something was going on between Rodrick, Chris, and Ben, worse than anything that had happened in a while.

“Fuck you, you’re being a fucking asshole!” Ben shouted angrily.

“Should we be down here?” Rowley questioned anxiously.

Greg just ignored him as they watched from the doorway. The guys hadn’t even noticed them, they were so caught up in the drama.

“I’m not an asshole, you’re just a fucking dick, dude!” Rodrick shouted back, seeming genuinely upset.

“Whatever!” Ben cried. “Your set list is shit!”

“Guys, let’s all just chill! I think everything’s getting a little outta hand,” Bill reminded his band mates.

“Yeah, guys, let’s chill,” Chris agreed, also uncomfortable.

“Shut the fuck up, Chris!” Ben snapped.

“Hey, you shut the fuck up,” Rodrick demanded, suddenly threatening him with an abandoned drumstick, “Or I’m gonna fucking snap your neck—!”

Greg turned in horror to see his mother hurriedly rushing past him and Rowley.

“Hey, what is going on here?!” Susan questioned.

“Nothing, Mom, Ben’s just about to get rocked.”

“Rodrick Heffley, don’t you hit anyone in this house!” Susan scolded him.

“Right,” Rodrick nodded, not missing a beat, “Let’s take this outside, you little bitch!”

“Rodrick!” Susan Heffley shrieked.

“Everybody, let’s just take a fucking chill pill!” Bill exclaimed, extremely tense.

“Don’t tell me to fucking calm down, this is my house!” Rodrick shouted over him.

“Actually, this is my house, and I will not tolerate violence, or frankly, any of the language that’s being used!” Susan interrupted.

Rodrick glared at Ben with a hatred that had been building up and simmering for years, chucking one of the drumsticks in his hand over Ben’s head.

“Rodrick!” Susan cried, horrified at his behavior. “Don’t throw things at people!”

Greg and Rowley watched, kind of scared, as the situation began to escalate.

“Yeah! Listen to your mommy, Rodrick!” Ben taunted. “Don’t throw things at people!”

“Fuck you, you fucking loser!” he boomed.

“Rodrick! Upstairs, now!” Susan yelled.

“Come on, Rod!” Ben jeered. “Be a good little bitch!”

“Ben, shut the fuck up!” Chris said impatiently.

“I’ll make you my bitch!” he fired back.

“Guys! Enough!” Bill began to lose his temper.

“All of you, there are other people in this house,” Susan reminded them, “If you can’t be respectful, then leave.”

“We’re really sorry, Mrs. Heffley,” Bill apologized hastily as he eyed all of his band mates, “We’ll stop bothering you guys. It won’t happen again.”

“Sorry, Mrs. Heffley,” Chris added courteously, “We’ll stop.”

“Yeah, we’ll be quiet, Mrs. Heffley,” Ben promised, completely full of shit.

She eyed the group of boys skeptically before deciding to take their word for it. “Okay. But one more disturbance, and none of you are welcome here ever again. Got it?” she asked the room.

“Got it,” Bill promised.

“Yes,” Chris assured her kindly.

“Got it,” Ben nodded.

“Okay. Thank you,” Susan said, slowly turning around as she wanted nothing to do with the group of boys.

Rodrick, who had been silent and plotting the entire time, glowered hatefully in Ben’s direction before making up his mind and chucking the one lone drumstick left in his hand straight at Ben’s head, which was met with an immediate hothead reaction.

“You fucking piece of shit!” Ben hollered as a fully fledged fight broke out.

Before anyone could do anything, Ben was charging Rodrick, who had decided to go all in and angrily leapt over the drum set at him and tackled him to the ground with a loud thrashing of the cymbals. Chris was in shock and Bill jumped in, almost dog piling on top of them to pull Rodrick off of Ben.

Susan screamed for her husband as Greg and Rowley froze, no clue as to what they were supposed to do. Rowley was spooked like a cat, and Greg found himself having a desire to go home despite already being there.

“I don’t like this!” Rowley wailed.

“Me neither,” Greg agreed, not having much else to offer.

But Rowley was completely distraught.

“Sara wouldn’t let this happen!”

-

“Losing My Religion”

[bitsandbobsofwriting]

Twin!AU Part 3:

Hunith and Uther alike have to face the consequences of their actions, Merlin (and everyone, really) decides that family doesn’t end in blood.

Part 1   Part 2

TW: Suicidal ideation (mostly past, but it sort of... flairs up a little here I guess)

Hunith’s face falls and she physically recoils at Merlin’s harsh declaration.

His hard gaze doesn’t leave her, even as she glances at Arthur, a little behind Merlin and to his side. The blonde has his gaze fixed on Hunith, but he looks away the moment they make eye contact, unable to stand the confused pain in her expression:

“Merlin? What happened?”

Lancelot and Percival approach slowly after handing the horses off to a couple of stablehands, and Gwaine puts his hand on Merlin’s shoulder, not that The Warlock notices; he clenches his jaw tightly before speaking, but continues resisting the urge to look away:

“You lied to me. About everything.”

Hunith’s eyes go wide and she gulps, opening her mouth and shutting it again as she struggles to think of a response. It’s then that Merlin finally looks away, gazing over the top of her head at the empty courtyard. Arthur quietly intervenes, his authoritative voice full of warring emotions despite it’s low volume:

“We should take this somewhere more private.”

Merlin doesn’t even nod, just turns around and walks back towards the castle, hands clenched tightly at his side before he pushes the doors open and stalks in without looking back. Gwaine and Arthur share a concerned look before the older knight rushes after him. Arthur gestures for Hunith to go first, but not without stopping her with a hand on her shoulder, and a muttered, almost teary:

“You had no right.”

Her face falls even further, but The Regent steps back and looks away before she can reply, and she timidly hurries through the door after Merlin and Gwaine. Arthur gives Lancelot and Percival a pointed look:

“I imagine we’ll be in my chambers, make sure we are undisturbed. I don’t want anyone interrupting unless the world is about to end. Let Leon and Morgana know that they can take charge of any meetings today.”

They both nod, but Lancelot jogs up the steps to stop Arthur before he can leave:

“I... know what she did was wrong, but don’t let Merlin be too harsh. He’s always been close to his mother, he’ll regret it later if he pushes her away completely.”

Arthur almost snaps out something about how Hunith isn’t Merlin’s mother, but he keeps it to himself, sighing and nodding:

“Yeah, I know, but she... she needs to know what this has done to him, how much he’s suffered needlessly because of this. There isn’t... I know she probably just did what she thought was right but... she needs to know. Merlin deserves an apology, and he certainly deserves the truth.”

Lancelot nods hesitatingly, but doesn’t say anything else, stepping aside to allow The Regent through. He catches up to the others just as Merlin slams the door open to his chambers, continuing to not look back as he heads over to the large dining table, leaning his hand against the back of one of the chairs and staring towards the window.

Gwaine and Arthur approach slowly, standing either side of him but not touching him as they wait in suspense for someone to start the conversation. Hunith already has tears in her eyes as she stands on the other side of the table, trying and failing to get Merlin to look at her. The harsh glare he laid on her before was horrific, but this... him being unable to look at her at all, that is worse:

“Merlin, please, I only did what-”

She’s cut off by Merlin’s harsh instruction:

“Sit.”

She glances to Arthur once more, but he just nods wordlessly at the chair in front of her; the only sounds in the room are the scraping of the chair on the stone floor and Merlin’s laboured breathing. He was evidently trying very hard to hold his anger in, and when he says nothing more once she’s sat down, Gwaine puts his hand back on his shoulder. He shrugs it off, finally turning to face Hunith but remaining unable to look in her eyes:

“Why?”

A tears slips loose from her eye and she sniffles, taking a deep, shaky breath and fiddling with her hands on the table. Arthur absent-mindedly wonders if Merlin would still do that too if he’d been raised with his actual family, if it was natural, or if he’d picked it up from her:

“Please, Merlin, I’m so sorry, I didn’t-”

Merlin takes in a sharp breath, tightening his gip on the chair in a way that looks painful, shaking his head:

“No. No apologies, no excuses. I want to know exactly why you lied to me, why you took this from me.”

His voice is deadly in a quiet kind of way, like he could snap clean in two and set the world alight at any moment. Gwaine looks worriedly between the other two men, clearly thinking on the same lines as Lancelot, but neither of them notice, Merlin’s gaze stuck to the table and Arthur’s stuck on Hunith:

“I would have told you one day, Merlin, you-”

Merlin finally looks up at her, the blazing fury in his eyes contrasting in a rather horrific manner with the steady stream of tears on his cheeks:

“One day when? Arthur’s known about my magic for ages. I’ve been in Camelot for years, you have had every opportunity.”

Hunith lets out a low sob, but doesn’t look away:

“I didn’t think you were ready, Mer-”

Merlin bites his lip and turns away, running his hands through his hair harshly before turning around again, quick as lightening, and pointing an accusing finger at her:

“No, you weren’t ready! You weren’t ready to face the fact that you lied to me about who I am, because you knew you had no right, because you knew I would be angry!”

Hunith stands, but doesn’t make any moves to approach Merlin at Arthur’s harsh glare and Gwaine’s worried gesture. He doesn’t think Merlin or Arthur would hurt her, he’d never even consider the idea, but he knows that his partner needs space to be angry:

“I didn’t want you to be upset,-”

Merlin scoffs and lets out a sob of his own, wiping his face harshly before responding loudly:

“Gods, I wonder why I would be upset! Maybe because you lied to me about everything?!-”

Hunith shakes her head desperately, but Merlin carries on without pause:

“-You had no right to keep this from me! I grew up alone, with no one but you to rely on because you made me think I was some kind of beast! Keeping me from Camelot, I understand, keeping it from me as I child even, I understand. But you’ve had years of opportunity, you are selfish, a hypocrite and a coward.-”

Hunith looks horrified at his admission, mainly the sudden reveal at how her treatment of Merlin had effected him independently of the lie:

“-I hated myself, I was terrified, I didn’t want to exist, because of you! You made me think I was some kind of unnatural monster and then you sent me to Gaius under the guise of teaching me control, so he could carry on the lie for you! He promised me I wasn’t a monster, that I wasn’t born evil, over and over, but he’s lied to me from the moment I met him, how am I supposed to trust anything he says?! How am I supposed to trust anything you say when I was just some unwanted, throwaway thing that you never asked for, and got rid of at the earliest opportunity?!-”

Gwaine and Arthur stare at Merlin with matching heartbreak in their expressions; it seems that Merlin is upset at more than just the base lie. The New Prince doesn’t even try to stop the tears, his breathing quick and ragged, and after a few moments of thick silence, he takes a deep breath and quietly continues:

“-I didn’t have to be so alone, that was all you, and Gaius, and Kilgharrah, and everyone else who lied to me. When I had nothing, I had you, and you lied to me.-”

Merlin’s voice cracks, his breathing shaky and his face pale as his entire world seemingly crumbles down around him:

“-You took my brother from me and you had no right. You’re not my mother, you’re just as bad as Uther.”

With those last words, he storms from the room, Gwaine hot on his heels. Arthur stays however, feeling the need to comfort the crying woman, but also feeling, maybe slightly cruelly, that she deserves this. He sighs, pushing the though from his mind and moving around to put a hand on her shoulder as she buries her face in her hands, sobbing:

“I... you did your best, I think he knows that, but that doesn’t change what you took from him, from both of us. He needs time.”

She just about manages a nod, and Arthur sighs again, standing awkwardly for a few minutes before he realises she isn’t going to stop any time soon. He gently pushes her to sit back in the chair before heading to the door, following Gwaine and Merlin.

They’re not in the corridor when he shuts the door behind him, but he’s not surprised at that. Merlin has always been private about his true emotions, always kept them close to his chest, he wouldn’t want anyone to see him having a breakdown in the middle of the hall. Months ago, Arthur would have thought it was left over fear of his magic being discovered, but now he bitterly thinks that it probably has more to do with the way he was raised.

He runs a hand through his hair, sparing a glance to the—previously unnoticed—worried looking guards. Thankfully, they were two of the men that had been trusted with the truth (Arthur reminds himself to thank Leon later for paying attention to who was stationed where), so Arthur isn’t too worried at the fact that they had likely overheard the one-sided yelling match. He fixes them with a commanding stare and clears his throat:

“Escort the Lady Hunith to the physician’s chambers when she emerges, leave her with Gaius, but don’t rush her.-”

They bow briefly in acknowledgement of his orders, and his question comes out quietly:

“-Do you know where they went?”

They needn’t ask who, and one of the guards answers lowly, matching Arthur’s volume:

“I think they headed to Sir Gwaine’s chambers, Sire.” 

He nods and mutters a quiet thank you, slowly heading in that direction, knowing he had to go see them but also wanting to give them few extra minutes of privacy. They still had a lot to take care of, they’d missed several council meetings over the last few days, and whilst Arthur trusts Leon and Morgana to keep things rolling, he really should be making regular appearances. That, and they still haven’t dealt with Uther; to be perfectly honest, Arthur is surprised that rumours haven’t started spreading about The King’s disappearance and Arthur’s sudden growth of responsibilities, but he’s grateful. Don’t look a gift Griffin in the mouth or... something.

He finally stops outside the knight’s room—nodding at Lance who wordlessly stands guard in the corridor—before flinching at the quiet crying he can hear from inside. He knocks a few times softly before entering, shutting the door behind him and approaching the bed. Gwaine sits leant against the headboard, tears in his eyes as he holds a shaking Merlin in his arms. The Warlock lays besides Gwaine, in the middle of the bed, his face buried in the knight’s chest and his hands twisted into the fabric of his tunic.

Arthur lets out a deep, mournful breath at the sight of his brother so distraught, and he moves around to the other side of the bed, raising his eyebrow in question at Gwaine and settling next to Merlin at his singular nod. Merlin doesn’t seem to notice his presence, not until Arthur settles a hand on his back and whispers his name. He instantly calms a little, and Gwaine mentally scolds himself for the slight flair of jealousy; Merlin had discovered he has a brother, that his best friend is his brother, it’s no surprise that he calms easier in his presence, especially considering the reveal unburied so much hidden trauma.

After a few more minutes, Merlin turns to be laying on his back, though he makes sure to stay in Gwaine’s embrace. The knight leans down to press a kiss to the top of his head, and though he can’t see it, he can almost feel the slight smile on The Warlock’s face. Arthur moves his hand back to his lap, looking at the two of them out of the corner of his eye; he sees nothing but worry and utter adoration on Gwaine’s face, and he wonders just how he hadn’t approved of their relationship. Gwaine’s whispered words just solidify Arthur’s newfound belief in the man:

“I love you, Merls, no matter what.”

Merlin lets out a quiet, choked laugh, and Gwaine considers that a win, even more so when Merlin responds in kind:

“I love you.”

Despite their relationship not being a particularly new thing, Arthur hadn’t even considered the possibility that they’d reached that far, that their partnership was that solid; perhaps that had something to do with their general lack of PDA, which he had always wondered how Gwaine had put up with. He grimaces with a quiet realisation, but it catches Merlin’s gaze and he raises a questioning eyebrow, his tears thankfully dried. Arthur glances up at Gwaine, who smirks at him knowingly, before looking back down to his brother:

“Making you Crown Prince is something I’m actually quite looking forward to, but I’m going to have to crown Gwaine as well.”

Gwaine snorts in amusement but Merlin turns pink and coughs slightly:

“Well.. we haven’t really discussed marriage, Arthur.”

Arthur looks to him with an apologetic expression:

“Merlin, royals have different courting rules. Royal partnerships tend to be incredibly short before a marriage has to happen. Back when me and Gwen were courting, we hid not only because Uther wouldn’t have approved, but also because we didn’t want to rush things. I’m especially glad we did now, otherwise we would have had to be married by now. The whole kingdom know that you two have been together for at least a year, the moment you’re crowned...”

His voice trails off as he comes to a second, horrifying realisation. He stands from the bed and stares at Gwaine with wide eyes and a pale face:

“Oh my God. Oh my God. If neither me, you, or Morgana have children... once you two have been married... Gwaine will officially be third in line for the throne. Oh... fuck.”

Merlin and Gwaine freeze for just a moment before they burst into loud laughter, and Arthur shakes his head, pacing slightly and not paying attention to the knocking at the door. Lancelot walks in slowly, an amused smile of his face despite his confusion:

“Do I even want to ask?”

Arthur fixes him with an almost distraught gaze before glaring half-heartedly at Merlin:

“Why? Why couldn’t it have been Leon, or Lancelot?? Elyan or Percival?? Hell, I would have been happier with fucking George.”

Gwaine’s laughter gets even louder but Merlin calmly wipes the tears (of laughter, thankfully) from his face and looks to Lancelot with bitten lips and held in hysterics:

“Arthur just realised that once all the crowning ceremonies happen, Gwaine will be third in line for the throne, if I’m the last one to die and there aren’t any children.”

Lance’s eyes go wide and he clamps a hand over his moth in a poor attempt to hold in his laughter. He fails miserably, bursting just like Gwaine and Merlin had moments earlier. Arthur fixes an annoyed glare on him and waves a desperate hand:

“This is not funny.”

Gwaine just shakes his head as he finally manages to calm himself, wiping his face clean and sitting up straight, one hand still on Merlin’s shoulder:

“It’s hilarious, Princess. God imagine Geoffrey’s face. Imagine the council.”

Arthur just takes a deep breath and looks to the ceiling again:

“Fuck. Ok, alright, whatever. That is a problem for another time.-”

He looks back down to Merlin with an apologetic smile, after shooting one last withering glare at a still-smirking Gwaine:

“-You feeling up to council? I’ve missed a fair few, and I think it might be a good idea for you two to start making appearances as well. That and... as much as we’ve told them you have magic, it might be worth showing it off a little.-”

At Merlin’s wide, fearful eyes, Arthur holds his hands out placatingly and hurries to continue:

“-You don’t have to, but they're working on the ban repeal. Obviously not anything huge, but passing jugs or paper or whatever with magic might help desensitise them to the idea. Plus, now that you’re semi-officially royalty, and you have Gwaine or Leon trailing you almost everywhere, no one would dare attack you. And if they do, you have every right to defend yourself in whatever capacity you deem necessary.”

At Merlin’s still nervous face, Lancelot quickly tacks on:

“And they all know that Arthur would go ape-shit if anything were to happen to you.”

Arthur gestures at the knight and nods in agreement, nodding further at Gwaine’s quiet “He’s not the only one.” . Merlin takes a deep breath and shuffles off the bed, standing and straightening his clothes out with unsteady hands:

“Let’s go. You’re right, I’m going to have to get used to stupid council meetings at some point if you’re insisting on crowning me, might as well be now.”

Arthur and Lancelot smile proudly and Gwaine moves to stand at his side, straightening his own clothes before running his hands through Merlin’s hair, flattening and neatening it. Merlin stands still and lets himself be assessed and fixed with a soft smile on his face, and Arthur feels almost as if he were intruding on something personal and domestic, even more so than when they were professing their love for each other; he looks away awkwardly and Lancelot raises an amused eyebrow at him.

The four of them finally exit the room, Arthur and Merlin falling into step besides each other, Gwaine slightly behind them, and Lancelot trailing the three of them with his face pulled into a blank mask and his hand on his sword.

This time, there is no hesitation before they enter the council room, and no raised eyebrows when Merlin takes his rightful place alongside Arthur at the head of the table. Flanked by Morgana, Leon, Lancelot, and Gwaine, Arthur effortlessly takes control of the meeting, hurrying things along with a proud confidence and an easy authority that was slowly but surely being taken on by his brother, at his side.

~

The council session lasts for the remainder of the day, and though at least half of the councilmen yelp, Gaius obviously not included, when Merlin first starts floating things about or magically highlighting words or moving the room’s lighting around with a flick of his wrist, most of them are used to it by the time the sun touches the horizon.

Arthur finally calls an end to the meeting when it gets dark. Though he was in a slightly manic mood and desperate to get as much work done as possible now that he was actually free to attend meetings, he could see that the others, Merlin especially, were flagging. He knew it would happen eventually, he can’t imagine The Warlock has been sleeping much, and he definitely came to some sort of private, horrifying conclusion around half a candle-mark ago. The hitch in Merlin’s breath, the widening of his eyes, and the slight, tiny flair of every candle in the room thankfully went unnoticed by everyone bar Arthur, Gwaine, and Lancelot.

When the room empties of councilmen, Merlin stands and paces away from the table, hands fiddling roughly with his sleeves. Arthur waves Morgana and Leon away, thanking them briefly before nodding pointedly at the door. Lancelot follows shortly, and Arthur has half a mind to send Gwaine away as well, but he knows that would be somewhat selfish as the other man approaches his partner’s turned back:

“Merlin? Something wrong? I thought that went remarkably well.”

Merlin’s head turns quickly, his furrowed brows confused:

“What? What went well?”

Gwaine raises an eyebrow, glancing briefly at the neatly stacked paperwork on the table:

“The meeting? About planning your coronation and the legalisation of magic? That we’ve been in all afternoon?”

Merlin untenses slightly, turning around properly and using one hand to rub at his eyes tiredly:

“Oh, yeah right. It did go well. They didn’t freak out too much at my evil sorcery, did they?”

He tries to go for a joking smirk, but it falls flat, and Arthur walks towards him to put a hand on his brother’s shoulder:

“What’s on your mind?”

Merlin sags even more and Arthur quickly steps forward, gathering the suddenly distraught man in a tight hug. Merlin easily accepts, burying his face in Arthur’s neck and clutching the back of his tunic with shaking hands:

“I compared my mother to Uther. I told her it was her fault that I didn’t want to be alive. She’s never going to forgive me.”

Arthur shuts his eyes, stroking a hand through Merlin’s hair and muttering a quiet:

“Oh, Merlin, she loves you more than anything in this world, there’s nothing to forgive.”

Merlin doesn’t look up, but shakes his head roughly; before he can argue, Gwaine steps around the two of them, pressing a kiss to the nape of Merlin’s neck before stepping back and stroking a soft hand over his back:

“What she did was wrong, Merls, you’re allowed to be angry. And now you’re not so angry anymore you can go sit down with her and talk it out, ok? There was no way that first conversation was going to be anything other than difficult and heartbreaking, but you got through it, and now you can sort it out properly.”

Merlin relaxes just a touch, and Arthur gets the disturbing feeling swelling in his gut that Gwaine knew of Merlin’s (hopefully, former) despairs before the whole... twin thing. When The Warlock finally pulls away, he thankfully looks a little more confident, despite the drying tears on his cheeks; Arthur gives him a soft smile and nods towards the door:

“Tonight, or tomorrow?”

Merlin takes a deep, fortifying breath, and walks towards the door purposefully, wiping his face clean before taking Gwaine’s offered hand in his own:

“Tonight, now. I should... I need to talk to Gaius as well. I’ve been unfairly punishing him for long enough, I think.”

Gwaine smiles understandingly, though Arthur, who rushes to catch up and walk on Merlin’s other side, shakes his head with a frown:

“Not unfairly, Merlin. It would be well within your rights to cut them out of your life for the foreseeable future for this. But I also understand wanting to forgive them so you have more... support. They may not be blood, Merlin, but... they are family, and that’s ok.”

Gwaine gives him an annoyed look at his first words, over Merlin’s shoulder, but doesn’t say anything. Merlin stops in the middle of the hallway, suddenly and without warning, and Gwaine grunts slightly when his arm is pulled back. The Warlock spares him an apologetic smile before turning his gaze to Arthur. Arthur raises an eyebrow, but Merlin tilts his head and frowns:

“Arthur you do know that... I consider you family above all others, right? you’re right, family doesn’t have to be blood,-”

He squeezes Gwaine’s hand, almost subconsciously, and receives a gentle squeeze back:

“-but after what we’ve found out, after all of this, all that we’re doing to... fix it, to fix what was done to us... you’re everything, you’re my brother. Me forgiving Hu... my mother, and Gaius, doesn’t change that I trust you above them, I consider you before them. They’re family, but you’re family first.”

Arthur’s eyes widen slightly at Merlin’s stern assertion, but he wills the tears in his eyes to disappear as he nods once, his jaw clenched with emotion. Merlin smirks slightly and rolls his eyes, muttering something about an “emotionally repressed idiot” before pulling him into an eagerly returned hug. Gwaine just snorts at both of them, happily leaning against the wall with crossed arms as he waits. They pull away fairly quickly, hyper aware of the fact that they were in the middle of the corridor, and whilst basically the whole citadel had picked up on the fact that something had changed, is changing, they didn’t want to let on too much until official public announcements were made.

They hurry in their journey to the Physician’s chambers, it was getting late and they wanted to sort this out as soon as possible; Gods know Merlin isn’t going to sleep a wink until he's spoken to his mother again.

They pause momentarily outside the door, taking deep breaths as they attempt to block out the hushed conversations coming from inside, not wanting to eavesdrop. Merlin turns to Gwaine with a nervous frown:

“Would you mind... waiting out here? Just for a minute?”

Gwaine gives him a soft smile and nods, pressing a kiss to his forehead and muttering “Call for me when you want me to come in, alright? I’m not going anywhere.” before giving Arthur an encouraging clap on the shoulder and stepping back to lean against the opposite wall.

Arthur sends a grateful smile the knight’s way, receiving a respectful nod in return, before he turns to the door. After a nod from Merlin, he raises a hand that shakes only slightly, and knocks. The murmured conversations stop immediately, and Gaius’ voice calls out:

“Enter.”

With one last look to each other, the brothers open the door and walk in together, shutting it gently behind them and turning to face the shocked pair. Hunith stares at Merlin with tears in her hopeful eyes, but Gaius quickly clears his throat and stands straight:

“How can I help, My Lords?”

Arthur sighs and Merlin shakes his head at the Physician’s formal address of them, rubbing a tired hand over his eyes before taking a small step forward :

“Don’t... I’m not... just Merlin, please.-”

His voice is quiet and tired, and the pleading tone it takes on deepens Arthur’s frown. He lets out a shaky breath, biting his lip before looking up to Hunith and continuing:

“-I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled. And I didn’t have any right to say those things; you’re... you’re nothing like Uther, and you did your best in a terrifying situation. You didn’t know any better, I shouldn’t blame you for how I turned out.”

Hunith’s tears overflow once again, and she takes in a shuddering breath as she steps hesitatingly towards the Warlock:

“Oh, my boy, you were right. I wasn’t ready to lose you, and I let that fear overcloud my judgement of what I knew to be right. I’m so sorry sweetheart, I should have told you who you were a long time ago, and it wasn’t fair of me to expect Gaius to carry on the lie, especially when you met Arthur, and especially when he found out about your magic.”

With that, Merlin pulls her into a tight hug, height difference be damned as he buries his face in her neck and shakes. Arthur gulps as he looks upon the scene, sharing a small, mournful smile with Gaius, the Physician understanding The Regent’s forgiveness in the small nod of his head. The hug doesn’t last quite as long as Arthur was expecting, though he supposes that forgiveness is more than just saying it aloud, and Merlin still has a great deal of self-worth related issues to get over, thanks to Hunith’s overly cautious raising of the boy. The Warlock clears his throat, his hands still on his mother’s shoulders as he gives her a weak smile:

“Igraine says thank you, by the way, for raising me with so much love.”

Hunith lets out a small chuckle, wiping away Merlin’s tears with soft hands:

“It was my honour,  I’m glad that your... mother, is pleased.”

Merlin’s frown is brief, and he responds quickly:

“You’re my mother.”

Hunith’s smile grows, as does Merlin’s and she nods shakily, almost whispering:

“Ok... I... ok.”

Merlin lets go hesitatingly, but turns to Gaius after a moment or two. The Physician quickly interrupts anything the younger man could have said with a shake of his head and a soft smile, pulling him into a hug as he softly speaks:

“It’s alright, my boy. You were well within your rights to be angry, we had no right to lie to you in such a way.”

With Gaius and Merlin’s soft conversation happening to the side of the room, Hunith turns to Arthur with a hopeful smile on her face. He returns it faintly, and she pulls him into his own hug. He stiffens in her hold, wide eyes darting around the room as he clenches his hands at his side. It only takes her stroking a hand through his knotted hair for him to relax and hug her back:

“I’m honoured to have been able to raise your brother, Arthur, and I am sorry for keeping him from you for so long, it was selfish of me. I didn’t consider what you were losing, in not knowing that you weren’t alone, only what I would lose should I tell the truth.”

Arthur gulps and nods, but tightens his hold on her as the tears come to his eyes:

“It’s... ok. I understand, I think. The danger you put yourself in to raise and protect him was immense, I just wished I’d known sooner, so I could have done all of this sooner.”

They pull back, but Hunith keeps a tight hold on Arthur’s shoulders, an assessing frown on her face as she raises a hand to cup his cheek. Arthur leans into it, blushing slightly under her motherly gaze:

“I know. But you’re doing wonderfully, Arthur. You and Merlin will be the saviours of this Kingdom, I’m sure of it. Your mother would be so proud of you.”

A tear slips loose from Arthur’s eye as he harshly bites his lip. His voice comes out small and unsure, and Hunith has to resist the urge to pull him into another hug:

“You think?”

She just smiles and nods instead:

“I’m sure.”

Merlin and Gaius look upon the scene fondly, and Arthur’s blush deepens when he catches them staring. He steps back from Hunith who smirks at him knowingly as he frowns at Merlin:

“Shut up, Merlin.”

He just laughs and shakes his head:

“I always knew you had a soft spot for my mum.”

The Regent shakes his head and rolls his eyes, ignoring Merlin’s continued laughter:

“Either of you eaten? I’m starved.”

Gaius and Hunith’s smiles come a lot easier at that, and they shake their heads. Arthur leads the way out of the chambers, smiling and nodding at Gwaine’s raised eyebrow. The knight returns the smile, quickly sidling up to Merlin and re-taking his hand as Arthur speaks:

“I’ll let the kitchens know to have five meals sent up to my chambers, I’ll see you there in a moment.”

They part ways in the corridor, all of them with easy smiles and lighter hearts, especially when Gwaine eagerly regales his interpretation of Arthur’s reaction to having to crown him.

~

The next morning was once again tense. Arthur’s assertion late last night that he intended to finally deal with Uther weighs heavy in everyone’s minds.

Hunith and Gaius are once again tucked safely into the Physician’s chambers, and all of the King’s most trusted knights are called to stand guard in the corridor. Merlin and Arthur wear their smart clothes (a suggestion by Morgana that Gwaine thought was funny enough that he begged and begged until Merlin gave in), and they take in with them Leon and Morgana. 

Uther looks manic, his hair unkept, his face unshaven. His clothes are clean at least, but they’re rumpled, likely due to the near constant pacing of the former King. The room is dark, the curtains obviously haven’t been opened in several days, but the dim candles highlight the mess throughout the room. Uther may still be being passed meals by the guards, but out of concern for the staff’s safety, no servants were granted access to tidy or otherwise serve. 

His head whips around when the door opens, his enraged face turning red at the four people stood smartly by his door. He storms towards them, but Morgana, no longer scared of the consequences, holds a hand out and mutters a few golden words, halting him in his tracks. He apparently hasn’t lost his voice though, as he turns to Merlin:

“WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO MY DAUGHTER?! YOU-”

Merlin rolls his eyes and clicks his fingers, his eyes also turning golden as Uther’s mouth shuts with a clack. Leon manages to hold his smirk in, just stands still as the perfect guard, his hand on the hilt of his sword, but Morgana doesn’t even try, smiling openly. Merlin holds Uther’s furious gaze for a few more moments before looking to Arthur at his side, tilting his head in question. The Regent nods at him before stepping forward, his back straight and his face and voice Kingly:

“You will listen, and you will listen well, because I will not repeat myself. You are the only abomination in this room, and you will live with that for the rest of your days. How long that is, is up to you. I am Regent, soon enough I will be King, Myrddin will be Crown Prince, and Morgana will be Princess; when that happens, magic will finally be fully legalised, and the public will be made aware of your crimes. I will not hide things from my people, not like you have. No matter what you deserve, I struggle to bring myself to sentence you to execution, and you’ll be humiliated to learn, I imagine, that Merlin argued in favour of letting you keep your head when I brought it up.-”

Uther glances angrily at Merlin, but looks back to Arthur when he realises that he’s still incapable of speaking:

“-Therefor your options are as follows: You may go to the summer home on the coast, where you will be under constant guard, but will otherwise have a semi-free life. You will stay in Camelot, but live out the remainder of your days in this room only. Or me and Merlin will take a week long trip away to, say, Nemeth, whilst Princess Morgana and Sir Leon announce, organise, and undergo your execution. You have today to decide, we’ll be back this evening.”

Arthur doesn’t bother waiting for a reaction, turning his back on Uther and gesturing the others to lead the way through the door. He pauses momentarily, one hand on the door frame as he turns back, a mournful frown on his face as he quietly speaks:

“If you had just told the truth, if you had just owned up to making a mistake, you, me, Myrddin, Morgana, we... we could have been a family. You’re the one that ruined that, you’re the one that tore us apart, and I swear to you now, that whatever option you pick, I will never forgive you.”

That only seems to enrage Uther more, but Arthur isn’t quite sure why he bothered to hope for another reaction. He shuts the door behind him, waving at Merlin to reset the magical locks as he sighs and rubs tired hands over his face:

“Well at least that’s over and done with.”

Leon pats him on the shoulder consolingly, and Elyan raises an eyebrow, glancing around at the others and sighing when he realises no one else is going to ask:

“He didn’t take it well then, I’m guessing?”

Arthur takes a deep breath and stands straight, shaking his head. Morgana is the one to answer however, and Arthur appreciates the way she makes a genuine attempt to keep the humour out of her voice:

“No, he wasn’t best pleased, but I think he’s accepted that he has well and truly lost this battle. Something he’s not entirely used to, I suppose.”

The knights nod in understanding, and Merlin lets out a deep breath, tilting his head slightly:

“Weird to think that he’s my... dad... ugh.”

They all chuckle at that, even Arthur, though they all stop with concerned frowns when Merlin suddenly straightens up with wide eyes and an open mouth:

“Oh... my God... how did I...- What?!”

Arthur puts a hand on his shoulder, his frown deepening:

“Merls?”

The Warlock just ignores him, turning to Morgana with still wide eyes:

“You’re my sister! I’ve been focusing so much on how Arthur’s my brother that I didn’t even consider the fact that you’re my sister!”

Morgana takes in a sudden breath, and all bar Leon (who just raises an eyebrow and then rolls his eyes when he realises that he’s the only one unsurprised by this) stare at the two of them in shock. Morgana slowly pulls Merlin into a hug, and the two of them clutch each other tightly as a grin grows on Arthur’s face. Leon gives him another clap on the back, this one more congratulatory (if a little confused. Honestly, how did they miss that?), and the others cheer just as Gwen turns the corner into the corridor. She smiles confusedly at Merlin and Morgana, still hugging, as she sidles up to Leon, whispering:

“What’s the occasion? They find Uther dead?”

Leon laughs but shakes his head, leaning down to mutter his response:

“They only just now figured out that they’re siblings.”

She looks up to him quickly with a disbelieving raise of the eyebrows:

“Wait, just now as in, just now?-”

Leon smirks and nods firmly, and Gwen shakes her head as she laughs:

“-It’s been almost a week.”

Leon laughs as well leaning against the wall as the others chatter excitedly among themselves:

“Yeah, apparently you and I are the only ones who had considered the idea. These are all the smartest people I’ve ever come across...”

He trails off, but Gwen looks up at him with a teasing smirk:

“And yet sometimes...?”

They both laugh quietly, shaking their heads when Percival catches their eyes and tilts his head in question.

The group walks away soon enough, heading to one of the smaller dining rooms for an early lunch and a chance to discuss their intentions for this afternoon’s council meeting. Morgana, Merlin, and Arthur walk together, and conversation flows between all bar Gwaine, who stares at the back of his now betrothed’s head with the quiet adoration and lowly simmering excitement of someone that knew the man he loves is finally getting all that he deserves.

~

END of Part 3!!!

Part 4 will be VERY short. Will be just about post coronation and public announcement, will probably contain Merwaine’s wedding, some casual magic, some more family bonding.

I hope y’all enjoyed this!!! I wrote it surprisingly quickly once I set my mind to it

[kaunis-sielu]

Fire Dogs: 6

Steve pulls Grant’s hand off of your arm then steps in between you and Grant.

“Fawn are you okay?” He asks softly.

“I’m okay,” you assure him and he turns his gaze onto Grant.

“I thought I told you that you were to leave her alone.” His voice is low and furious, “And not only do I find you here, harassing her, putting your hands on her but you’re also telling everyone that she’s an Omega even though you know she doesn’t want people to know.”

“What’s it to you?” Grant sneers and you almost pity him. Steve, externally seems calm but you can feel the rage.

“You’re going to leave Fawn alone. You’re not going to tell anyone else she’s an Omega, you’re going to think she’s a Beta and if you do come across her you’re going to treat her with the respect she deserves.” Grant seems to be fighting the Alpha command, he grits his teeth and sweat starts to form on his brow. You know he won’t beat it though, your knees have practically buckled at the power behind his command. You see why they call him a True Alpha.

“What if I don’t?”

“I’ll kill you. Omega protection laws say that as her Alpha I can defend her in anyway I might need to.” He warns and while Grant pales Steve continues, “Now, you’re going to apologize to Fawn, you’re going to leave her alone and I’m not going to have to remind you again.”

“Sorry Fawn.” You nod then Steve turns him around and gives him a little shove and Grant meanders away from you.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Steve asks turning toward you.

“Yea, are you?” When he looks at you quizzically you clarify, “you were so angry.”

“You could tell?”

“I could feel it.” The slow smile he gives you causes your heart to race.

“Oh Honey,” he breathes pressing his forehead to yours. You can feel his breath slide across your cheek and you sigh softly as you close your eyes. Something wet hits your cheek and you pull away from Steve and look up at the sky as the clouds break.

You’re practically drenched in a matter of seconds,

“Rain! Steve rain!” You cry tilting your head back, a smile stretched across your face as the rain pours down on you. Finally, you’ve been waiting for this rain to knock down the fires and it’s finally here.

But no more fires means no more Steve. Your smile falls off of your face as quickly as it bloomed. “Rain.”

“Honey,” Steve says looking concerned.

“No more fire means no more you.” You choke out and he gently gathers you in to him.

“Shh, we can talk about it. This might not knock out all the fire.”

“But if it does,”

“We figure it out.” He soothes, “dance with me?”

“What?” You ask not moving your head from where it’s pressed to his chest. He takes your left hand gently in his right and puts your right hand up on his shoulder while wrapping his left arm around your back then he starts to sway.

It’s soothing, the way he slowly sways and hums. The rainwater is cool as it falls but you find that you don’t care at least not until it gets chilly.

“You wanna head home?”

“Yes, can, can you sleep with me again tonight?”

“Yea Honey.” You round the car and slide into the passengers seat before Cooper licks your face.

“Thanks Coop. You good boy.” You tell him and Steve starts the car then heads for home. Steve reaches over and offers you one of his hands, which you happily take and leave in your lap. It’s been nearly three weeks at this point and you’re not sure how you’re going to feel when he leaves. You’ve heard that it can be excruciating for an Omega to be without their Alpha but Steve technically isn’t your Alpha.

It’s still raining heavily when you get back home. You and Steve cook dinner together after he showers and you change into something dry. As you eat you talk a little about your day, how your drawings were approved and that printing will start soon. Steve is proud of you, a welcome feeling after Grant.

Your heart sinks when Bucky comes home early.

“Fires look like they’re all out.” He says with a grin and you have to blink away your tears before either man notices. Cooper does notice though and he comes over to you putting his head in your lap. You pet him absentmindedly while half listening to Steve and Bucky talk. They talk about the fire, the rain and when the subject of their trip home comes up you have to leave the room. It makes you too sad to think about them leaving.

You take Cooper out, grabbing the umbrella that you keep by the door on your way out. You don’t fool yourself and think that Steve hasn’t noticed your change in mood or the tears gathering on your eyelashes but you need a moment. You let Cooper run around in the rain, one of his favorite things to do, and you let a few of the tears fall.

You’re so conflicted on what to do. You’re 99% sure that Steve is your Alpha. The one Alpha for you, with how he makes you feel, and how he treats you and the fact that you can feel his emotions are all signs that he’s probably your Alpha. You’d be completely thrilled if he didn’t come from New York. If he wasn’t the True Alpha of his pack. But none of those things are true. He is the True Alpha, he lives in New York City, and you live here.

“Hey,” Steve says quietly from just inside the house. “You okay?”

“I don’t know.” You admit not looking at him,“I wanna be but I don’t know.”

“Wanna talk me through it?”

“I’m just really conflicted. I know in my gut you’re my Alpha, but you live there and I live here and I like it here. I like the smallness, the woods and the mountains. I can’t ask you to move your whole pack, and shouldn’t you being my Alpha be enough? Why isn’t it enough? Is there something wrong me with me?”

“Nothing is wrong with you.” Steve assures you, “all of your feelings and thoughts are completely valid. If it makes you feel any better I know in my gut you’re my Omega. I’ve known since you opened the door. The pack and I will do whatever you need to be happy, no Alpha command needed.”

“I can’t ask you all to move here. How big is your pack?”

“All together around fifty.”

“Fifty! Steve! That’s huge!”

“Why don’t you come to New York with us? You and I can go upstate? See if we can find somewhere that’s close enough to the city but quiet enough for you?”

“I’m scared Steve.”

“Of what?”

“You know the last Alpha I had. What if this doesn’t work and I’ve moved my whole life to the other side of the country?”

“Do you own this place?” You nod, “then keep it. If it doesn’t work you still have a home but if it does we have a vacation place.”

“Would you want me to stop taking my suppressants?”

“If you want to. I know it’s easier to have kids when you’re not on them.”

“You’d want kids with me?”

“I want it all with you Omega. I want the bonding. The marriage. The family. I want all of it.” You’re floored by his admission you finally turn toward him and throw an arm around his neck pulling his lips to yours. Steve is gentle when he pulls your body flush against his, he’s warm and solid against you.

“I’ll come to New York with you. Are you sure you could live outside the city?”

“For you? Yes. Easily and happily.”

“Can we bring Cooper?”

“Of course. Are you gonna be alright traveling with the three of us?”

“Yea. I think I can manage.” You tell him with a smile, “when do you want to leave?”

“I don’t know, I’ve got to talk to Sam and Bucky. I’m sure they’ll wanna get back as much as I do but we have to be sure the fires are out for good. Maybe three days?”

“Okay, you might need to talk me down again. Get me out of my own head.”

“I can do that.” He promises, “you’re sure you want to go?”

“Yes. When I think of being left here without you it fills me with such dread. But I might get nervous about meeting your pack and about being on the east coast in a huge city.”

“The pack is going to love you. You don’t need to worry about that. Can I check your ribs again?”

“I suppose. Come on Cooper!”

“He’s soaked.” Steve says and you glance over at a very muddy Cooper.

“Yea, he loves the rain.” You’ll need to give him a bath before bedtime, luckily he loves bath time almost as much as he loves the rain. “I’ll have to give him a b-a-t-h. He loves them and will lose his mind when I say the word.”

“Ah.” Steve gives you a little half smile, “want help?”

“Only if you’re ready to get drenched again.”

“Bring it on.”

“Hey Cooper, wanna take a bath?” You say and as promised loses his mind barking and dancing around you excitedly. You let him in and he bolts downstairs.

Steve helps you give Cooper a bath and as you predict you’re both completely soaked by the time you’re done.

“Who got a bath? You two or Cooper?” Bucky teases as you and Steve go past him in the living room.

“Cooper, give him a hug.” You tell the dog who runs over to Bucky and still soaking wet jumps up into Bucky’s lap and throws his body onto Bucky’s torso.

“Awe Cooper!” You and Steve laugh as Bucky debates if he wants your dog off of him or if he’s just going to let it happen. He finally surrenders and hugs Cooper back as you and Steve head upstairs.

After Steve checks your shoulder and ribs he seems pleased with how you’re healing. Cooper sleeps with Bucky instead of you and honestly it’s kind of nice that you and Steve have the bed to yourselves. It would be even nicer if you could relax.

“Steve?”

“Hmm?”

“Will you tell me about the pack?”

“Can’t sleep?” You hum softly in response. So you drift off to his voice telling you about his pack.

The next three days are busy, you get things together for your trip to New York. You use as much of the perishable food as you can and bring other stuff to the food shelf in town. You pack up all of your book stuff, some of your clothes and whatever you’ll need for Cooper. You and Steve decide that you’ll drive your car with Cooper and some of your stuff then Sam and Bucky will drive the truck with everything else that you want to bring out and their stuff.

It’s weird locking up your place for what could be the last time. But you think that you’re ready, Steve is watching you out of the corner of his eye while he talks to Sam and Bucky. He gives you this sweet smile when you come walking down the sidewalk, Cooper on your heels.

“Ready to go Omega?” Steve asks and you nod, both his friends share a pleased look then both head for the drivers seat. A tussle breaks out, Sam getting Bucky into a headlock but Bucky is able to muscle his way out of the headlock and throws Sam to the ground before jumping into the truck with a triumphant yell.

“Is this going to be a bad idea?” You ask an unamused Steve.

“They’ll be fine. I’m more annoyed with them, I just know they’re gonna embarrass me on this trip.” He says as you walk to your car together, he opens the back for Cooper then buckles him in and joins you in the car.

“Maybe I should’ve ridden with them to hear the stories.”

“Absolutely not.” Steve says lightly, “besides you wouldn’t really leave your Alpha all alone would you?”

“Not unless I have to.” You admit and he takes your hand. He presses a kiss to the back of it and gives you a soft smile. You’d let him mark you right now if he was a normal Alpha you realize with a start, your anxiety spikes at the thought.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I just, this is big ya know? I’ve been this fiercely independent fake Beta for like 18 years or so? And now I’m leaving that life behind.”

“You can still be an independent fake Beta.”

“No I can’t,” you admit, “I didn’t renew my prescription. I have a week left.”

Tag list:

@memyselfandmaddox @thefanficfaerie @patzammit @dsakita @dramadreamer14 @killcomet @thesassmisstress @andahugaroundtheneck @loving-life-my-way @thefridgeismybestie @dumblani @im-just-another-monster @mywinterwolf @giggleberts @biskwitmamaw @geeksareunique @paintballkid711 @lumar014 @also-fangirlinsweden @connie326 @inkedaztec @eralen @valsworldofcreativity @strangersstranger @blackwidownat2814 @sky0401 @winterbuckystan1917 @dontbescaredtosingalong

[fallen-gravity]

Intellectual Adequacy

Stan hates to start any unnecessary conflict, especially when there’s a very real chance that Ford will be moving to California next year, but he knows deep down that if they don’t talk about this now then he’ll never have the courage to bring it up again.

“Wait,” Stan shouts to Ford, and he stops dead in his tracks.

~~

Notes: In which one little plot bunny that was preventing me from getting any work done becomes its own rabbit hole.

I genuinely cannot believe that in the six-seven years I've been in this fandom, I've never tried my hand at the fix-it-fic where Stan and Ford just talk it out as teenagers, just like they should've in canon. I've seen a lot of different approaches, but I feel like I've yet to see one that tackles it from the perspective of Stan's own battle with his self-worth, rather than the actions he or Ford have already taken.

AO3

Stan hates the principal’s office more than anywhere else in the world.

He swears, he’s called down every other week for something that’s not even his fault. He punched Crampelter in the nose for harassing some poor freshman? Principal’s office. He talks back to a teacher calling his classmate stupid for forgetting an “obvious” geometry equation? Principal’s office. He accidentally drops his pencil during an exam and bends over to pick it up? He must be cheating. Principal’s office.

If you asked him, the whole idea of sending kids to the principal’s office is pointless to begin with. Oh, you did something bad, and now we’re gonna make the big man in charge tell your mommy and daddy? How old do these people think they are?

Stan wishes he could say that this time is okay because they’re not even talking to him. They’re talking up a storm to Ford in there about another college scholarship and all the reasons why he and he alone would be the perfect candidate for some random school all the way out in California

But it’s not okay, because the longer Stan sits in the dumb waiting room the more he’s starting to feel like chopped liver. They’ve been in there for at least five minutes with no sign of stopping anytime soon, but every time Stan asks the secretary if he can just go back to class already she dismisses him with a wave of her hand and it’ll be your turn soon, sit back down.

He’s thinking of just sneaking out the next time the secretary buries her nose back into her magazine. It’s simple: just wait for her to pull it out from her desk, sneak by as quick as he can, and slip out the door and back to class before she can even notice he’s gone.

He stands from his chair, pretending to stretch and preparing to execute, but freezes solid when he hears his name being spoken from within the principal’s office.

“…What about our little free spirit Stanley?”

It’s Ma, and whatever it is they’re talking about in there, she isn’t happy about it. Frowning, Stan glances over at the secretary to make sure that she isn’t staring at him, and presses his ear to the office door to listen to their conversation more carefully.

The principal laughs in response. “That clown? At this rate he’ll be lucky if he graduates high school”

Stan’s taken aback by the harsh choice of words, but if he knows Ford, then he won’t just sit there and let the principal talk about him like that. He presses his ear further into the door, waiting for Ford to interrupt the principal’s rambling about how he’s never going to amount to anything with you just don’t know him like I do, or something along those lines, but it never comes.

Not a single interjection that…anything he’s saying is wrong. Not from Pa, not from Ford….and not even from Ma.

They don’t…all really believe that, right?

There has to be something else he’s missing. He bets they’re defending his honor right now, and the reason they’re not making a big scene about it is because they’re in public.

Yeah.

He’s got nothing to worry about.

He peeks into the window, expecting to see Ma glaring daggers into the principal, or Ford silently cursing him out behind his back, but what he’s met with is so much worse. Ma and Pa are exchanging warm smiles, and Ford is frantically shaking hands with the principal, beaming brighter than Stan’s ever seen in his entire life.

Matter of fact, Stan’s not sure he’s ever seen any of them look so happy in his entire life.

He’s worthless, he’ll never go anywhere, and they’re all smiling about it.

Stan’s heart drops to his stomach, and he slides to the floor to join it.

Is this some kind of cruel joke? Were they expecting him to listen in on their conversation? Is this their cruel workaround of telling him he’ll never amount to shit?

He sighs.

He stays there on the cold tiled floor for what feels like hours, contemplating all the times he’s been called dumb, or stupid, or a terrible influence on his brother. All of those times when he could brush it off just because it was coming from someone he didn’t care about.

But worthless?

Behind his back, spoken directly to people he loves, and they won’t even bother to defend him?

That one’s new, and if Stan is going to be completely honest with himself, it’s much harder to brush off his shoulders than all those other times.

Stan doesn’t even notice the office door opening until it nearly smacks him in the back of his head. He quickly jumps to his feet and brushes himself off, pretending the best that he can that he wasn’t just eavesdropping on them for the past ten minutes.

“Stanley!” Ford comes bursting out of the room, his grin threatening to split his face in two. “I just received the most incredible news! The admissions team at West Coast Tech heard about my science fair project, and-”

The beam suddenly slips from his face, replaced with some sort of mix of confusion and concern. “Is...Something wrong?”

Stan rubs at his eyes to make sure he hadn’t started tearing up without realizing it, but no, his eyes are bone dry.

Curse Ford’s stupid ability to read his mind.

Stan covers up the gesture of rubbing at his eyes with a yawn, and stretches his arms in the air. “Nothing except you taking forever in there” he flashes a fake smile easily. “Talk about a blabbermouth, am I right?” Stan gestures towards the principal with his thumb.

Ford laughs, and returns his gaze to the pamphlet in his hands. “I don’t know,” he says. “I don’t think he’s so bad”

Stan opens his mouth to quip back, but Ford doesn’t seem to be paying much attention anymore. He’s just staring at that dumb pamphlet, his grin slowly but surely returning to his face again.

Instead, Stan shoves his hands in his pockets and shrugs, turning his gaze to the floor. “Yeah, I guess you’re right”

~~~

Stan feels like he’s in a haze for the rest of the day. Even when he tries to focus on class to take his mind off of things and redirect it on anything else, he can’t get his mind to stick.  Not even final period gym class can save him, which is really saying something, because the gymnasium is usually the one place where he thrives.

Worthless.

The word won’t stop bouncing around in his skull, hitting him where he’s most sensitive.

It doesn’t help a thing that Ford is dead silent on their walk home from school. He’s usually chatting up a storm to Stan about stuff he doesn’t really understand, and under normal circumstances Stan can’t wait to get home so he can bury his head in his pillow and drown out the sound of Ford’s babbling.

But today he’s not even looking in Stan’s direction, just burying his nose in the West Coast Tech brochure with stars in his eyes, and now Stan wants nothing more than to hear Ford babbling on about his advanced physics classes.

It’s almost insulting.

Stan sighs, and lightly taps on Ford’s shoulder to catch his attention. “Can we talk?”

“Hmm?” Ford blinks, like he needs a few moments to readjust to reality. “Oh! Of course. I was actually planning on asking you the same thing” he places the brochure in his pocket. “Same place as always?”

Stan nods. “Same place as always”.

It’s a quick change of direction and a shortcut to the beach before they find themselves on their old swing set. By now they’re both too heavy to use it properly without a risk of snapping it, but they still find it’s a good place to go when they just need to get away and talk.

“You’re not really thinking of going to that stuffy old school, are you?” Stan asks as soon as Ford sits on the swing beside him. “They’ve gotta be crazy if they think four more years of essays and exams are better lookin’ than tanned babes and gold chains. We’re so close to finishing up the Stan-O-War. Soon as graduation rolls around we’re outta here, just like we always promised”.

Ford chuckles. “That is a nice thought, but…” he pulls the brochure out of his pocket again, and unfolds it for Stan to see. “You have to understand that I can’t just pass up an opportunity like this. Maybe I don’t need a degree from any old state school, but this is West Coast Tech we’re talking about!” he beams, the stars returning to his eyes. “They’ve got cutting edge technology and multidimensional paradigm theory”

Stan rolls his eyes, but he can’t help but admit to himself it’s nice to have his brother back again after an entire day of radio silence.

“Beep boop, giant nerd robot oncoming” Stan punches Ford in the arm.

Ford’s grin only widens. “I figured you’d say that, but it’s too late to change my mind. The head of admissions already flew in this morning, and with my go-ahead they’re going to check out my science fair project later tonight and let me know then and there if they want me at their school”

“Well that seems kind of harsh” Stan quips. “What if they say no?”

Ford shrugs. “Well, then it’s like you said. If they don’t want me, you and I sail off on the Stan-O War and never look back”.

Stan frowns at the strong emphasis on if. He really thinks he’s going to get this, doesn’t he? Stan can’t exactly blame him when he’s been the reigning valedictorian of their class every year since they were kids.

“And if they say yes?”

Ford grins. “Well, then you better visit me on the other side of the country” he punches Stan in the shoulder, and stands to his feet without saying another word.

Stan can’t bring himself to join him. He knows that Ford didn’t mean anything by it, but he can’t help feel wounded by his brother’s implication that while he’s off in California having the time of his life, Stan’s still gonna be stuck living with their parents in New Jersey.

It’s just like their principal said. He’ll never amount to anything anyway, so why wouldn’t he stay in New Jersey? Where else would a worthless piece of shit like him end up?

Stan shifts on his swing and watches as Ford walks away, and he can’t help but wonder just how much of the principal’s tangent that Ford believed.

All of it?

Some of it?

Had Ford even been listening to what he said at all?

As he continues to watch his brother walk away, he can’t help the feeling in his gut that he has to know. He hates to start any unnecessary conflict, especially when there’s a very real chance that Ford will be moving to California next year, but Stan knows deep down that if they don’t talk about this now then he’ll never have the courage to bring it up again.

“Wait,” Stan shouts to Ford, and he stops dead in his tracks.

“Yeah?” Ford says, turning around to face him. Stan suddenly finds himself very aware of his heart loudly pounding against his chest, but he forces himself to squash that down. He’s never felt shy or anxious about asking his brother anything, and he sure as hell isn’t letting that start now.

“You don’t…uh,” he swallows. “You don’t think I’m…worthless, do you?”

Ford looks appalled. He neatly folds the brochure back into his pocket and starts walking- no, jogging, almost sprinting back to the swing set. He pauses in front of the empty swing beside Stan for a moment, like he’s debating whether he should sit down or not, but eventually he shakes his head and sits down anyway.

“What on earth makes you say that?”  There’s a hint of anger to his tone, but Stan’s not entirely convinced it’s directed at him. “Why would I think you’re worthless? You’re my twin brother! What could’ve possibly put the idea in your head that I thought that?”

There’s a tiny voice in the back of his head screaming at him to back out, brush it off with a joke and have this conversation later, but there’s an even louder voice shouting at him that it needs to be had now.

Stan sighs. “I…overheard everything in the principal’s office today”

Ford blinks, like he doesn’t understand a word that Stan just said. “About…West Coast Tech? Is this because you’re afraid that I’ll get in, but you know you won’t because you’re not even interested in applying anyway, but you know you’re going to miss me, and you’re not sure if you can handle-”

“About me, Sixer!” Stan shouts, and tries his damn hardest to ignore the waver in his voice. “He practically called me a useless piece of shit directly to Ma and Pa and neither of them said a word about it!” He scrubs his hands down his face because he’s not choking up, not over something so pointless and stupid. “You’re going to travel the world and become the smartest person the scientific community has ever seen, or whatever, but me? Apparently I’ll always be stuck here in New Jersey to pick up after everyone else’s messes, because that’s all I’m ever good for”

Stan buries his face in his hands. He hadn’t meant to blow up, and he certainly hadn’t meant to direct his anger at Ford, but he just feels so hopeless, and he’s the only one around who’s willing to listen. He wouldn’t be surprised if Ford returned with anger of his own, or told him off for being selfish, or even if he just decided to stand up and walk away from him for being such an embarrassment.

The silence that follows is thick and heavy. Stan is so convinced that he must’ve driven Ford away that when he feels a hand on his shoulder he nearly jumps a mile out of his skin. When he finally pulls his hands out of his face to meet Ford’s eyes, his face is flushed pink and he looks…embarrassed.

“Stan, I had no idea, I…” he awkwardly pulls his hand away and grips tightly to the chain of his swing. Stan can see Ford’s face shifting through about a dozen different emotions at once. “I…must’ve been too focused on everything else to realize he was saying those things about you.” He shakes his head. “I know it’s not an excuse, but…” he sighs. “I’m sorry”

There’s another bout of silence between them. Stan’s half-expecting that to be the end of it, and for Ford to walk away without another word.  

But Ford breaks the silence with a sigh, and when Stan glances over at him he’s staring down at the ground.

“If it’s any consolation...you’re much smarter than me in a lot more places than you realize”

Okay, now Stan has to laugh. “Okay, now you’re being too nice to me. You don’t need to lie to make me feel better”

“I’m serious!” Ford’s cheeks flush pink again, and he adjusts his glasses before returning his gaze towards Stan. “There’s actually been a fascinating number of studies about intelligence lately, and, well…” Ford’s face is turning redder by the minute, Stan swears. “It turns out that…there’s more than one type”

Stan raises an eyebrow. “You’re losing me here, Sixer”

“Well, you see, I thrive in academic intelligence. Math, science, history, you know, school stuff. That’s the most commonly known type of intelligence because a lot of our formative years are based on it”

Stan doesn’t say anything, just raises his eyebrow even further.

“But,” Ford continues quickly, “They’ve also made discoveries about the existence of social intelligence”

“Social?” Stan blinks, suddenly finding himself significantly more interested. “You mean like talking to people and stuff?”

Ford nods. “Precisely. They say people with high social intelligence are much better at picking up on social cues, and can make friends with others much easier than those with lower social intelligence.” Ford kicks at the sand. “The reason social intelligence hasn’t been recognized is because it’s often mistaken for having a friendly personality”.  His face flushes pink again, like he’s afraid he said the wrong thing. “Not that a person can’t have both, but…”

Stan smirks, nudging at Ford with his elbow. “Stanford Pines, are you calling your good-for-nothing brother intelligent?” He teases, but can’t help the genuine smile creeping to his face.

“Think about it!” Ford throws an arm into the air, the other one tightly gripped on the swing to prevent himself from falling off. “Every time Ma and Pa leave us in charge of the shop so they can go to Atlantic City for the weekend, who’s the one bringing in all the customers? Who’s the one selling out our daily stock less than two hours after we’re open? You are, Stan, just by being yourself. You know how to persuade people into buying our stock at ten times the listed price.”

“You can’t learn that from twelve years of public school. They can try to teach you, but at the end of the day it’s all about your ability to connect with people” Ford rubs at his arm. “I’ve tried teaching myself those kinds of tricks for years, but at the end of the day…” he shakes his head. “I’ve never been able to catch up.” He smiles. “I raise my white flag to you, Stan. You’ve outsmarted the smartest brother in the world”

Stan chuckles. “Try telling that to Principal Comb-over. He hears you saying the so-called dumbest clown in the entire school system is smarter than you and he’s going to cart you away to the loony bin”

Ford laughs. “You know, now that I think about it, there may actually be a way to tell him off for what he said about you and get away with it scott-free”

Stan raises an eyebrow. “Yeah? How so?”

Ford smirks. “I think you should try to graduate out of spite”

Stan’s not sure he follows. “Whaddya mean?”

“I mean, think about it” Ford stands from his swing and begins to pace back and forth. “The principal called both of us down even though he only wanted to speak to me, and then he talked shit about you even though he knew you were sitting right outside his door?” he pauses in his pacing. “Stan, he knew that you could hear him. Maybe he didn’t intend for you to listen in when he was talking to Ma and Pa about my scholarship opportunity, but he knew you’d be listening the moment you were brought up in the conversation”

That’s…true. Stan was just about to sneak out before he heard them say his name.

“He’s expecting you to fail, and he wants to put it in everyone else’s head too. He thinks it’s the easy way out, because if you choose to fail out on your own than he doesn’t have to take responsibility for being such a shitty educator. It gives him the chance to say look how he didn’t even try instead of look at how we failed him.”

“But if you proved him wrong? Imagine the look on his face when he has to be the one to place that diploma in your hand. Imagine him having to look you dead in the eyes and tell you he’s proud of you. You’ll know he’s speaking bullshit, but he knows he can’t talk shit about you anymore without making himself look bad.” Ford smirks. “Matter of fact, imagine the looks on the faces of everyone who’s ever doubted you walking across that stage. Pa alone is gonna have a heart attack”

Ford’s smile softens. “I already know that you’re much smarter than you’re given credit for, and I think it’s about time that everyone else recognizes that too”.

Stan’s cheeks burn red, and he shyly kicks at the sand. “Heh, thanks. I appreciate it.” He says. “But even if I did manage to graduate, what am I supposed to do with a high school diploma? Every job application I’ve been skinning through recently says college, college, college”

“Well…” Ford taps at his chin. “Then why not go out for college?”

Okay, now he’s taking things too far.

“Pardon?” Stan mocks, because if Ford thinks that Stan’s going to willingly take four more years of classes than maybe he should be carted away to a loony bin.

“I’m serious!” Ford blushes. “Maybe not a high intensity school like West Coast Tech, but college is so much more freeing than high school, Stanley. It’s not class after class on subjects that other people tell you to take. It’s personalized. If you hate science class so much, you never have to take another science class again”

Ford’s blush darkens. “I know that school is a big drag and all, but if you asked me?” he averts his gaze. “I think you’d really benefit from business school. Charisma and social intelligence is the number one thing that big name businesses are looking for, and I know you’re filled to the brim with both. Ultimately it is your decision, but…” Ford fiddles with his thumbs. “Just…just consider it, okay?”

For a brief moment, Stan just wants to burst out into hysterical laughter. Ford’s been offered the opportunity of a lifetime at one of the best schools in the country, and he’s still taking the time to help out his good-for-nothing brother who’s been cheating off of his exams for the past ten years.

Instead he settles for a roll of his eyes. “Alright, Professor Poindexter, I’ll consider it”

Ford giggles at that, and for a few moments neither of them says anything, watching the waves gently lapping on the beach in the short distance. It’s a comfortable silence, a reassuring sort of feeling that Stan hasn’t felt in a long time.

The frantic beeping of Pa’s wristwatch interrupts them, and both boys flinch at the sound in unison. For a moment Stan is worried that Pa’s standing behind them having heard every word, but when he glances over at Ford, he sees him rolling up his shirt sleeve to reveal that he’s the one wearing the watch, and clicks the alarm off.

“Pa made me borrow it so I wouldn’t be late for the presentation with the school board” he rubs awkwardly at the back of his head. “I’ll probably give it back as soon as I get home tonight”

Stan smirks. “You still hate the sound of that thing too, huh?”

“I can still hear it in my nightmares,” Ford exaggerates, his eyes going wide, and the twins burst into laughter as they both stand from the swings and stretch their arms and legs to wake them up from sitting for so long.

Ford wipes at his eye as he fidgets with the wristwatch. “So…do you think you’re going to be okay?”

That in itself is a pretty loaded question that could take him all night to answer, but all things considering…

“Yeah,” Stan smiles. “I think I’ll be okay”

Ford smiles back, and gestures with his thumb towards the direction of the pawn shop. “Then I’m going to head home and get ready for my presentation. You coming?”

Stan shakes his head. “I think I’ll stay out here and just…watch the ocean for a little while longer”

Ford’s smile softens, but he doesn’t say anything else. He turns heel and walks back towards the house, and it feels as though a giant weight has just been lifted off of Stan’s chest. He glances back to watch Ford go, but finds comfort in the feeling that he feels nothing at all.

~~~

Nearly five hours later, Stan sits at home, watching television on the couch to pass the time. Just out of the corner of his eye he sees Ford slip into the kitchen and gently click the door closed. Stan shuts the TV off, and spins around on the couch to face his brother.

“Well?” Stan asks, though he knows he doesn’t even need to bother asking, given that Ford looks like he’s about to burst. With a shaking hand, Ford reaches into his pocket and pulls out a glinting white envelope.

If he’s trying to keep an air of mystery about it, he’s doing a really bad job, because all at once his composure breaks and the smile that spreads across his face looks as though it could burn out the sun.

“They loved me!” He shouts, excitedly pacing the floor. “They told me they’ve never seen anyone else like me!”

His smile is so contagious that it hurts.

Perhaps another day, in another timeline, Stan would take offense to Ford’s excitement to bounce off to the other end of the country without him. Perhaps he’d even lash out, or do something he would’ve immediately regretted.

But here and now, Stan couldn’t be happier for his brother if he tried.

[captain-jensen]

The Most Powerful Thing

Chris Evans x Reader

Request: Are you taking requests? If so, can you do a Chris (or Sebastian) x reader one where they're at an event and his ex (also an actress) comes up to Chris multiple times. Even when the reader isn't there but she sees from afar. And his ex is constantly flirting and bringing up the good times they had. And the reader feels insecure cuz how can she compete?

Warnings: Some angst, fluff, swearing.

Authors Note: It’s been a while since I’ve written so I’m rusty. No specified race or gender for the reader! I hope you all enjoy it. It hasn’t been proofread though so just a fair warning. 

       Stepping out of the car and into the flashing of the cameras for the first time ever was an extremely overwhelming experience to say the least. Tonight was yours and Chris’ first time going public with your relationship. It’s only been 6 months and you had no idea how people were going to react to one of Hollywoods’ most eligible bachelors dating a normal person, someone who isn’t a model, or an actress, or a singer. To be honest you were really scared. Scared of the judgement from his fans, and scared of the judgement from the public in general. Everyone was going to be looking for any possible imperfection that could exist. Chris on the other hand, couldn’t be more thrilled. Even though he understood your anxieties about tonight, he could not be more exstatic to show the world that you were his and that he was yours. Chris had become so used to the attention that was paid to him that he knew nothing anyone said could change how he feels, but he still made sure to pay extra close attention to how you were feeling and was very reassuring. Even though you were scared shitless you knew all you had to do was try really hard to not pay any mind to the negativity. One thing you absolutely could not get your mind off of however, was the fact that one of Chris’ gorgeous exs’ would be there. 

   Walking the carpet was easy enough. All the press seemed thrilled that they now had a juicy new piece to write about Chris Evans’ “mysterious new woman”. Getting inside the venue was something out of a dream. A great big ballroom lit up with beautiful coloured lights and decorations. You couldn’t stop yourself from gushing to Chris and taking pictures of everything, wanting to commit the evening to memory as best as you could. Chris watched in amusement as he realized for what seems like the first time ever how wonderful all of this stuff could be. Watching you experience it all made him develop a whole new type of appreciation for his life. Then, out of nowhere a voice came up from behind you and Chris. “Awe how sweet! Taking pictures to show to your mommy and daddy when you get home?” You heard a high pitched voice feign adoration. Just as you turn around you see a pair of small arms wrap themselves around your boyfriends slender waist. Chris very reluctantly gives a half-assed hug to the woman. “Chris it’s so good to see you again, it’s been a few months now hasn’t it?” 

“Well it’s actually been more like a year or so” Chris corrects her. “This is Y/N, Y/N this is an old friend” Chris moves to wrap an arm around your waist to introduce you. 

“Hi, it’s nice to meet you” You sheepishly greet. She gives you nothing more than a daunting once-over before turning her attention back to Chris. You decide to shake it off though. 

“Chris you look absolutely delicious tonight! Is that the tie I bought for you for that one birthday? As I recall, we had some good times with that tie” She coos with a smirk and reminiscent eyes as she reaches a perfectly manicured hand out to his chest.

“No actually, this is just the tie that came with the rental suit” Chris replies emotionless. 

“Oh, well it looks really familiar” She says, clearly trying to get the last word. 

“Well you’re mistaken i guess. Anyways, we should find our seat” Before she can get another word in, Chris turns you and ushers you infront him with his hands on your waist. “Don’t pay any attention to her. She just really likes stirring the pot and getting attention”

Trying to seem chill and secure you simply respond with a sarcastic “Oh really? I thought she seemed really nice” which earns a chuckle from Chris. After finding your seats and settling in Chris offers to grab drinks for you both from the bar. Noticing that he’s been gone for a bit you turn to scan the crowd for him. When your eyes finally find him your heart stops beating. From a distance you see his ex girlfriend basically draping herself over him, giggling and obviously trying to fuck him with her eyes. Unable to bear the sight and the embarrasment you make your way to the bathroom. Just as Chris sees you practically running to the bathroom he pries himself out of the grip of the clout vulture to make his way to you. He makes it just as you’re about to open the door. Grabbing your wrist Chris gets your attention with a small “Hey!” When you turn around he can see the tears brimming your eyes and the poorly hidden pout on your lips. “Can we go talk outside?” he asks, earnestly concerned about you. Following him through the crowd you spot her eyes trailing you a glint of smugness that you just wanted to slap right off of her face. 

   When you finally maneuver your way across the building you find yourselves in a peaceful garden scene. “Do you want to talk about this” Chris asks, attempting to make eye contact with you. 

“What is there to talk about? Last time I checked you’re allowed to talk to your exes”

“Not when they talk to you like that though. Not when they purposefully try to make you feel like shit” he says. 

“What’s done is done Chris. Can we just go inside and try to have a good night?” You pry, wanting so badly to not dwell on this and have a good time.

“Not until you know that she’s just trying to be a bitch. It was barely even a 2 month fling. I don’t want you thinking badly about yourself just because of some attention seeker” 

“Chris, I said what’s done is done. There’s nothing I can do to make it go away now anyway” 

“You’re right. There’s nothing YOU can do. But I can make sure that you know what you mean to me. And that just so happens to be everything” Chris puts a finger under your chin, glancing in your eyes to make sure you see the full meaning of his words. “I love you so much Y/N. You know that” 

“Yeah I do. But it makes no difference knowing that I’ll never look like she does, or do what she does. I’m just some random person you met at a party” You admit. 

“First of all, what’s wrong with how we met? I love our story! Secondly, do you really think you can’t compare to some talentless wannabe actress? Y/N you’re a fucking genius! I can’t believe you’re being so dumb right now!” Chris exclaims. You get slightly annoyed at that last comment but decide to let him finish before making your rebuttal. “You are genuinely, the most beautiful person I”ve ever met. I mean your hilarious, you’re driven, you’re smart as fuck, and you’re the most genuine person in existence. You’ve honestly got the longest list of amazing qualities I’ve ever seen. Her? All she’s got is her legs and plastic surgery. I love you so fucking much I can’t handle it sometimes”

 You stand there shocked at Chris heartfelt admissions. Unable to speak, Chris senses your hesitancy and moves his hands to the sides of your head, placing a tender and loving kiss on your lips. Still unable to comprehend what he said you just reply with a simple “I love you too Chris, with everything I am”. He gives you the most glowing smile ever and you walk inside with a new found sense of confidence and security. You’ve never experienced this kind of love before, but you were sure it was the most powerful thing in existence. For the rest of the night the 2 of you were attached at the hip. Hearing praises from Chris’ friends about how happy you were and how much of a beautiful couple you made. Now when you scanned the room and found her eyes, there was nothing but an annoyed look in her eyes and a triumphant look in yours. 

[xjoonchildx]

guarded | jhs x reader | chapter five: italian leather gloves

summary: you’ve tried to separate yourself from your infamous crime family, but a new case has your carefully-constructed world crashing down around you.  now you have to figure out how to heal old wounds and handle the new man who enters your orbit.

pairing: hoseok x reader

genre: mafia AU, E2L, slow burn, tsundere, smut

rating: 18+

word count: 6.0K

A/N: so the smut warnings start to go into effect in this chapter, guys! i can’t believe how many kind messages i’ve gotten about this story. please just know that i read every single one and i promise they all make me so happy.  i really hope you guys like this chapter and i hope it answers some questions.  of course i must thank the squad @ladyartemesia @taetaewonderland @ppersonna for being an amazing support system and kick ass beta readers.  love you guys.

Chapter 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | EPILOGUE

****************

Everything hurts.

The moment you open your eyes, you wish you hadn’t.  Late morning sun streams bright and unforgiving into your bedroom, making the ache in your temples even more pronounced.  You spend a good ten minutes lying flat on your back, staring at the ceiling and remembering everything that went wrong last night.

So terribly, terribly wrong.

Your punishment today -- apart from the pounding headache and sour stomach -- is that despite doing your very best to drink yourself to blackout, you remember every minute of last night in painstaking detail.  There’s a cruel clarity to the way your mind replays the awkward dinner with your boss and the confrontation with Donghyuk.

And your fight with Hoseok.

Shame curls in your gut when you recall the nasty things you’d said to try and get a rise out of him. The nasty things he’d said in return when your goading finally worked.

“People like me do the dirty work so people like you can impress rich assholes at stupid parties.”

It’s not like you didn’t already know Hoseok saw you as some kind of entitled rich bitch -- but that didn’t make hearing the words spoken out loud any easier.  It didn’t make the anger you provoked in him any less jarring.

And it didn’t make the moment he saw your scar any less humiliating.

That’s when you feel like you might be sick -- when you remember the way Hoseok went completely still at the sight of your damaged skin.  The way he’d tried so hard to look like he wasn’t staring and failed.

You get out of bed and slip an oversized sweatshirt over your head, take a few deep breaths to try and calm the wobbling sensation in your stomach.  

That’s when it hits you. 

You don’t smell coffee.

****************************

Kim Seokjin looks like he’s made himself quite at home when you finally work up the nerve to leave your bedroom. He’s reclined deep into your couch, long legs propped up on your living room table, tablet in hand.  He looks up from the screen to take in your bedraggled appearance with wide eyes.

“Rough night, huh?”

“Something like that,” you say quietly.  You make your way to the kitchen in search of a glass of water and Seokjin stands up from the couch to follow you.

“Hoseok, uh --”, he pauses for a moment, rubs one hand across the back of his neck,  “ -- said he needed a couple of days to take care of some personal stuff.”

You pour lukewarm water into a glass, take one tentative sip and say nothing.

“So you’re stuck with me,” Seokjin continues slowly, “For a little while, anyway.”

You stare into your glass, unwilling to meet Seokjin’s eyes.  It shouldn’t surprise you one bit that Hoseok took off after what happened between you last night.  It probably shouldn’t hurt either.

But it does.

The little water you’ve managed to get down feels like it might come right back up.

“You okay?” Seokjin asks after a long pause.

“No,” you admit.  “I don’t feel good.  Probably going to stay in bed for the day, so it’ll be a quiet one for you.”

Seokjin nods sympathetically. 

“You know what’s good for when you’re feeling sick?” he asks.  “Samgyetang. I found some in your fridge.  It’s pretty good too, kinda --”

Your stomach lurches at the mention of that goddamned soup.

You leave Seokjin mid-sentence to retch in the privacy of your bathroom.

*****************************

The next time you open your eyes, it’s to complete darkness.

You wake disoriented, not sure if you’ve slept for hours or for days.  The last thing you remember after getting sick was barely getting down some painkillers and a little more water before crawling back into bed.  

Then it was lights out.

Physically, you feel better.  The hammering headache is gone and the motion sickness is gone with it.  But as you lie awake in the darkness, there’s no way to escape your tumultuous thoughts.  The ones that keep going back to Hoseok and that fight.

“People like me follow orders so people like you don’t have to.”

No doubt the story of how you left the Gajog has been distorted over the years, passed between gossips in some twisted game of telephone. No doubt the story that’s told now is not about the scared teenager desperate for any semblance of stability; it’s about some spoiled little girl who decided she was too good for everyone else.  

“People like me stay behind and handle our responsibilities so people like you can walk away from yours.”

That was definitely the worst blow of the night, though.  

There is just enough truth to that accusation to make it stick, to make it sting.  You did walk away. You did leave your brother behind.

You run a hand through your hair and reach for your phone to check the time.  9:30 PM.  

You feel almost human by the time you get out of the shower and walk out into the living room to find Seokjin dozing on the couch.  You feel guilty for rousing him, but it’s his job.  You know this is something you have to do right now.

“Jin,” you call out, nudging him gently.  His eyes blink back, unfocused as he tries to get his bearings.  

“Yeah?” he’s alert at once, looking around.  “You okay?”

No, but I’m going to be.

“I’m alright.  I need you to take me to see my brother.”

****************************

Namjoon has a beautiful penthouse on the water, a luxury apartment high above the Han River.  But there’s no wife, no children waiting for him at home.  Nothing in that place but echoing walls and modern art.

So he spends most of his nights at the office.

Seokjin called ahead, just in case -- but you knew your brother would be there.  He’s still dressed in his suit, a tumbler of scotch in hand when you arrive.  Seokjin doesn’t have to be asked to leave.

“You don’t look well, Amsaja,” he says quietly as you sit in the chair opposite his grand desk.

“You are not the first person to allude to that today,” you say with a humorless laugh.  You look down at your giant sweatshirt and jeans, and shove a hand through your still-wet hair. “Message received.”

His eyes are soft with concern.  “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing,” you say, blowing out a heavy breath.  “Everything.  I just -- I just needed to see you.”

You were still a little girl when you learned the hard way that tears were futile and pointless and only served to make you a target. But you feel them welling in your eyes anyway.  The reflex feels foreign and rusty after so many years of disuse.

“I’m so sorry, Namjoon,” you choke out, voice thick.  “So, so sorry.”

Namjoon sets his tumbler down on the heavy wood of his desk, walks around it and over to you. When he gets down on one knee and reaches out a hand to brush your cheek you don’t see the grown man at the helm of Seoul’s largest criminal empire.  You see the brother who took care of you when no one else would.

Despite your best efforts to stop them, the tears come anyway.

Namjoon holds you close, strokes your hair while you cry into the jacket of his expensive suit.  He doesn’t say anything for a while, just waits for your body to stop shaking with the force of your sobs and for your breathing to even out. 

“Why did you let me leave?” you ask once you’ve managed to regain some control.  “Why didn’t you ask me to stay?”

Namjoon sighs, standing to stretch his legs.  He grabs his drink before walking over to the window to peer down at the lights streaking by below.

“One of us deserved to have a choice,” he says quietly.  “It was never going to be me.  I didn’t want the same for you.”

Your heart breaks all over again, hearing Namjoon say those words out loud.  Your brother, born into a legacy he never asked for and a responsibility he could never run from. Your protector who let you walk away from the life he couldn’t escape.

“You saved me,” you whisper.  “He would have killed me if I hadn’t left Seoul.”

“I know that,” Namjoon admits, “I saw it coming, too.  The worse his drinking got --  I couldn’t let that happen.  I refused to let that happen.”

You stand out of the chair to walk over to the window.  Your brother’s profile is illuminated by the passing lights, mouth set in a grim line.

“You forced him to let me go.”

It’s not a question. Namjoon nods.

“I told him I would disappear if he didn’t let you leave.  And then what? He’d have spent his entire life grooming me for nothing.  He was just weak enough from the drinking to agree. He couldn’t fight me on it anymore.”

You shut your eyes against the fresh tears that come.

“I’ve been so selfish.”

“We’re all selfish, Amsaja,” he sighs.  “We all want things we can’t have. That’s human nature.”

It makes your chest squeeze -- how desolate that admission sounds.  You think about your brother’s massive, empty apartment.  Who takes care of him? Who does he have to talk to?  You swallow past the taste of guilt in your mouth.

“We could leave all of this behind, Jaegyueo. Start over.  Make our own choices this time.”

Namjoon huffs a sad laugh into the rim of his glass.

“How I got here is not the point anymore,” he says.  “You think if I dismantled this organization right now that all of this would just stop?”

He turns away from the window to look you in the eye.

“There would be ten syndicates ready to fill the hole we would leave overnight. And I promise you,” he shakes his head, “None of them would conduct business as neatly as we do. This organization keeps everything from going to shit. This is our way of balancing the scales.”

You wrap your arms around yourself and look back out the window, out to the lights that make the city glow at this time of night.  You know your brother is right.  

This is his destiny.  

“You talk about being selfish,” he continues quietly,  “How’s this for selfish?  No matter how much you’ve suffered in the past, I still want you here by my side.  I still want you to come back.”

Your heart squeezes in your chest.

“Namjoon, I --”  He interrupts you with a raised hand.

“You don’t have to defend your stance.  You have every right to leave this all behind you forever. Just know that you are the only person on this Earth that I trust without question.”

The ice in his scotch tinkles in the quiet of the office as he swirls the contents of the glass.

“Just know that there is a part of me that will always be waiting for you to come back.”

*********************

HOSEOK

Hoseok had to get out of there.

He had to put space between you and him or he was going to lose his mind.  

Thankfully, Seokjin didn’t ask too many questions when he’d phoned in the middle of the night asking to be relieved for a few days.  Seokjin didn’t press too hard when he asked about how you were doing and Hoseok nearly took his head off.  And Seokjin hasn’t asked why Hoseok is texting him every day to make sure you’re alright.

Sometimes -- rarely -- Seokjin knows exactly when to shut the fuck up.  

Hoseok knows he should be using this time to get his shit together. 

He knows he’s this close to doing something stupid.  He knows he’s got to figure out a way to release the pressure building inside of him before he explodes.

He thinks about how satisfying it would be to put his fist through Kang Donghyuk’s face.

He stares down the stone-and-glass entrance to Kang’s apartment from the driver’s seat of his car, one hand tight around the steering wheel.  He tightens his grip on the wheel and loosens it, over and over and over.

A call comes through.

“Hey, it’s Jimin.”

“Yeah,” Hoseok says flatly, eyes never leaving the entrance to that apartment building. “What’s up?”

“I already briefed Namjoon but he wanted me to call you, too.  We finally got a hit on Lee Hyejin.”

Hoseok sits up straighter in his seat.

“What did you find?”

“We got access to her accounts.  Regular payments, every two weeks -- coming through an offshore wire.  Started about three months ago.”

“Shit,” Hoseok says under his breath.  “A Ssijog account?”

“We’re still working on confirming that -- but yeah, like 99% sure.”

Hoseok scrubs a hand down his face.  

Who gets to break the news to you that your only friend has been fucking with your case -- fucking with your entire life? He thinks back to how blank and despondent you’d looked the night of the snake incident, how withdrawn you’d been the night of the charity dinner. 

How much more of this pressure can you withstand before you explode?

“What about the guy?” Jimin asks, after the line is silent for too long. “Any news on him?”

“Not yet,” Hoseok murmurs, tightening his grip around the wheel again.  “But it’s coming.  I know it’s coming.”

“Okay.  Tae is still trying to get a complete list of accounts linked to that offshore one.  If we find out more, I’ll make sure you know right away.”

Hoseok ends the call just as another call comes in.

He takes one look at the screen and rubs his fingers across his tired eyes before sending it to voicemail.

He knows he could have handled the situation with Dae with more care. He knows he could have done more than end their casual arrangement with one call.  Dae had been furious, demanding he give her some kind of explanation so she could understand why it was over.  

Hoseok hadn’t been lying to her when he said he didn’t know why.

But as he sits in the dark -- staring at the entrance of Kang Donghyuk’s apartment building -- he considers for a moment that he might have been lying to himself.

His phone rings again.

“Jung,” Namjoon’s voice comes over the line. “You in the middle of something?”

“Nah,” Hoseok lies easily.  “Just relaxing.  What’s up?”

“Come have a drink with me.”

*********************

It’s nearly midnight by the time Hoseok makes it across town.

Namjoon appears to be in a contemplative mood tonight, glass of scotch in hand, long body leaned back into his plush chair.

“You’re off-duty tonight,” Namjoon says, taking a sip of his drink.  “Scotch?”

Hoseok makes a face.

“Definitely not.  Have any whiskey?”

“Yeah, I think I’ve got a bottle around here somewhere.”

Namjoon picks up his desk phone to reach his assistant, who makes quick work of finding a bottle and a clean glass.  She delivers both with practiced silence before slipping out of the room.  

Hoseok can’t help but notice his boss’s gaze lingering on the pretty young woman as she retreats. He keeps his mouth shut because he’s not an idiot.

Once he has a tumbler of whiskey in hand, Hoseok leans back into his own chair, undoes the top buttons of his dress shirt.

“Something specific you want to talk about?” he asks, sipping his drink.  

“Just checking in,” Namjoon says quietly.  “I’ve barely seen you these past few weeks.  Want to make sure everything’s alright where you’re concerned.”

“I’m fine,” Hoseok says.  “Jimin called me about the shit he found on the Lee girl, though.”

“Yeah. I don’t think my sister’s going to take that news well,” Namjoon murmurs.  “She’s not exactly the trusting type.  A betrayal like this -- ”

He trails off, abandoning one thought for another.  

“Does she talk to you?”

Hoseok clears his throat. 

He tries not to think about the last time he saw you and the terrible things you’d said to one another.  He tries not to remember the look on your face before you turned away from him.  

“Not really.  Keeps to herself a lot.”

“Yeah, well.  She’s had to put up with a lot of shit over the years,” Namjoon admits, rubbing his fingers across his lips. “She keeps things close to the vest.”

Hoseok sags deeper into the plush chair and takes a drink, welcomes the burn that comes with it.  He already knows Namjoon is not looking for some kind of dialogue tonight.  Namjoon is looking to unload.  

Hoseok keeps quiet and lets him do just that.

“My sister has been punished for things beyond her control since the day she was born,” he continues.  “My role was clear from day one and hers much less so.  My father was too ignorant to figure out how to raise a little girl without a mother and too disinterested to even ask for help.”

Hoseok’s fingers tighten around his glass.

“She spent half her time trying to get his attention and the other half regretting when she finally did.”

The image of that scar comes into Hoseok’s mind, unbidden.  The jagged lines of it, the deep indent of it.  All of the tiny details that speak to the brutality behind the wound.  

“He hurt her,” Hoseok says quietly, looking past Namjoon to stare out into lights outside the window.

“A thousand different ways,” Namjoon sighs, shoving a hand through his hair.  “I did what I could, but I couldn’t keep her from all of it.”

The ice in his glass tinkles as he empties his drink.

“I know what people say about my sister, Hoseok,” Namjoon exhales.  “None of them know what they’re talking about.  She was going to be damned either way.  She did what she had to do to survive.”

Hoseok swallows the last of his whiskey around the knot in his throat.

************************

He almost took the night off.

Hoseok’s body could have used the rest, and his mind certainly could have, too.  But every time he closes his eyes he sees you, hears your brother’s words.  

The pressure inside him keeps building.

He woke up this morning thinking about that photograph inside Namjoon’s desk -- the one taken inside your apartment.  The one taken while you were sleeping and at your most vulnerable, inside your own home.  

Every cell in Hoseok’s body is telling him that Kang Donghyuk took that picture.  

That’s why he’s in his car tonight, following Kang home from the office again.  That’s why he’s pulled into a space just outside the man’s high-dollar highrise prepared for another night of waiting and watching.  

Fuck, he’ll do it every night until he gets the answers he’s looking for.

A call comes in from Seokjin.

“Hey,” Hoseok answers on the first ring.  “Everything alright?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Seokjin sighs.  “Quiet.  She’s busy working in her room or something.  Why do I have the feeling you’re not at your place taking the personal time you said you needed?”

“Mind your business,” Hoseok mutters. 

Seokjin laughs.

“Honestly, I just called because I’m bored.  Wondering if you ever plan on coming back to your post.  I’m going out of -- “

“-- Shit,” Hoseok interrupts, sitting up straight in his seat.  “I gotta go.”

He ends the call before Seokjin can ask why.

Hoseok squints against the dark when he sees Kang Donghyuk walk out of the entrance to his building.  Kang stands on the curb, hands shoved into the pockets of his dress pants.  Even from a distance, Hoseok can see he’s looking up and down the street.

He’s waiting for someone.

Hoseok’s entire body is tense as he watches a sleek silver car pull up outside the building’s entrance and Kang slip into the passenger seat.  The car takes off and Hoseok’s pulse picks up.

This is it.

He waits until the sedan is a few hundred feet ahead to pull out into the street.  He’s careful to keep pace with the surrounding traffic so he doesn’t give himself away.  And after a short drive, the silver car parks outside a run-down warehouse in one of the shittier parts of the city.  

Hoseok pulls into a dark space, cuts the ignition and hides the bright display of his phone.

He watches Kang Donghyuk get out of the passenger seat, followed by the driver of the car.  A man Hoseok recognizes as Ssijog right away.  The men have a short conversation in the street before disappearing into the warehouse.  

Hoseok’s hand tightens around the steering wheel, then loosens.  Again and again and again.

He knows the protocol.  He knows he should have called this in five minutes ago.

He hasn’t.  

He won’t. 

Instead, he reaches into the console to pull out his favorite pair of Italian leather gloves.

*************************

Dressing the part has always served Hoseok well, even in this line of work.

Tonight -- his meticulously chosen suit and tie are his ticket inside Kang Donghyuk’s secure high-rise apartment building.  Hoseok walks right past the security guard on duty so casually that the man barely looks in his direction.

It takes him only a few minutes to find the door to Kang’s apartment and the entrance to the service elevator nearby.  Hoseok stands back into the recess and balls his hands into fists.  He concentrates on the stretch of his leather gloves.

Then he waits.

Kang Donghyuk doesn’t keep him waiting long.  

Just a short while later, he’s at his apartment door, fumbling with his keys.  Hoseok waits until he nudges the door open before making his approach.

One firm hand to the back of the neck and one firm shove is all it takes.  

Kang Donghyuk falls through the entrance to his apartment just as Hoseok is closing the door behind him.  He rolls onto his back on the floor, eyes wide and sputtering.

“What the fuck man?”  

Hoseok doesn’t bother to answer that.  

He pulls out his pistol and points the barrel at the cowering man.  Kang’s pupils blow wide and Hoseok feels a pulse of satisfaction at his obvious fear.

“Start talking,” Hoseok says, voice low and controlled.

“About what?” Kang squeaks -- voice slipping out an octave too high.  

Hoseok clicks the pistol’s safety into place and off again just to ensure Kang hears the sound.  The coward reacts immediately, covering his face with his hands.

“Alright man, I’ll talk.  Just chill -- “ he wheezes.  “I’ll tell you whatever you need to know.”

“I need to know everything, Kang,” Hoseok says between clenched teeth.  “Start fucking talking.”

Donghyuk sits up slowly, hands raised and eyes fixed on Hoseok.  

“They came to me a few months back.  All they said is they wanted her to fuck up the case.  That’s all, I swear.”

There’s no feeling of satisfaction for Hoseok when he hears the words spoken aloud.  There’s no victory in confirming the guy he thought was a piece of shit all along is actually a piece of shit.  

The pressure inside him continues to build.

“You’re working with the Lee girl?”

“Yeah,” Donghyuk admits miserably, eyes unmoving from the barrel of Hoseok’s gun.  “She would help me make copies of her keys and shit.  She knew where the important files were, too.  I mostly had to keep her out of the apartment when they needed to get in and -- ” he clears his throat, “ -- other stuff.”

Hoseok sees red. 

Fury ignites inside of him at the innuendo packed into those two short words.  His pistol seems to warm in his hand. 

“You took that picture,” he whispers, finger tightening around the trigger. Donghyuk winces, swallows so hard Hoseok can see his Adam's apple jump in his throat.

“Yeah,” Donghyuk admits, curling in on himself.  “They asked me to.”

Hoseok turns the gun in his hand so fast Donghyuk barely has the time to put his hands over his face again.  He cracks the butt of his pistol against the side of Donghyuk’s skull and the man whimpers as he rolls over in pain.

The pistol whip should have been enough to take the edge off of Hoseok’s rage.  

But it’s not enough. 

He holsters his gun and Donghyuk stares up at him from the floor, terrified.

“Get up,” Hoseok hisses.  

Blood has started to seep from a gash on the side of Donghyuk’s head but the man complies.  He stumbles to his feet just in time for Hoseok to take him off balance again.  He wraps one hand around the man’s throat and squeezes tight, pushing him back against a wall.

Donghyuk’s eyes bulge as Hoseok pins him to the wall with that hand.

“Never, ever --” Hoseok spits the words, grip crushing the man’s neck,  “-- go near her again.  Do you understand me? That’s not something I have to repeat even for someone as stupid as you, right?”

Donghyuk’s face is mottled, features frozen in fear as he attempts to nod his agreement. 

 Hoseok tightens his grip and the man starts to turn a satisfying shade of red.  The color deepens as Hoseok squeezes harder and all he can think about is how easy it would be to end him, how just a few more seconds of this pressure could cause his windpipe to collapse. How one more hard press of his fingers could solve the problem of Kang Donghyuk forever. 

But protocol.

Hoseok finally releases his grip on the man’s throat and Kang immediately slumps down the wall, into a pile on the floor.  He gasps, hands clutched to his chest as he fights to regain his breath.

Hosok stands back, straightening his coat and adjusting his jacket underneath.  

He gives Kang Donghyuk one last glance before walking to the door.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” he warns quietly.  “I’d hate to have to pay you another visit.”

Hoseok waits for the door to click closed before pulling out his phone to call Namjoon in the quiet of the hallway.  He’s a little breathless when his boss picks up on the first ring.

“Regarding Kang Donghyuk,” he murmurs. “There’s been a development.”

**********************

Namjoon’s call comes late the next afternoon.

“Hey,” Hoseok breathes into the receiver, balancing his phone between his shoulder and ear.  He drops his hand back into the bowl of ice water at his side.  “What’s up?”

“I need you to come in,” his boss says evenly.  “So we can discuss next steps.”

“Be there in ten.”

It’s a little pathetic, the way Hoseok perks up at having somewhere to be.  

Even meeting with his boss to explain how he broke protocol and nearly choked a man to death beats sitting in his apartment, icing his sore hand.  It sure as hell beats sitting on his couch, staring at the TV and trying not to think about you.

Namjoon takes the news of Kang’s involvement and Hoseok’s insubordination surprisingly well.  

He’d listened to Hoseok’s account of how he’d tracked Kang to the warehouse and ambushed him outside his apartment with quiet calm.  Maybe it’s his imagination, but Hoseok could swear he almost saw Namjoon smile when he described pistol-whipping Kang inside his apartment.

Yoongi -- pragmatic as ever -- laid the options out plainly.  

He argued that the Gajog could get rid of either Lee Hyejin or Kang Donghyuk, but not both.  Killing both, Yoongi reasoned, would put an entirely different kind of target on your back.  Both Hoseok and Namjoon agreed with that assessment.  Yoongi has always had a mind for strategy, even if his delivery leaves a bit to be desired.

Namjoon promised to think over the options before dismissing them both.

*************************

Hoseok’s hand still aches.

He’s been driving around the city for more than an hour now, not ready to go home and not certain which move to make next.  Each turn of his steering wheel sends a throb of discomfort through his grip.

Fucking up Kang Donghyuk was satisfying, no doubt.  But it’s not enough.

Hoseok doesn’t feel the sense of relief he’d expected to enjoy after choking that man to within an inch of his life.  There’s still a dull ache inside his chest too insistent to ignore.  

He tries to focus on the street signs that come and go, the traffic lights that glow against the backdrop of the setting sun.  He drives until the night takes over completely and then he drives until he parks outside of your place. 

When Hoseok cuts the ignition, it’s like he’s just come out of a fog.  He looks up at your high-rise and takes a deep breath before climbing out of the car.

******************

Seokjin’s bag must have already been packed.  

After a quick debrief he’s out the door in seconds, leaving Hoseok alone inside the quiet apartment.  He sinks down onto the couch and stares at your closed bedroom door.

He should knock, he thinks to himself.

He should get the apology sitting on the tip of his tongue out of the way so the two of you can move forward from what happened the other night.  He should apologize for the way he’s treated you and he should beg for your forgiveness.

Hoseok scrubs a hand down his face before resolving to do just that -- at the same time your bedroom door opens.  He watches you walk to the kitchen without so much as a glance in his direction and then he hears the sound of running water.   

He follows you.

Hoseok worries for a split-second that you might drop the glass in your hand when you finally spot him.

“Oh,” you breathe, “It’s you.”

Hoseok thought the last time he’d seen you -- when you’d worn that incredible gown and pulled out every stop -- he thought that was the most beautiful you’d ever looked.  But somehow that pales in comparison to how you look right now, figure swimming in an oversized sweatshirt, hair loose and framing your bare face.  He can’t even bring himself to look lower because you’re wearing those godforsaken shorts.  Has Seokjin seen you in those things?

His brain derails and it takes a moment to get back on track.

“Sorry,” he says slowly.  “Yeah, it’s me.  I’m back now.”

“Okay,” you exhale, setting your glass of water down. 

“I’m sorry.”

Hoseok had planned on saying something a bit more heartfelt, something with a bit more depth.  He had not intended on blurting out his apology the moment he saw you.  

“I don’t want you to feel sorry for me,” you say softly.  “I don’t want your pity or anyone else’s.”

Hoseok steps closer and you tuck a piece of hair behind your ear, a nervous gesture.

“That’s not what I said,” he insists, shaking his head. “I’m not sorry for you, I’m sorry for me.  I’m sorry because I’m a fucking jerk.”

You blink back at him.  “What?”

“I’m sorry -- ” Hoseok takes another step forward, “ -- that you have to put up with assholes like me who think they know everything about you when they really don’t know anything.”

Hoseok ignores the voice inside his head warning him not to press you too hard, not to take this too far.   

“I’m sorry anyone has ever tried you because I promise you they are going to pay,” he vows, stepping even closer.

You lean back against the heavy stone of your kitchen island, eyes wide. 

“And fuck -- ” Hoseok practically chokes the words out, “-- fuck, I am so sorry for wanting you as badly as I do when I know I have no right.”

There is a moment after those words tumble out when Hoseok thinks he may have just fucked everything up for good.  A moment when your mouth drops open but you say nothing and Hoseok is certain you’re going to make him leave.

But you don’t.

So he kisses you.

Hoseok swallows the sound of surprise you make when he slants his lips over yours.   You reach your hands around his neck to pull him closer and go up on your tiptoes to make up for the difference in height. Hoseok groans into your mouth when your nails scrape against the back of his neck.  

Any moment now -- any moment now he’s certain you’re going to come to your senses.  You’re going to demand he take his filthy fucking hands off of you.  He braces for it.

But you don’t.

Instead, you melt into his touch and whimper into his mouth and what’s left of Hoseok’s sanity evaporates. The sounds of panting and groaning echo off of the stone in the kitchen as you meld your body to his.

“I want you so much,” he whispers, gripping your waist to lift you onto the counter.

It’s easy to ignore the way his hand aches in protest when you’re wrapping your legs around his waist and sinking your fingers into his hair.  His cock is so hard in his pants he feels like he might explode.

You pull away from him, breathless, to lift your sweatshirt over your head and Hoseok’s chest tightens at the flash of doubt that crosses your features.  The heat that creeps into your cheeks when your scar is bared and on display.

He leans close to brush feather-light kisses against it, lips soft against the rough skin. “Every inch of you is perfect,” he whispers, sucking gently at the indent in your collarbone. “Just the way it is.”

You suck in a sharp breath and release it with a strangled sigh as your fingers grip the back of Hoseok’s neck.  He trails kisses from your scar, slowly down your breast, onto one aching nipple.

“Hoseok -- please,” you beg.  “I want -- “

Your plea breaks apart he takes your nipple into his mouth, teeth teasing at the straining bud.

“Tell me what you want,” Hoseok murmurs, burying his face into the soft skin between your breasts, “Tell me and I swear to God, I’ll give it to you.”

Your fingers fumble for his belt and Hoseok groans when you work it apart.  There’s no way he’s ever been this hard -- ever.  He’s certain he could come just from rutting against the counter with your voice in his ear.

“Hoseok,” you whisper again.  “Hoseok -- “

He doesn’t catch on to the panic in your tone until you go rigid in his arms.

“There’s someone at the door,” you whisper, eyes wide. 

“Shit.” 

Hoseok shuts his eyes, leans his forehead against yours.

You slip out of his hold and he leans over the kitchen counter, arms braced against the stone while he tries to collect the last remaining scraps of his self-control.  You pull your sweatshirt back overhead and run quietly to the door.

You’re back only a moment later.  

“It’s my brother,” you whisper.  “And Yoongi and some guy I don’t know.”

Holy shit.

Hoseok grits his teeth, takes a deep breath, and silently wills his rigid cock to stand down. Thinking about Kim Namjoon’s face on the other side of that door helps, actually.  It helps a lot. 

The door knocker thuds again loudly and Hoseok can hear Namjoon’s voice coming from the hallway.  You wait until he’s managed to straighten his shirt and secure his belt before opening the door.

He can see your brother’s frown from ten feet away.

“Hoseok should really be the one to answer the door, Amsaja,” he says, eyes narrowed.  “Is he not here?”

“Yeah, I’m here,” Hoseok calls out, hoping like hell that his voice sounds even.  “Sorry. I was just -- uh, in the middle of something.”

Actually, I was trying to be in the middle of something.  That something being your sister.  That’s not going to be a problem, is it?

Yoongi looks between you and Hoseok and Namjoon but says nothing.

“So what’s going on?” Hoseok asks, desperate to move the conversation along.  “Something wrong?”

“Jeon is going to stay over tonight,” Namjoon says, pointing to the youngest man on his team.  Jungkook walks into the apartment and bows to you before taking a seat on the couch.

Namjoon nods at Yoongi before turning to Hoseok.

“The three of us have somewhere to be.”

**********************

tag list!

@saintjeonofbusan @lemonjoonah @illnevertrustmyselfagain @sunkissed725@shadowhale @sugaminyoonjiji @jinhitwhore @trust-me-im-joly @daydreambrliever @ultraanonymousey @yoon-bug @multistantrash17 @poohsaidhi @alyboo-jpeg @sahmfanficbts @yoongissugarmommy @p-polaroid @vi-hoshi @stressedinmedschool247 @jgissle12 @ctvrty @btsnatalena​ @strawbewymiwk​ @stephleee​ @jalexa83​ @livanthi​ @fantasybangtan​ @trviahope @mono-kookie​ @hauntedlilies​

[prncesselene]

i love your kathony fics 🥺. are prompts still open? if they are then anything around that moment that is mentioned by edwina in the books - when kate says people will move on from her and anthony's *love match* gossip soon enough and edwina's like not as long as anthony looks at you the way he did at that ball, smouldering, pushing people away to get to kate. i love that because anthony is still in his denial phase but his actions are SO clearly the opposite xD

i am indeed still taking prompts! i’m working through them all ridiculously slowly, as my inactivity might indicate (lol), but i will be getting through everything that’s being sent my way, promise! :)

ao3

“There you are!”

Kate turned at the sound of her husband’s voice, her eyes widening. She hadn’t expected him to notice she’d even left the ballroom, much less follow her out. Her slowly relaxing heart took flight once more, a mixture of shame and embarrassment pooling in her chest.

They’d arrived back in London only a few nights ago, fresh off of their time in the country after the wedding. And though the time spent alone had been rejuvenating and enlightening all at once — Anthony was, in almost every way, a very attentive husband — returning to London as a bride had been a difficult adjustment. The height of the season was still upon them, and with it a number of events and social responsibilities that now asked much more of Kate than they had before.

And she wasn’t quite sure she was up to snuff, if she were being honest with herself.

Anthony crossed the hallway in three long strides and reached her side. “I turn around for just a moment and suddenly you’re gone. Practically knocked down half of the ton trying to find you.”

Kate’s chest warmed. The ballroom had been so full he would have had to have been keeping quite the close eye on her to notice something like that.

She shook her head immediately, dashing those childish, romantic notions away. He’d been very clear on where their marriage stood, and trying to paint his intentions as anything other than a gentlemanly interest in her well-being would only lead to heartbreak. She was already lucky enough, with the deal she’d been cut; asking for anything more than what Anthony could give her seemed selfish.

Once he was at her side, he tugged her elbow, gently bringing her in front of him. “Did something happen? Why did you leave the ballroom so suddenly?”

Kate began to fiddle with the buttons on his waistcoat, her eyes fixated on a string of fabric that had begun to pull from within one of them. “My, it's warm in here, isn't it? You need to take this to get fixed. I can arrange for your tailor to pass by tomorrow afternoon, if you can manage to clear your schedule. I know y–”

“Kate,” he warned, cutting off her nervous rambling, his voice more insistent. To their left, couples and families donning their finest gowns and suits entered and exited the ballroom, chatting amongst each other easily. “What’s wrong?”

She kept fiddling with the string of fabric, chewing on her lips until she was sure they would end up bleeding. Anthony’s hands came to rest atop hers, limiting her movement. “Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

Kate sighed, gathering the strength needed for her admission. “Anthony, I don’t think I’m quite cut out for this.”

“Cut out for what?”

“Oh, you know, all of... this,” she emphasized, attempting to tug her hands away, but his grip only tightened.

“Marriage? It’s a little late for doubts like those,” he murmured.

“What?” Kate met his eyes then, surprised to find they were much more contemplative than she expected. “No, no. It’s not that. It’s just… well, I don’t really fit in, do I? I’ve never been good at the things that ladies are expected to be good at, have never managed to sit still or act demurely or... or anything like that, really and... well, now that is precisely what is expected of me.”

She paused, chewing her lip, taking her eyes off of Anthony’s to stare at the floor. “I know I’m not the kind of wife you expected. The sort that could smile prettily and charm everyone around her and be a proper viscountess.”

Anthony’s eyes narrowed with concern, his stance tightening. He took her hands firmly in his and held onto them, running a thumb over her gloved knuckles. “Kate, where is this coming from? Did something happen?”

Kate swallowed, her heart beating traitorously. It seemed no matter how hard she tried to convince herself of Anthony’s objectivity within their marriage, her body refused to cooperate. The simple gesture of him listening to her so intently, with such gentleness and care, made her knees weak.

“No one is saying anything, if that’s what you’re worried about,” she sighed, noticing the way he relaxed once more. Her face reddened remembering Lady Whistledown’s most recent column. “In fact… well, it’s obviously a bit ridiculous, but the consensus among the gossips of society is that ours was a love match.”

“Ridiculous,” he repeated softly. Not quite a question, but not quite a statement of fact, either.

“Yes. Ridiculous,” she said, her belly swooping pitifully. “Anyways, clearly, it is not. You need not remind me of that fact. That— it’s fine. But even if they think ours looks like a love match, they must think it’s an ill fitting one. I mean, I'm hardly a catch. I talk too loud, express my opinion too plainly. I keep meeting duchesses and countesses and realizing I... I'm nothing like that, Anthony. And I worry I never will be." 

For a moment, Anthony didn’t reply, and Kate feared he agreed with her. That he, too, saw their marriage as the farce that it was. That the one with doubts was him.

But all he did he was bring her hands up to his mouth, pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles.

“Never speak that way of yourself again, Kate,” he said, his voice serious. “For my sake if not yours. In fact, as your husband, I demand it.”

Kate’s fingers were warm underneath the gloves where he kissed her, her eyes wide.

“I can only speak for myself, but there is absolutely nothing about you that I would wish to change. You are headstrong, passionate, and absolutely everything a proper viscountess should be, all of those other supposed virtues be damned. If someone — anyone — cannot see that, then that is their loss and theirs only." 

He tightened his grip on her hands and made sure she was looking directly at him before continuing. "When you enter rooms you command the respect of others not because you are my wife, or a Bridgerton, but because you're you. And you are more than enough.”

Kate was at a loss for words. She knew that love would never be a part of their relationship. That even if her body felt most alive when it was next to his, even if she laughed and talked with him like she had with no one else before, even if she knew she was already halfway in love with him herself — that those feelings would have to be kept under lock and key.

But then, when he said those things…. When he looked at her like that…

It was, admittedly, a little difficult not to want to wrap her arms around him and show him exactly how she felt.

Kate released her inhibitions and embraced him tightly anyways, if only so that he wouldn’t see the errant tears that threatened to slip out of her eyes.

“Thank you,” she murmured into the velvet of his coat, indulging in the comforting smell of leather and tobacco and Anthony that she’d grown to associate with warmth and belonging. That she’d grown to love, little by little. "You needn't lie to me to make me feel better, but I appreciate it all the same."

“There is nothing I’ve said that I wouldn’t happily repeat in front of all of London,” he said, the smile in his voice evident. One of his hands wrapped around her waist while the other tipped her chin towards his. “Will you obey your husband and never disparage yourself like this again? Can I trust you to do that?”

Kate’s eyes narrowed as she bit down on her own smile. She was like a slice of jelly when it came to him, pliant and willing to do whatever he said. It helped, of course, that all he was asking of her was to be kinder to herself. That he seemed to really, truly believe the words he'd said. That he saw her that way. 

“I suppose.”

He smiled and leaned down to slant his lips against hers, taking advantage of the brief lull in hallway activity. The arm around her waist tightened and brought her closer to him as his lips explored hers tenderly.

“Anthony!” she scolded, giggling against his mouth. “This is most improper. What if someone sees us?”

Leaning his forehead against hers, Anthony smiled. “The gossip about us is already scandalous. Why not add to it?”

Kate laughed but pulled away, shaking her head. As much as she loved kissing Anthony, she'd had enough scandal to last a lifetime. “I don’t think there’s any need for that.”

Straightening her ballgown and tightening her gloves once more, Kate took a deep breath. It was time to go back to the ballroom, where she would once again have to resume the act of viscountess; to pretend that she knew what she was doing, that she belonged there. With Anthony by her side, at least, it almost felt manageable.

Anthony’s smile was warm when he extended his arm out to hers. “Ready to return to the fun, Mrs. Bridgerton?”

Dash it. With him by her side it was certainly manageable. She had a growing suspicion that with him, anything was. Love matches or no. 

She slipped her arm into his, remembering his words. His faith in her.

“Ready.”

[wonhaebunny]

tws // mentions of nightmares and canon-typical stuff regarding kamino. not a very feel good fic. takes place shortly after kamino, before the dorm system was implemented.

-

it starts with a doctor's appointment, surprisingly.

a regular checkup, the irritating kind where the hag drags him off to see their family doctor and asks all kinds of embarrassing shit while the doctor reassures her of her son's perfect health and katsuki fumes in the background.

these types of appointments are routine; they've happened the same way since katsuki can remember, and will continue to for as long as he remains legally a minor. maybe this is why he's so surprised when his mom goes off-script this time.

"katsuki's been very quiet." she says suddenly, interrupting the doctor's rambling about katsuki's physical health. the words are abrupt, like they've been sitting at the tip of her tongue, pushing to be heard. the doctor, a frail old man with kind eyes that sit behind thin-framed spectacles, blinks at her.

"what was that, mrs bakugou?" he asks after a bewildered pause. katsuki very much resonates with his visible confusion, turning to give his mother a glare.

"he's quiet," she says again, ignoring her son's accusatory eyes. "he's been staying in his room all the time, doesn't eat as much anymore. it's concerning."

katsuki's palms start to spark, defensive words already rising in his throat. he doesn't know why this bitch is deciding to make a fucking scene in front of the doctor when he's been fine. he barely even feels different, other than being goddamn tired. and sue him for being tired, when he got kidnapped by a motherfucking villain group not even two weeks ago! he's allowed to sulk.

but his arguments die at his lips when his mother turns her gaze to meet his. her eyes are serious, something genuine and heavy and vulnerable in them that has him faltering.

"shut the fuck up," he manages to bite out sharply, still feeling somewhat blindsided by the unfamiliar array of emotions displayed across her normally unreadable face.

she doesn't shy away from him, lips pursing tightly.

"i don't know what to fucking do, katsuki." her voice shakes.

and this, the utter helplessness threaded through the words, is what has katsuki sinking back down to his seat numbly.

he doesn't understand, not really. he's had less of an appetite since kamino, been unable to sleep or focus or... really do anything but mope, now that he thinks about it. but he'd assumed it would pass with time, along with all the other shit he'd accumulated from the event. he hadn't given it more than a few moments' consideration, fully willing to stew away in his room for the majority of the summer break.

but now his mother is looking at him, her once-impenetrable gaze wavering and lost and he feels like the air has been punched out of his stomach.

"i'm fucking fine."

the words come out too quiet, too unsure.

"you're not acting like it," she replies flatly.

"i hear you crying through the walls at night."

katsuki's cheeks heat up at the words, head dipping low as the doctor's gaze falls onto him, heavy and penetrating.

he hadn't told his mom about the nightmares, or all the other shitty feelings he's had since kamino. he'd assumed he was being subtle about it; evidently not.

"shut the fuck up," he spits again, glaring at her venomously. the gaze of the man on the other side of the table feels like lead, boring into him and rooting him to his seat.

mitsuki doesn't meet his gaze this time, having the decency to look guilty as she stares at the floor. he burns holes into the side of her head anyway, refusing to feel an ounce of sympathy.

"mrs bakugou," the doctor interrupts gently. "would you mind leaving the room for a moment? i'd like to speak with katsuki privately."

katsuki is ready to protest, ready to argue that he has nothing to fucking say to the asshole, but his mother is already standing.

"okay," she says quietly, and the easy admission, if nothing else, is what has katsuki's mouth snapping shut as she slips out of the room.

in her absence, the doctor leans back in his seat.

"how are things with you, katsuki?" he asks gently. the teenager glares intently at the grain of the dark wood table between them, refusing to meet the inevitably pitying gaze of the other.

"fuckin' peachy," he snaps.

"are you experiencing any issues in your life? girl problems? or perhaps... boy problems?"

"fuck no."

"and is school stressing you out much?"

"no."

"if you don't mind my asking, is your home life-"

"everything is fucking. fine."

"okay. okay. and... how about... the events of kamino? how have you been dealing with the aftermath of that?"

katsuki's jaw audibly clicks with the speed at which it slams tightly shut.

after a terse moment, he huffs.

"nothing to fuckin' deal with," he mutters.

the doctor makes a small noise in the back of his throat at this.

"it was a traumatic event, katsuki," he emphasises gently.

"they didn't do shit to me," katsuki snaps. "kidnapped me, kept me locked up for a day or two, then the heroes came. nothing to fuckin' deal with."

there's silence for a long, long moment.

then, slowly, wordlessly, the old man leans over to pluck a pen from his desk. he scribbles something onto a sticky note pad before him, and peels the layer of paper away.

"katsuki," he says quietly, offering the paper to the teenager with soft, sad eyes. "i would like it if you talked to someone. this is a very good friend of mine, and she-"

the sticky note is going up in flames before he can finish his sentence.

"i am not," katsuki spits venomously, raising from his seat as the charred remains of the paper float to the ground, "going to see a fucking shrink. i'm fine."

the doctor doesn't look upset, and the fact makes katsuki even angrier. the blonde watches irately as the man patiently peels another sticky note from the pad, writing down the details neatly and offering the new paper again.

katsuki doesn't reach to take it, fists curling at his sides.

"i'm fucking done here." he says roughly. "keep your bullshit psychoanalysis for the losers who ask for it."

he's just turning to storm out when the man's words stop him in his tracks.

"are you tired, katsuki?"

he doesn't answer, jaw clenching tight.

(tired? he always is, these days.)

"you look it," the man continues guilelessly.

"i've been your personal doctor since you were in elementary school. i don't think i've ever seen you this exhausted."

katsuki doesn't move away from where he stands in the middle of the room, but his hand drops to his side from where it had raised to wrap around the doorknob.

"are you experiencing difficulties sleeping?" the man presses.

(every night.)

"or perhaps a loss of appetite? motivation?"

(god, every damn minute.)

"katsuki," his doctor says, rising from his seat to round the table and face him. he's so small, so delicate in his withered, wrinkly body. the man takes katsuki's hand in his own, and presses the sticky note into his palm.

"please talk to her. i think it's quite clear you need help, and there's no shame about it. all heroes do."

katsuki thinks back to all might's emaciated form at kamino, standing alone with his finger outstretched to the world.

you're next.

his tongue grows heavy in his mouth, and when the man calls mitsuki back in, he lets himself be ushered out of the room smoothly.

mitsuki doesn't ask, even though katsuki sees her eyeing the crumpled sticky note fisted in his hand as she drives them home.

he would appreciate it, in any other moment.

now, he's too preoccupied with staring at the tiny yellow square distantly.

he eats healthy. trains hard. studies daily. sleeps eight hours a day. katsuki has always, in every way possible, done what was necessary to be the best, to stand alone. so why are these scrawled contact details staring up at him right now?

where did he go wrong?

why wasn't it enough?

katsuki is no stranger to feelings of inadequacy; he's grown more familiar with failure than anyone could ever imagine. it's an occupational hazard which accompanies the standards that he holds himself to, he's smart enough to realise that.

but somehow, defeat has never felt heavier than the crumpled paper in katsuki's fist.

[fuchsiagrasshopper]

Contending the Flame IX

Author’s note: Happy New Year everyone! Let’s start it off right with positivity and no looking back on a bad 2020. Can’t wait to continue to write for such excellent fans, you guys/gals are the best!

Masterlist

Word count: 2741

Pairing: Ivar x Reader

Warnings: The usual, nothing new to add.

Since your unexpected kiss with Ivar in that dark corridor, you had avoided him. It was no simple task, as he seemed hell-bent on getting you alone if he could, and that made you feel like a mouse living with a cat. You double-checked every corner before turning, and you tried to finish your work before sundown. Audhild had been an additional ally to you, whether intentionally or by happy accident, you weren't sure. She kept you by her side even with tasks she could have accomplished without your help. You weren't certain of her relationships with the sons of Ragnar, only that she acted independently of them. That was something that still took getting used to; women operating on their own accord.

While you continued to ponder over Ivar's pursuing you, you also tried to make sense of your feelings. Men in general were something you had always been fearful of. You had seen rape and abuse from an early age on the streets of Rendlesham, and you learned quickly not to trust an innocent face. Ivar's face was fair when not screwed up and twisted in rage, and he had the shyness of a boy when he kissed you. But you could not forget he was a heathen. His affection had been severe, clutching and pulling with desperation you thought you would drown in. 

Your feelings were beginning to frighten you. You had returned the kiss without struggle, and you had been tempted to give in to more before a heightened sense of self had kicked in. This Viking had murdered your priests and his own brother, yet you were having lustful thoughts. God would be disappointed in your lack of restraint. 

You needed guidance. When you had been in the abbey, you would often go to the senior Sisters for advice. Audhild was patient, but she would not understand the inner turmoil of a Christian. There was only one other in the encampment who you could speak to, and the moment you were no longer needed by the healers, you snuck off towards the courtyard where Bishop Heahmund was being held.

Only one guard was posted now, as the Bishop had given them no more trouble since you had been brought to him. He was still fettered in chains, but he wore a serene look that would have angered the devil. His faith could not be shaken, and you envied his composure.

As you approached from the building across the way, the guard glanced at you. He did not dismiss you from coming closer to Heahmund, instead seeming to lose interest in you entirely. 

"Bishop Heahmund," You called softly, creeping nearer.

His eyes shot open, but he did not appear surprised by your intrusion. Giving you a smile, he indicated for you to sit. "Hello, Sister Mary Catharine. I wondered if I would see you again, but I had hoped. You are the bright light of York in this nest of heathens."

He couldn't seem to cease with the flattery, and you remembered the rumors about Heahmund being led into temptation by widows. Ivar wasn't wrong when he had accused you of having desirable thoughts for the man. Hearing stories of the Bishop, he had sounded larger than life, like a hero from a story. You used to envision him coming to take you away from your lonely days in the convent, this handsome and brave warrior. Those had been the daydreams of a young girl. Seeing him captured by the same heathens who had enslaved you, the glass had shattered, and what remained was just a man.

"How have you been?" You asked while tucking your dress behind you as you sat on the ground.

"My head is clear, and my resolve is set. They want me to fight for their cause, and I see no alternative to this request. If I want my freedom, I'll have to go along with whatever the Boneless one commands."

You frowned, not understanding why Ivar wanted Heahmund on his side. He was a devout Christian who wouldn't stray from his path and could turn on the heathens at the opportune moment. A part of you worried for Ivar. 

"Are you certain this is what God would want?"

"I do not see this as a defeat, rather that God has a new plan for me and this is the way I must follow," Heahmund said, and the chains rattled as he readjusted his position to look at you. "But you did not come here to discuss my fate, Sister. You are still bothered by what we spoke of the last time we met. The youngest son of Ragnar is still giving you trouble."

You ducked your head in a penitent gesture. "I feel lost, and in need of guidance. You keep calling me Sister, but shamefully I no longer think of myself as a nun."

"You have forsaken our Lord?"

You were surprised by how there was no venom behind his question, just bald-faced curiosity. "No, I still have my faith, but my station is misplaced. I would like it if you called me (Y/N)."

"(Y/N)? That was your name before you took your vows?"

"Yes, and though I haven't gone by it in years, I feel more like that abandoned little girl than I do Sister Mary Catharine."

"Their people are changing you," Heahmund said, appearing thoughtful. "Your heart is growing restless, and you are curious about their ways. The youngest son of Ragnar is trying to steal you away, but look sharp, for God would never allow one of his children to be pried from his embrace."

"Ivar he…he frightens me, but I am also excited when I am with him," You confessed, and your heart thundered at the admission. "I come alive when he's near. He sees me in a way that no one else ever has."

"(Y/N), look at me," Heahmund demanded, and you did, startled by his tone. "You cannot fall in love with this heathen. He will lead you astray, and leave when it is of most convenience for him. You must pray for forgiveness, and honor God by respecting the vows you have entered into."

His severe expression was marred by what he was preaching, and you felt your hand clench tight in anger. You surged up onto your feet, standing over him like a scarecrow in a field.

"And what of you, Bishop? Were you honoring your vows when you were between the legs of those widows?"

Heahmund turned away with a stiffness to his face, as if he couldn't believe you had spoken such a thing. You had surprised yourself as well. "That was different, and you wouldn't understand."

"You're right about that. Unless you were hoping to find God in the arms of those women, I couldn't possibly understand your reason."

"You are young, and you have yet to learn that life is often complicated."

You threw your arms up in the air, a wild gesture that probably resembled an agitated bird more than that of a rational woman. "Then let it be complicated. Hurt, and lust, and pain, and hunger; these aren't terrible things. They let us know that we are alive, and I've felt more of that here with these heathens than I ever did back home."

"You cannot possibly understand what you are saying," He argued back, and you thought he was going to lecture you further, but he took a moment to collect his breath. "My apologies. You sought my counsel, and I have only offered judgement. We should cling to each other in this desolate place if we are to survive the Northmen."

You didn't want to fight with him any longer either, but you could see that as far as Ivar and his people were concerned, you were not of one mind with Heahmund. Coming to him had erased some of your doubts, but you did not realize how much your tolerance towards the Vikings had shifted. There were bad men among them, but nothing anymore abhorrent than what you had seen from Saxons. 

"I'm sorry as well," You said, shifting back and forth on your feet. "I was quick to anger. Maybe I wasn't ready to admit in my heart how I have begun to change towards them."

"May I inquire something else about you? Seeing as I've already insulted you, I don't believe it is too bold to ask."

"You may," You said, permitting him. 

"If we were to be liberated by the King and his army this very moment, and brought back to Wessex, would you return to the Church?"

You came to your answer quickly and without trepidation. "No."

"I see." Heahmund didn't let on about how he felt about your answer, and you didn't want to know. Disappointing him seemed about the worst thing you could have done, and you didn't want to dwell on that. "(Y/N), you shouldn't have come here."

You frowned. "Why not?"

"We've been careless. Ivar knew you would come here. See there, the guard is gone."

You looked to where Heahmund's watch had been stationed to find the spot no longer occupied. The guard had taken his leave the moment you two had been engaged in your disagreement. Ivar must have known you would seek out Heahmund eventually. 

"It's fine," You said with more confidence than you felt. It was to be expected that Ivar would be waiting to speak with you again, and you knew he could have done so whenever he desired. He had held back on forcing you, but you didn't know if it was kindness or another manipulation on his part. "I think I'm ready to face him. There will be no more running for me."

"Go with the grace and strength God has given you. Even if you have turned from your path of the Church, God will never stop fighting for you."

You knelt before Heahmund. "Thank you, Bishop. I hope I am granted with clarity to see my true path."

You placed a parting kiss on his forehead and offered him a smile before standing. Taking a look around the courtyard you did not spot Ivar waiting for you. You knew he would find you though, and you began making your way back to the small room that you had been sharing with the other slaves who aided the healers. 

For such a short walk, one you had taken many times, it seemed to have grown in distance. You kept expecting Ivar or one of his guards to pop out and grab you, but nothing so substantial occurred. The faces you passed paid you no mind, and you arrived at your destination relieved and a little bit let down. You had been ready to get the confrontation over with.

You opened the door, ready to be met with the company of some of the other slaves. None of them spoke with you outside of your duties, and it bothered you. It was an act of self-preservation. They knew you held the attention of Ivar, and so that meant he spared them little mind. Better you than them was probably what many of them thought, and you couldn't fault them for that. It seemed you were fated to be alone. The only other slave who had gone out of her way to speak with you had been a spy, and you hadn't seen her since. Something about that felt deliberate.

When you entered inside of the cramped quarters, you did not find any of your bunkmates. You were alone with Ivar, and that meant his guard couldn't have been far behind. He had kept hidden, luring you into a false sense of security. 

"Hello," You greeted dumbly, not knowing what else to say. You kept tight by the door, not taking a step further in. Ivar was looking pensive, with an air of despondence clinging to him. 

"How is the Bishop fairing?"

"Resilient," You said, relaxing a bit that he didn't immediately discuss something of a more delicate nature. "He says he will fight for you."

"He doesn't have a choice. Either he fights or he dies, and I will need his strength soon enough," Ivar said, his severe tone causing you to flinch. With stiff movements, he maneuvered himself to stand, but he did not try to encroach upon your space. "The time to leave York has come, but some of my people have chosen to stay behind. Our army needs allies, but this business with the spy has made me doubtful of who I can trust."

"What will you do?" You asked, feeling out of depth to be having this conversation. You knew little of wars and alliances, and you didn't understand why Ivar was sharing this with you. 

"It's been decided that Ubbe will return home to Kattegat with a handful of warriors, under the pretense that he has abandoned our army. The woman ruling there murdered our mother, and it is likely she sent the spy."

"Where will you go then, if not home?"

Ivar hesitated, and you had never known him to look away when speaking with you. "I need to meet with Harald Finehair. He could be a potential ally to retake Kattegat...but I also suspect he sent the spy. The sons of Ragnar losing control of the Great Heathen army would benefit him in his bid to become King of Norway."

There was another man with lofty ambitions. The world must look different when you wake up as a Viking. You took a step forward, garnering Ivar's attention. 

"And where does he live?"

"In Vestfold, but you will not be going there," Ivar said, and he looked overcome with guilt. "I'm sending you with Ubbe to Kattegat. It is safer for you there."

"But I'm only a slave. What difference does it make where I go?"

"Harald and his men do not exercise restraint when it comes to Christians, and I can't have my eyes constantly on you nor can I keep a guard around one slave without arousing suspicion," He explained, but his reasoning was flawed. You had no doubt Heahmund would be going with him, and you knew Ivar didn't hold back when it came to murdering your people. "Ubbe will keep you safe, and Audhild will go with you as well."

You let out a dry chuckle, feeling any control over your life seeping through your fingers like sand. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do in Kattegat."

"I need you to stay alive," Ivar said with a fierceness that made it sound like an order. He crossed the short distance of the room before you could blink, and took your hands together to place something cold in your grasp. "Take this. It can take a life if you wield it right."

You looked down at the sheathed knife he had gifted you with. It was a heavy weight compared to the ones in the kitchen, and the hilt was carved into the shape of a wolf's head. You gave him a startled look before beginning to protest. "No, I cannot take a life Ivar."

You tried to return it to him, but he was forceful in making sure it stayed with you. "You will if someone wants to take yours. I won't let you die because of your stupid Christian beliefs about hell and perdition."

He squeezed his hand over the top of yours to secure your grip on the knife, and with the other he cupped the back of your neck, bringing you together for another kiss that you had been fearfully longing for. You didn't want to fight him, and you returned the kiss with all of the words you couldn't say. It wasn't a goodbye, you refused to believe that your time with this violent and vulnerable man was at an end. It was an 'until next we meet', and you cradled his jaw in your free hand, while you both still held onto the knife in the other. You don't know when you began to cry, only that the tears were silent as they slid down your face and transferred onto Ivar's cheeks. This caused him to hold you tighter. Even as the fire in the kiss dwindled, you clung to one another knowing this was the last moment you would share before you were to be parted.

Taglist

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[likeiwishiknew]

Azriel x Gwyn - The Library Visit

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29716227/chapters/73879674

Returning from his latest mission, he found the house empty.

Azriel didn’t know where Cassian and Nesta were, but they weren’t here. He would’ve detected their presence otherwise. 

So he sat for breakfast alone. 

He’d grown so used to having Cassian and Nesta around that he now felt their absence. He couldn’t say whether or not that bothered him.

Having finished off his fruit, Azriel started on his oatmeal. He’d just raised the spoon to his lips when something fell down from the ceiling with a thud. He glared up at the ceiling. Turning his attention back to the table, he saw that it was book. One that narrowing missed crashing into his bowl.

He set down his spoon, brow furrowed in confusion. 

He’d heard from Cassian about the house occasionally delivering books to Nesta at her request. But this was the first time it had done anything for the sort in his presence. 

Not to mention, he hadn’t asked for any book.

He reached out, taking the sizable thing in his hands. Azriel wiped the dust off  the cover. Based on at the title, he had good idea of who might be looking for this book.

He stared up to the ceiling. 

“What are you doing?” he asked aloud, then felt a fool for speaking to a house. 

Although Nesta had claimed countless times that it understood her, Azriel still had trouble believing the thing was sentient. When nothing else happened he turned his attention back to the book and studied it.

It looked ancient. Further leading him to think it must belong in the library. 

Abandoning his half-eaten breakfast, Azriel got up from his seat and headed down the stairs.

Not long after he arrived at the front desk of the library, greeted by Clotho’s customary pleasantness.

“Hello Clotho,” he greeted. 

She smiled politely, and began jotting down her words. 

May I ask why you’re here?

He peered down at the volume under his arm.

“For Gwyn, could you call her here?” he asked.

She tilted her head in question.

Why? She wrote.

“I think I have something she might want to see,” he said. 

She studied him, obviously curious but not asking anything further

Okay.

She started to compose another note. 

At that precise moment, another priestess walked by. Silently, Clotho got up from her seat and handed the folded note over to the female. 

She read it, eyed him briefly and then was off without a word. 

Most of the priestess’ were still a bit nervous around him. The only time he really interacted with them was during daily training sessions, and even after all this time not all them turned up for those. Their numbers continued to increase though, especially now with the girls were able to offer some help and guidance to the others. Cassian and Azriel no longer had to be present at all times.

It wasn’t long before he heard her familiar hurried footsteps coming up the stairs. 

Gwyn paused at first when she saw him, and then she smiled.

He gave her a small smile back.

“Ro told me a handsome male was here to see me. I’d assumed it was Cassian,” she remarked. 

He found himself a touch annoyed at her admission to finding his brother handsome. But more so he was curious. 

“Does Cassian make a habit of coming down here?” he found himself asking. 

“Well no, but I thought perhaps Nesta sent him down with a message for me,” she replied. 

He nodded, that made sense, still, “Did the thought occur to you that it might be me?”

Her bright eyes watched him, “A small part of me considered it.” 

Meaning she at least found him handsome as well. He supposed he could live with that. 

“So, why have you come?” she inquired. 

“Do I need a reason?”

“No. But I think you have one,” she said in return, daring him to contradict her.

He didn’t. Instead he raised the book he’d held at his side. 

She eyes widened, “Where did you find that?”

“A friend,” he answered, glancing up briefly. 

She stared up at the ceiling in annoyance. 

“I asked you to help me find it. Why did you send it to him instead?” she said all in a huff.

It was cute. 

Done addressing the house, her attention turned back to him, “Thank you for bringing it to me,” she said graciously, hand outstretched. 

He hesitated. Not sure he wanted to turn it over to her just yet. 

“Did you want company?” he offered. 

She pulled her hand back, “You’re not too busy?” she asked, surprised. 

“Not at this time,” he answered. And never for you, he wanted to add. 

She smiled, “Clotho, is it alright if Azriel joins me for some light reading?” 

The older female quickly composed her words. 

Just make sure no one feels uncomfortable with his presence. 

“Of course,” Gwyn agreed. 

She held out her hand again for the book. He considered offering to carry it for her. But she looked so eager to get her hands on it, he turned it over. 

They headed down the stairs to the floor below, side by side, a comfortable silence passing over them. Gwyn picked out an empty table tucked away in the corner. 

Laying the book down reverently on the tabletop, she dusted it off and took a seat. He sat down across from her. Grin on her face, she peeled back the cover, turning each proceeding page with care. 

“If you don’t mind my asking, why the sudden interest in your heritage?” 

She peeked up from the book to meet his eyes, “Has Nesta told you how I’ve been trying to go out more?” 

He nodded. He'd been glad to hear it.

“On one of the occasions, someone asked me. Not rudely or anything, just out of curiosity I think, about where I’m from and all I could say was the temple.” 

She gazed off wistfully, “It made me realize I know so little about my origins.” 

He could understand that. 

“Also, I’ve been having these...dreams lately. I think they might be visions. Some good, some bad. But I can’t help feeling as though they’re tied to the questions I’ve been asking about myself lately, if that makes sense.”

As far as he knew Gwyn was no seer, so the idea that she would be getting visions of any sort was concerning. 

“How do you know they aren’t nightmares?” he asked and saw her bite her lip. 

“Because I’ve had nightmares before.” 

He stilled. Given her past, she must’ve had her fair share of nightmares. He hated the very thought. Hated that she continued suffer because of some piece of shit.

But Gwyn never talked about what happened to her at the temple. 

The night Azriel had dragged that bastard off of her, killing him and the rest of Hybern’s men. But he’d arrived too late. It was but another regret on his endless list. 

Azriel did not blame her for burying the memory deep, where no one could reach it. He never discussed his past either, content to have it remain there where it belonged. They were same in that regard.

“Look at this!” she exclaimed, somber mood gone. The excitement in her voice drew him out of his thoughts.

Azriel got up from his seat, and move around the table to stand behind her.

Her finger pointed to a page discussing water nymphs. Just at a glance, he could see the thing went into great detail. Going as far as to distinguish between seawater and freshwater nymphs. He observed quietly as Gwyn’s eyes lit up, as she read over the contents. 

On the next page was an image that depicted a nymph manipulating the water. Something he had never in fact seen. 

He could almost feet the excitement radiating off of Gwyn at the sight. 

She turned her head abruptly to look at him, but he stood so close their lips nearly touched. 

Their eyes met and for minute neither one dared to breathe. Without thinking, he inched closer. 

Only for another book to fall down from the ceiling, the shock throwing them apart. 

Gwyn’s attention pulled away from him, as she instead moved to check the house’s latest finding. 

Are you with me or against me house? Azriel silently cursed. 

And though he knew it was impossible, he felt as though it was chuckling at him. 

His attention returned to the table. Gwyn was studying the new dusty thing with wary eyes.

“Gwyn, is everything alright?”

She turned at the sound of his voice, eyes almost grave. 

“I’m not sure.” 

That was not what he had hoped to hear.

- - -

She could’ve sworn it looked as though he meant to kiss her. His breath warmed her face.

Gwyn stayed fixed in place, waiting to see what he’d do. But before she could find out, the house dropped another massive tome onto the table. Startling her and shifting her attentions away from the male by her side.

Upon first glance, she knew this was no ordinary book. If the book she’d been studying was old, this one was ancient. It radiated power, which made her nervous.

“Gwyn, is everything alright?” Azriel asked from her side.

It was like nothing she’d ever seen in library, written in the language she didn’t recognize.

“I’m not sure,” she admitted. 

She reached out a tentative hand, running her fingertips over the cover. The mere touch sent a sharp jolt shooting up her arm - causing her cringe back.

Azriel placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, “Gwyn?” he voiced with concern, “What's wrong?”

She stared at the ancient, “I...something is wrong with this book.”

His brow furrowed in confusion. Azriel reached for the book in question, but as soon he has it in his grip he recoiled.

“What the...”

She turned to him, “You sense it too?”

He nodded. 

They fell still. Staring at the thing, until someone cleared their throat behind them.

Turning in her seat she saw Merrill standing some distance away, eyeing them distastefully. 

Gwyn immediately got up from her seat, forcing Azriel to shift back. 

“What are you doing here?” the older woman asked. 

At first, she thought the female was addressing Azriel. But when her eyes never left Gwyn, she realized the question was meant for her.

She didn’t think she owed the female an explanation, but she offered one anyway, “I was doing some research.”

“I don’t remember asking you to do any sort of research that would involve you needing the help of a Illyrian warrior.”

Gwyn’s eyes shot to Azriel, who regarded Merrill distaste, presumably for the tone she was taking. While she was grateful for his support, it wasn’t the time or place.

“It’s my own personal research, and Azriel was keeping me company.”

Merrill’s brows lifted, “Since when do you require the company of a male to get things done?” 

That comment irked Gwyn. It was completely unnecessary.

“I do not require it but he is my friend and I quite enjoy his company.”

The older female continued to eye her, “I assume this has something to do with you trying to trace your origins.” 

“It does,” she affirmed. 

“But also...” she trailed off, considered what she should and should not say. 

“Also what?” the older female prompted. 

“I found an old text I’ve never seen or heard of before,” she stated, “I can’t even read it.” 

Merrill eyes narrowed, “Show it to me.”

Gwyn turned around to find the text gone.

“It’s...it’s gone,” she said in voice that was barely above a whisper.

Azriel swung around at her words and at the sight of the missing tome, appeared equally shocked.

“Well?” Merrill asked.

“It appears to have disappeared.”

“Has it now?” Merrill responded in disbelief. 

Gwyn took offense to her accusation, but she held her tongue. 

“I shouldn’t have wasted my time with this conversation. I have work to do. You do as well Gwyn, do not fall behind. I expect to see the texts I requested on my desk tomorrow by noon.”

Gwyn nodded her head once, “Of course.” 

They always are. She wanted to say. But it would be pointless to argue with Merrill. The woman hardly cared what others had to say.

Gwyn watched in silence as the older priestess disappeared up the library stairs. 

Once she was out of sight, Azriel spoke to her, “Is she always that pleasant?”

Gwyn eyed him a moment, then burst out laughing. 

He stared as her with surprise on his face, “What?” he asked almost innocently. 

“I sometimes forget you have a sense of humor,” she confessed. 

He scoffed in mock offense, “Of course I do.”

“Right, well, it just so rarely makes an appearance.” 

He shot her a crooked smile, “Fair enough.” 

She couldn’t help but stare at him. He was so beautiful, especially when he smiled. She was grateful to him for lifting her mood. Seeing Merrill outside of when she had to do work for the older female was something Gwyn would admit she consciously avoided. 

But still, she could not help rethinking the encounter. 

She stared down at where the book had been. “It’s strange don’t you think?” she said aloud, “That the book disappeared right when I tried to show it to Merrill?”

Azriel gave a nod in agreement, as the wheels in her head started turning.

“Do you think it’s possible that the book didn’t want to be found? Or, perhaps, the house didn’t want it to be found?” 

The house has shown it to them and then taken it away when the tried to show it to someone else, surely that couldn’t be a coincidence.

“I suppose that’s possible, stranger things have happened,” he conceded, “Do you remember the title on the cover?” 

She gave it some thought, “I remember the characters. Not that I know what any of them mean.” 

“Then perhaps we should ask Rhys and Amren about it,” he suggested. 

Gwyn turned to him, “Would they be alright with that?”

“Let me ask.” 

She waited as he communicated silently with the High Lord. 

“Rhys says it’s fine.” 

She smiled, relieved to hear they might get some answers. She glanced up at the ceiling once more, to address the House as Nesta had taught her to do, "Do you think you could send this book on nymphs to my room, so I might read it later?"

The House did not respond, of course, it never did. But when she peeked down at the table she found the book gone.

Azriel eyed the empty space where it'd been warily, before turning to her, "Do you think it would all us to summon that other book again?"

Something in her gut told her the answer, but she tried anyway.

"Could you perhaps, send us that mysterious book again?" she asked. They waited. Nothing. 

Of course, it could not be so easy. 

“I’ll have to fly us part of the way to Rhys and Feyre's, and then we can winnow the rest. Is that alright?” 

She nodded, with that decided they hurried up the stairs toward the nearest balcony. Truth be told, she was thrilled at the prospect of flying. Cassian had carried her along with Nesta a few times, and she loved it. 

When they arrived at the balcony, Azriel placed a hand on the of small her back and bent slightly to lift her off the ground. He pulled her close to his chest. She basked in the heat of having his body so close to hers. 

He peered down at her, “You ready?” 

“Ready,” she affirmed. 

With that, he took off.

She didn't bother to conceal her smile. Sunshine on her face, wind in her hair, Gwyn felt giddy. Staring down at the sights below, she felt like the grand adventurers she’d only ever read about as a child.

She turned her head to look up at Azriel, only to find him watching her as if she were the most interesting thing. She averted her eyes and fought to keep from blushing. Surely, she was overthinking.

They continued on in amicable silence until they were outside of the perimeter that limited winnowing. At that point, she felt Azriel’s magic wrap around them and in the next instant they reappeared in the house of the High Pair. 

He let her down onto her feet. Not a moment later, Rhysand appeared to greet them. He hugged his brother and flashed her a dashing smile. She would admit the High Lord was quite handsome, although not quite as handsome as Azriel. But she could see the charm and appeal.

“It isn’t like you to request a meeting, Az,” the male stated, “You said you had something to show Amren and I?” 

“Actually, Gwyn does,” Azriel said, looking over his shoulder to her. Rhysand’s gaze went to her as well. 

Before, she had the chance to reply the front door swung open. 

“What’s this about a book boy?” Amren asked, not bothering with any sort of greeting. 

Gwyn found it odd the elder being referred to the males of the Night Court boys. After all, they were all clearly grown. But neither Azriel nor Rhysand made any mention of it. 

“Do have a pen and paper I could use?” she asked, directing her question to Rhysand. 

The High Lord gave a single nod, “Of course, let’s go to my office.”  

Moving down the halls, she kept by Azriel’s side as the four of them headed to the office. Once inside, the male went straight for his desk. He pulled out a pen and paper, laying it out on the desk for her. 

Gwyn stepped forward and jotted down the characters she remembered. Azriel stood to her right and Amren her left.

The older female scanned the paper, “This text is old. Very old,” she emphasized. 

Her head turned to Gwyn, “Where did you say you found it?”

Gwyn shook her head, “I didn’t. It found us.” 

The female’s brow arched in question, or, perhaps, disbelief. Gwyn didn’t know her well enough to be sure.

“Strange,” she commented. 

At that precise moment, someone else stepped into the office. Gwyn turned around to see Mor walking in. 

“Where have you been?” Rhysand asked. 

She plopped down into a seat, “Dropping off Nesta and Cassian at one of the Illyrian camps.” 

“Why?” he asked. 

She tilted her head, “They didn’t say exactly. Only that someone named Balthazar sent word to them about something to do with Emerie.” 

At the mention of Emerie, all her other concerns were temporarily forgotten. This was the first time Gwyn was hearing anything about it.

“I’d planned to stay and help but they insisted they could handle it, and you know those misogynistic assholes can’t stand have me around long.” 

For Balthazar to reach out to Cassian and Nesta meant it must be something of note. Gwyn could not help her worry, and a small part of her felt hurt that Nesta hadn’t thought to come to get her from the library so they could go see Emerie together. If Emerie needed help, Gwyn wanted to be there. 

She turned to Azriel, “Will you take me there?” 

“Where?” Azriel asked, as though it weren’t obvious.

“To the Illyrian camp,” she clarified. 

Azriel grimaced. It was her understanding that he couldn’t much stand the company of the other Illyrians. She shouldn’t have asked him. Gwyn spun toward Mor. 

“Or could you perhaps take me?” she asked, “I am sorry for the trouble but if there’s even a chance Emerie might need me I want to be there.” 

Mor eyed her a moment. She’d only met the other female a handful of times. But she saw no harm in asking. As far as she knew, the High Lord’s third in command was a gracious person. 

“No, if you’re going I am coming with you,” Azriel insisted. 

All eyes turned to him. She took that as a sign that it must be a rare occasion for him to volunteer to return to the place he’d been born. 

“Are you sure?” she questioned. 

He gave her a stern look that made it clear there’d be no talking him out of it. 

She gave him a brief smile, “Thank you.” 

“We’ll look into this, and let you know what we find out,” Rhysand reassured them from behind his desk. 

She sent the High Lord her a grateful smile, while Azriel simply nodded at his friend. 

Azriel turned to face her, and she did the same. He held her by the elbows. 

“Ready?” he asked. 

She nodded affirmatively, and then they were off. 

I’m coming Emerie. She whispered silently to herself. 

~~~

@azrielsshadowsdanceforgwyn @bittermuire @ofstarsanddreams @corrdolium

@brucexselina @inejjg @rhysmoira @gwynnight @fairytamy @bluegold08 @amandapearls @highqueentaey @lioness-says @chosenfamily-valkyriequeens​ @princessofmerchants-reads @cantkeepmyeyesoffofyou-x

@my-fan-side @spookylightkidranch @velaaaris  @itswrongsong

@lovelywordsandwine @ladygwynriel @parisakamalii

~~~

Notes: This chapter took longer than I’d anticipated. I think that’s partly due to the fact that I’m weaving in more plot and the fact that there were a number people I wanted to incorporate. All while trying to keep everyone as in character as I could, which is something I always try to do. It’s one of the main reasons I haven’t allowed myself to read any other Gwynriel fanfiction. Because I don’t want anyone else’s vision influencing or altering my perception of the characters. Once I finish my own story/versions of events I’ll probably try to check out others. 

[yandere-daydreams]

A Yandere!Lucifer/Reader commission for the very lovely, very creative @pyrokittyowo​, with just a couple hints of Yandere!Diavolo. I really do love writing for him, if only because he’s got all the time and resources in the world to make everyone’s life a living *hell*, and nothing better to do than put his heart into it. What else could you ask for in a man?

Word Count: 3.1k

TW: (Minor) Physical Violence, Manipulation, Abusive Relationships, and Dehumanization.

Diavolo couldn’t say he didn’t enjoy feeling superior.

It was an odd sensation. He was a demon, for all intents and purposes, but it was hard to feel like one, regardless of how often he tried to do so. It was the disorientation that came from being the strongest of your kind but still living so far below the next step, more powerful than those that surrounded you but unable to reach another level, one where he’d certainly be eclipsed by monsters who didn’t carry the same regard demons did for other living, breathing creatures. Diavolo didn’t think of himself as above the average creature, but the idea would arise in his subconscious from time to time, nagging and irritating and refusing to drown until it was acknowledged, even if dismissal always followed his admission. He was strong, and he was powerful and he was capable, but he never let it affect his ego, not when doing so would only push him further away from his subjects, as it had with his father and every ruler before him. Still, he knew the limits of his control, and he was keenly aware of all the many beasts and brutes went about their never-ending lives within those limits.

With this in mind, Diavolo’s annoyance upon seeing one of his most obedient pets start to walk along the edge of that boundary was understandable.

Diavolo had always prided himself on not having to keep Lucifer on a tight leash. The man was loyal to a fault, the reason behind his dedication long-since having become more of an excuse than a binding contract. Lucifer didn’t have to be given orders, anymore, there wasn’t a need for threats of discipline or the poorly veiled warnings that’d dominated the early stages of their relationship, not when he seemed to think of paperwork and politics as a hobby to be enjoyed rather than a responsibility to be dreaded. He was useful, hell, he was one of the few people Diavolo might call an equal, but this wasn’t the time to get sentimental. Not when Lucifer’s attention seemed to wander more and more with each passing day.

Even now, he seemed distracted, his eyes only ever occasionally meeting Diavolo’s. Instead, they darted around the ballroom anxiously, first to the flute of champagne in his hand, then to the tiled floor then a nearby staircase then anything, as long as he didn’t have to linger on it for more than a moment. It wasn’t uncommon for people to be uncomfortable during Diavolo’s parties, his guests and all their many fangs and talons caused more than enough unease for the average visitor, but it was unheard of for Lucifer to fall into a similar discontent. His feathers were beginning to ruffle unconsciously, his secondary wings already curling towards his chest, and his posture was no better, too rigid to mean anything good. If it’d been anyone else, Diavolo might’ve shrugged it off and suffered through a one-sided conversation, but it was Lucifer, his confidante, his willing servant, his friend. If something was bothering him, Diavolo was sure he wanted to know.

So, he glanced in the general direction of Lucifer’s temporary focus, clicked his tongue, and frowned knowingly. “You’d tell me if Mammon got his hands on the key to my vault again, wouldn’t you?” He asked, flatly, aiming to keep his tone as serious as possible. “I’d hate to have to find another of my treasures ‘relocated’ to the House of Lamentation, especially after the fuss it caused.”

Lucifer jumped to alertness, shoulders squaring defensively and his gaze sharpening to a glare as he stuttered out something incomprehensible, stopping to compose himself before giving a coherent response. “We had a talk about that, last time,” Lucifer assured, his fingers flexing around his glass’ neck. “He won’t try anything, this time, I’ve made sure of it. As long as he values having the same number of limbs he had this morning, I mean.”

“And I’m sure your methods were effective, as always.” Diavolo gave Lucifer a minute to flush and fluster, but he pulled his companion out of his stupor with a hearty laugh, Diavolo nudging him gently with his elbow as Lucifer took to sulking. “But something is bothering you,” He confirmed, only pausing for a brief moment to allow Lucifer the courtesy of a nod. “Might as well tell me, Luci’. You know I’m not going to let it go until you do.”

Lucifer let out a long, labored sigh, but didn’t struggle before giving in. Silently, his concentration shifted, turning towards the ballroom’s center, where assorted couples were dancing and talking and doing whatever couples chose to do when music and drinks were in abundance. It took him a second or two to settle, his eyes eventually landing on you, already in the arms of one of Lucifer’s brothers, completely unaware of the agony you were causing him.

Diavolo couldn’t say he saw Lucifer’s reasoning. If he was a pet, you were a bug, something insignificant and defenseless in the grand scheme of things. With all the trouble you got yourself into, you should’ve been caught under someone’s heel and crushed months ago, but Diavolo was never one to refuse entertainment. And yet, if he was to trust the fury suddenly smeared across Lucifer’s expression, he would’ve thought you were the most unignorable pest across the three realms. “The exchange student?” He asked, absentmindedly. “You’re not going to tell me you let a human drive you into such a state, are you?”

“It’s an… unfortunate affliction.” As Lucifer’s eyes followed you, he only seemed to grow more agitated. He twitched when you smiled, flinched when you laughed, and when you pulled away from your partner, curtsying with an unsteady grace, Lucifer’s hold on his glass grew tighter, tighter, tighter, the flute eventually cracking and splintering, shards digging into Lucifer’s gloved hand and the translucent fluid beginning to leak out. If he noticed, though, he didn’t intend to show it, only gritting his teeth and giving an explanation. “It’s… It’s annoying, when she insists on lowering herself to their standards. I love my brothers, I do, but…” He trailed off, shaking his head and scoffing, as if he was still trying to dismiss whatever thoughts were plaguing his mind. “Am I supposed to watch this? It’s disgusting, it’s infuriating, it makes me want to do something unpleasant, My Lord.”

Although Diavolo doubted the sincerity of Lucifer’s declaration, he recognized that tone, that foolish, irrational anger. The awareness of power and the willingness to put it on display, the desire to use it on something smaller and weaker than himself. Diavolo felt his grin broaden, a solution to more than one of his problems arising. He could only chuckle, resting his hand on Lucifer’s shoulder as his open wounds began to drip and bleed.

“I know exactly how you feel, my friend.”

~

“He’s been acting strange, lately. I was just wondering if you’d noticed.”

You were no more impressive in person. When Diavolo approached you, your reactions had been so pitifully predictable, your demeanor vulnerable and unsuspecting, prey in every sense of the word. You’d been assigned to clean your homeroom after hours, a fortunate coincidence on Diavolo’s part, and he’d sent Lucifer off on some trivial, time-consuming task he wouldn’t be done with any time soon. When he finally addressed his concerns, you were all wide-eyes and parted lips, curling around the broom in your hands whenever he mentioned your companion’s name. But, if you considered Diavolo a threat, you were smart enough not to say it. A wise decision, really. He wanted this to go as smoothly as you did.

“No stranger than usual,” You said, tossing the wooden handle from hand to hand. You didn’t try to hide your anxiety. “I’m probably not the best person to ask. He’s never been normal, to me.”

Diavolo knew what you were talking about. He’d bandaged Lucifer’s hand the night before while being thoroughly educated on just how not normal the relationship between you and Lucifer happened to be. He simply pursed his lips, letting his gaze bore into you as he replied. “What do you mean? You’d tell me if something was wrong, wouldn’t you, (Y/n)?”

You let out a heavy sigh, your shoulders dropping in some personal show of complacency. “I know how close you two are, but he scares me,” You admitted, your reluctance only momentary. “He loses control of himself, sometimes, I get it, but it’s not just when he’s in a rage. Ever since we made our pact, he’s been touching me more often, and saying these... these things. I can’t really explain it, but whenever he looks at me-” You stopped without warning, cutting yourself off. As if the only words you were capable of using were those you’d already convinced yourself not to speak aloud. “He’s controlling. I don’t know how else to describe it. It’s like he gets off on backing me into a corner and making me beg to be left alone.”

You looked towards him when you finished, searching for any traces of sympathy you could get, and Diavolo did his best to indulge you. He was still trying to figure out how he felt about your… dynamic, with Lucifer. He understood the temptation. Even now, alone and standing in front of a man you didn’t trust, you made no effort to protect yourself, exposed to any demonic being that wandered in and helpless, despite how adamantly you insisted you weren’t. With someone as stifling as Lucifer, such negligence must’ve been intolerable. But, he wasn’t Lucifer, and for now, you were more of a distraction than a pastime. Something that needed to be dealt with promptly and played with later on.

“I can take care of that. He goes through a rebellious phase, every now and then, but it’s nothing he can’t be snapped out of.” He smiled, delicately, putting on a grin not unlike the one he’d used with your counterpart.

“But, it’ll be much easier for both of us if you lend me a hand.”

~

Diavolo was the only one speaking.

The conversation was tense, at first, but existent. In the cramped walls of his office, both you and Lucifer had done your best to give suitable (albeit bland) responses whenever they were called for, more Lucifer than yourself. Your voice had been smothered by Lucifer’s gaze, intense and burning into you until you were rendered quiet, and his own words becoming less and less as more of his focus was dedicated to drumming his fingers against the arm of his chair and biting at his bottom lip and growing more impatient. You’d lied to him, to get here, promised that you were going back to the House of Lamentation and insisted that you’d never think of trying to run around behind his back, which was, evidently, untrue. You weren’t sure which he found more maddening, the violation of his control or your willingness to break out of it. You weren’t sure which he’d you punish you for more violently.

It didn’t matter, honestly.

You’d have scars for both, tomorrow morning.

So consumed by your own demise, you didn’t notice when Diavolo’s voice went quiet, too, leaving the room in a tense, frigid silence, as purposeful as it was terrible. It couldn’t have lasted more than a few seconds, but it might as well’ve been years with the anxiety suddenly racking over your nerves. Luckily, Diavolo didn’t let it go on for very long, breaking the stillness with a crisp, defined knock to his desk, a familiar grin stretching across his lips. You rose, right on cue, suddenly more uncomfortable in your own skin than you’d ever been before. It didn’t feel any better to take your place on his side, separated from Lucifer by a mahogany desk and a small mountain of paperwork, but you were glad to be standing. It was part of a plan, and plans meant security. They meant you knew what was going to happen next.

You couldn’t bring yourself to be surprised when that security was ripped away, as fast and as carelessly as any time before.

Diavolo was supposed to confront Lucifer about his treatment of a valued exchange student. He was supposed to be professional, and strict, and move you into an empty dorm in Purgatory Hall, just to show that he could distance you from Lucifer, if he deemed it necessary. Lucifer was supposed to pout and argue and agree, and that was supposed to be it, that’s all that was supposed to happen. Still, your shock was muted as a strong arm looped around your waist, pulling you effortlessly into Diavolo’s lap, holding you there when the reflex to push yourself away and struggle took over. You threw your elbow into his chest, taking hold of his bicep and attempting to drag yourself away, but your efforts were made in vain, Diavolo only laughing and bringing his free hand up, letting it come to rest on your shoulder. A nail, a talon, really, sharp and pointed and blood-thirsty, tapped twice against your jugular, and you froze, not wanting to find out how easy it would be for him to drive them through your flesh.

Lucifer’s reaction was instantaneous. His mouth opened, something hushed and vile slipping out, and he clambered out of his chair with a shameless desperation, but haulted as soon as he was on his feet. A mix of instinct and common sense fueled him, his anger, his self-restraint. The overwhelming desire to stop someone else from putting their hands on something he so obviously considered his, but the prevailing knowledge that trying to take you back by force would only lead to hands too broken to do so. You couldn’t imagine how many times he’d been through this, with Diavolo. He certainly seemed experienced, when it came to holding himself back.

“Why?” He spat, the question blunt, but dripping with something venomous. He took a step forward, slowly, moving to edge around the obscuring desk. Diavolo didn’t stop him, his grin only turning towards a smirk as he watched Lucifer make his cautious approach. “I’m not going to let your hurt--”

“I won’t have to hurt her.” Your breath hitched in your lungs as the hand on your shoulder slipped downwards, trailing over the shape of your collarbone before trailing its way to your neck, rubbing an apologetic circle into the edge of your jaw before taking your throat in a vice-grip, not choking but ready to. You were suddenly made aware of just how small you were, compared to both men, Diavolo’s palm pressing against the length of your throat and his fingers struggling to fit without forcing your head back. You didn’t doubt a thoughtless movement or jerk too sudden would be enough to crush anything vital. “I don’t want to hurt her, but you’re not giving me a choice.” He paused, pouting, tilting his head to the side and drawing attention to just how badly you’d started to shake. “It’d be a shame if I had to do something drastic to some poor human because of your actions.”

Lucifer locked his jaw into place, his fists clenching at his sides. “I haven’t taken action, yet. If I’ve done something to offend you, I apologize, but my feelings for (Y/n) aren’t…” He bit his own tongue, running a hand through his hair, searching for a distraction that refused to make itself apparent. “She doesn’t have anything to do with us. You understand that, don’t you? (Y/n)  doesn’t have anything to do with any of this.”

“I’d like to believe you.” He let out a ragged exhale, as if the thought had been weighing on him. He wasn’t the one with claws pressed against his skin, though, a thin, red line slowly forming along the side of your neck as Diavolo dragged his thumb lazily over your skin, leaving a muted, stinging pain in its wake. “I worry about you, sometimes, Lucifer. You’re so helpful, and I’d hate to lose you to some uncontrolled obsession. But, I fear you’d come to resent me if I deprived you of your vices completely.” Another squeeze, this one testing, teasing. As if you and him were in on a joke, some parody of a bastardized friendly scheme. “That’s why (Y/n) is going to fall under my protection, from now on. When I’m confident in your loyalty, you can carry on with your little courting ritual. I’ll even give you two a room in my estate, somewhere more private. That’s what you want, isn’t it? Privacy?”

Lucifer only glowered. “And if I don’t agree?”

At this, Diavolo chuckled. He chuckled, then he laughed, then he took you by the throat, lifting you off his lap and letting you sputter and cough and suffocate as he held you in place, ignoring your attempts to loosen his grip. Lucifer moved to lunge forward, to tear you away and take solace in whatever survived, but Diavolo just shook his head, something in your neck cracking as he clenched down. “I don’t take kindly to defiance. You should know that better than anyone, and you should know how little I care for being challenged. Either you get down on your knees and bow, or-” He dropped you, abruptly, but your freedom was short-lived. As soon as you’d gotten a decent breath in, fingers were entangled in your hair, jerking you upward and forcing a meek, pathetic whimper through your lips. You couldn’t tell whether Lucifer was concerned for your wellbeing, or jealous that he hadn’t been the one to elicit such a pitiful sound. “Or, I break your favorite toy and no one gets to play. It’d be a shame to give something so disobedient an easy way out, but it’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make, if it means you step into line.”

He released you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look, to move, to do anything but catch your breath and hide, your face soon buried in his coat. You heard rustling, the thud of something solid hitting the wooden floor, but those noises were distant, drowned out by something dark and dominant, as overpowering as it was oppressing.

You wondered if you’d ever be able to hear something other than Diavolo’s laughter again.

[rachelbethhines]

Prompt: Person B has to help Person A undress after they've been injured.

"Okay, here we go. Just sit right here and I'll go get some ice." Varian said as he opened the door and walked Honey Lemon over to her bed.

She was dressed in her armor, save for her helmet which she had already removed, and she cradled her left arm in her right hand. She took a seat at the edge of her bed as she watched Varian run over to the freezer to grab the ice.

She had fallen and sprained her wrist while out on patrol. It was such a stupid mistake. All she did was slip on some of her own insta-ice.

Fortunately Varian had been not far behind her. She had finally coaxed him into coming on patrol with her; though he still insisted that he wasn't a superhero and not a part of the team. Honey Lemon would disagree with that but that was a discussion for another time.

While Varian placed the ice cubes inside a kitchen towel, Honey Lemon tried to awkwardly roll up her sleeve only to stop and yelp in pain when she did. Varian immediately stopped what he was doing and ran to her side.

He took one look at her and assessed what was wrong. "You're going to have to take off the whole shirt. Those sleeves are too tight to roll up." He said matter factly.

Honey Lemon bit her bottom lip. Perhaps it was silly of her, given the circumstances, but she suddenly felt self conscious about stripping in front of her friend. But he was right, there was no other way to get to her injury.

Finally she sighed and using her good hand unbuckled her belt and unhooked her breastplate. But she needed help getting the armour fully off. Then she also need help in pulling her dress up and over head.

Once mostly off, Varian very gently pulled her injured arm out of the sleeve. He studied her wrist with the same intense focus that he gave to his scientific pursuits. There was already a bruise forming right under her palm.

He once again let go of her hand and ran to get the ice. When he came back he took a seat next to her on the bed and placed the homemade ice pack where the bruise had started to form; holding it with his still gloved hand.

He placed his other arm around her shoulder and protectively cradled her close to him. "Are you sure you're okay? Do you need to go to the doctor?" He asked for what was tenth time in the past hour.

She shook her head and refused to meet his gaze. Varian however remained oblivious to her embarrassment, being too focused on her safety at the moment.

"Do you want me to call Baymax over?"

"No." She whispered.

"Okay, then do you need anything? You want me to grab you some pain medication or maybe an ace bandage?"

"No. I'm good."

This dismissive response only seemed to concern Varian more. He paused to look at her in confusion. Honey Lemon blushed an even deeper red as she realized that Varian was picking up on her weirded out signals.

She knew she was being silly. She knew Varian was only trying to help. She knew making a big deal of it would only make things even more awkward and reward her with even more embarrassment, but she just couldn't help it.

There was just something about the way Varian looked at her at times that made her feel, well, exposed. As if he was looking through her. It wasn't all the time. Usually they would just laugh and hang out together as if they were the best of friends, but there were moments. Moments when he would grow serious and contemplative. Where suddenly he was no longer silly little Varian, but a distant stranger to her.

In those moments he would seemingly transform from a boy into a man right before her eyes. And the man he would become was someone who was always tense and poised at the ready... for... for something, though Honey Lemon could never figure out for what.

Nor could she figure why this would upset her so much and throw her for such a loop. But whenever he gave her that look, her stomach would drop and her heart would beat ever so slightly faster. And that was just with her clothes on.

Here she was half naked and being held in his arms, all the while being stared at by him with that same smoldering gaze. What the heck was she suppose to do?!

"Ummmm... It's just... It's just I'm... I'm kind of in my underwear right now." She finally stuttered out. Her face went completely crimson at that admission and she wanted nothing more than to sink into the ground and disappear.

Varian blinked and then suddenly seemed to noticed, that yes, she was only wearing a bra, and he was holding her.

"Oh... Oh, shoot! I'm sorry. I didn't think. Ummm... Let me go get you something to wear...ummm." He let go of her and all at once he was just Varian again; dorky devoted Varian. Her friend, her best friend, and nothing more.

"I have a robe hanging up in the bathroom." Honey Lemon helpfully suggested as she took the ice pack from him.

"Yeah, I'll go get that for you." He awkwardly excused himself and Honey Lemon snorted back her laughter. Why had she been embarrassed again?

"But you know," Varian said with a smirk as he came back with the bathrobe, "I've seen you wear less at the beach."

Honey Lemon rolled her eyes as she grabbed the robe from him. "Yeah, you're right. I was just being... I mean... I don't know."

"Hey it's okay. If something makes you uncomfortable then I'd rather you just tell me."

"Really?"

"Yeah of course. Why would I ever want you to feel bad?"

"I...." Honey Lemon was at a lost. No one had ever said such a thing to her before, yet it made sense. He was her friend and friends cared about one another. "I just ... I was afraid of making you feel uncomfortable. I mean you weren't doing anything wrong. You were just trying to help."

"Yeah, but it kind of defeats the purpose if what I'm trying to do winds up hurting instead. So just tell me. You won't hurt my feelings, I promise."

"Promise?"

"Promise. Now here, let me help you get that on. I'll hold it while you slip your arms through."

Her took the robe from her and held it up and open so that she could better put it on. Once fully clothed again, she sat back down on the bed and reapplied the ice pack.

Varian smiled at her and knelt till he was eye level to her. "Better?" He asked. She nodded yes and finally meet his gaze.

He was still staring at her intently but this time he wasn't some dark and brooding stranger. There was a softness to his eyes she hadn't notice before, a gentle yet serious demeanor that wasn't looking through her, but at her. Really seeing her in way most people never did. It made her heart beat faster and her stomach drop, and this time she didn't mind the feeling at all.

[avengerscompound]

Running to a Standstill - 17

Running to a Standstill: A Captain America Fanfic

Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing:  Bucky Barnes x Steve Rogers x F!Reader

Word Count:  2050

Rating:  E

Warnings: Canon typical violence

Synopsis: While on the run from an unknown organization trying to take your son, you meet two super-soldiers.  While they try to help you get to the bottom of who is hunting you and your son, feelings come out and admissions are made that make your personal life even more tricky.

Chapter 17

“This is an act of war, Captain!”

Ophelia Sarkissian stood behind a small army.  Steve wasn’t too concerned, he had his own, and he’d already taken out more HYDRA than was remaining just getting to the self-proclaimed Queen of Madripoor.  She had no true claim to the throne, except that she decided to use her position as Madame HYDRA to take it.  She had also broken several international laws outside of the fact that she was leading a criminal organization that was officially disbanded under orders of the UN after world war two.  Not to mention the crimes of unauthorized human experimentation, human trafficking, and kidnapping.  This was a sanctioned mission.  There would be some time spent in international courts after this was through, but Viper as she liked to be called, was going to the Raft and she would stay there until the day she died.

Carol landed beside him and gave a short nod.  “Sarkissian,” Steve shouted.  “Give yourself up.  This has gone far enough.  You know you haven’t got a leg to stand on.”

“Madripoor doesn’t recognize your authority Captain,” Sarkissian snarled.  “Leave now.”

“I don’t know about you, Cap,” Carol said.  “But I think she talks a little too much.”

“I think you’re right, Captain,” Steve said. “Time to finish this.”

Carol took flight and barrelled into the group of HYDRA soldiers.  They went flying like pins in an alley.  “Stop them, you idiots!”  Sarkissian screamed as she shot a photon blast at Carol.

The soldiers that hadn’t been sent sprawling by carol had all quickly tossed back some pills.  Almost instantaneously the room erupted in chaos.  Carol and Viper were taking turns firing on each other.  The soldiers were changing.  Some bulking up.  Some grew tentacles or horns.  One on the far east side seemed to sprout wings from his back.  Steve threw his shield into the mass and began to fight.  He knew his agents were with him.  They began engaging in combat and he was very glad he’d taken the extra time to train his people to fight against enhanced soldiers.

He called his shield back and began fighting through the group to get to Viper.  Something sticky wrapped around his leg as he punched a guy who seemed to have had a crustacean-like shell form around him hard enough to crack the shell down the middle.  He slammed the shield down without looking and whatever grabbed him.  It let go and he vaulted over two more soldiers that seemed to have started growing fur.  He knew this battle wasn’t going to be a long one.  The drugs started to overload the soldier’s systems too fast and their bodies would start shutting down.  They were just trying to finish it first.  With Carol there, he did not doubt at all they’d be able to do it.  The problem was, Steve wanted to take them all alive.

He tossed his shield again, clearing a path to Viper who was now trying to escape through a secret door behind her throne.  Carol blasted the wall and Steve vaulted, first over two HYDRA agents and then the throne, catching his shield and slamming into Viper, knocking her sideways.  She caught herself before she fell and attacked him.  Carol began to circle the room taking out the mutated agents as Steve fought Viper one-on-one.  She wasn’t strong, but she was agile and highly trained.

“Do you think this will protect your beloved?”  Viper sneered as she parried with him.  “Or the child?  This is HYDRA, cut off one head…”

“And two more grow in its place,” Steve said in a bored voice, aiming a series of blows to her side.  “Save it.  I’ve heard it before.”

She flipped forward, aiming to put him in a thigh lock.  Steve reacted quickly, stepping to the side and using his shield to slam her straight down into the ground.  Steve used the back of his shield to hold her down.  “Ophelia Sarkissian, I take you into custody on behalf of the United Nations for crimes against humanity,” he said.  “And while you’re mulling things over on the Raft, you might want to let any of your colleagues that we don’t collect up today that Geo is not worth it.  Whatever you think that little boy can unlock, you’d have to go through the Avengers to get it, and this is what will come from it.”

Viper’s tongue pushed inside her cheek.  “Hail -”

He knew what was happening before he even realized he knew.  He quickly shoved his hand into her mouth, and she bit down into the glove, hard enough that if he was anyone else, she might have broken his fingers.  Carol landed beside him and raised her eyebrow.

“That’s a weird fighting technique, Steve,” she said.  “They teach you that in the army?”

Steve smirked as he grabbed the cyanide capsule between his pointer and middle finger and pulled it out of Viper’s mouth.  “Taught me to notice things.  Sorry to hear the Airforce was lacking in that department.”

Carol bit back an obvious laugh and looked around the room.   “I think we got them all. We might want to call in the cleanup crew.”

Steve nodded and let out a sigh of relief.  You would be safe now.  At least for a while. He just hoped you would be there when he got back.

The clean up took a long time.  Normally Steve was okay with that.  He never wanted to rush things when it came to cleaning up after a mission.  He wanted to make sure all the injured were treated, any dead were taken to a morgue, anyone arrested was processed and locked up.  All the I’s needed to be dotted and all the T’s crossed.  He had to make sure that what he had just fought to do, didn’t get immediately undone like had happened in the past.

This time he was antsy.  He needed to make sure everything was above board.  They had just taken a dictator out.  The power reshuffle could end up being dangerous.  He had to make sure every single person who was arrested today stayed locked up.  Particularly Viper.  He had to make sure all the drugs that were seized were processed and then destroyed and none ended up being taken and sold on the black market or worse, in the hands of yet another government agency hoping to recreate the super-soldier program.  He had to make sure that any data about the program that led to the creation of the drugs in the first place was locked up and kept out of the hands of any government agency.

Most importantly of all though, he had to make sure all names, including yours and Geo’s, were expunged from all data seized.  He had to protect you and anyone else that this had happened to, from ever being hunted again.

However, while he was supervising medics, and prisoner containment, and signing paperwork, and speaking with various authorities, he couldn’t stop thinking of you and Bucky.  He knew Bucky was okay.  He’d heard from every one of the other groups and knew they’d all been successful.  He knew that he was supervising the clean up in the same way Steve was.  He also knew exactly how Bucky got when he was on a mission.  He knew the dark place his lover went to.  He knew how long it took for Bucky to shake it off again.  Every time in the past Steve had wanted to hold him and tell him it was going to be okay.  That Steve had him and he always would.  But back then they were just friends and he wasn’t sure where the line was that would be okay.  Now he could do it and his mind kept flicking back to how he wanted to check on Bucky.  To hold him if he needed it.  Or to run a bath and wash the battle out of his hair.

More than that, he kept worrying about you.  Now he was on his way home he knew Bucky would be there.  He wasn’t as sure about you.  He was worried that you’d have run and that if you did run, that you’d have run straight into the arms of HYDRA.

Usually when the jet came into land at the Avengers Tower Steve was exhausted and ready to finish paperwork, debrief, and then sleep.  As the jet came into land, he was as tightly wound as he was when the mission started.

He was off the jet first, heading for the elevator before Hill managed to cut him off.  He rode it directly down to his floor and had to hold himself back from breaking into a run as he made his way to his apartment.  He threw the door open and looked around.  The only sound was the hum of the refrigerator and air conditioning.  Geo’s Lego was on the coffee table, but that meant nothing.  If you’d run you’d have taken the go-bag and little else.  He called out your name and moved into the room.  He knew you weren’t here even as your name left his lips, but he hoped that maybe he was wrong and you and Geo were just napping.

He tried to find some signs of what happened.  A note that might let him know where you went.  The signs of a scuffle would even be good because then it meant you hadn’t chosen to leave him.  There was nothing out of order.  The kitchen was clean.  He went into Geo’s room and looked around. The bed was made, but there were a lot of Geo’s toys around.  The teddy bear he slept with was on the bed.  He hoped that was something to say you hadn’t run, but the fact he couldn’t see Geo’s tablet anywhere was making his heart hammer in his chest.

The door opened and he spun around and practically launched himself back through the door to see who it was.  Bucky stepped through the door and Steve sagged.

“Wow, thought you’d be happy to see me,” Bucky said, a playful lilt in his tone.

Despite the tone, Steve felt bad.  He’d hoped it would be you and while he was of course happy to see Bucky back safe and sound, and even happier that he could be as playfully teasing as he was, it didn’t change the fact you weren’t here.  “It’s just…”

“Steeb!”

Geo’s voice reached him before you appeared behind Bucky holding the little boy.  Steve rushed to you, pulling up when he reached you and cradling your jaw.  “Oh my god,” he said. “I thought you’d left.”

You furrowed your brow and looked up at him, Geo was tugging on Steve’s armor, and he took the boy from you without even realizing he was doing it.  “You told me not to go out.”

“Where were you?”  He asked.

“FRIDAY said your jet had landed and I went up to meet you,” you explained. “And then Hill said you’d come down here, but then Bucky’s jet landed so we waited for him to come down here.  I’m sorry if I scared you.”

Steve shook his head.  “I should have trusted that you’d be here.”

“It’s okay,” you said softly, leaning in a little, so the breath you exhaled teased his lips. “I’m glad you’re both safe.”

He brought his lips to yours and as you kissed him softly but deeply he felt his muscles relax.  There would be work to do still. He had to make sure that Viper went to the Raft and everything he had done to protect you had worked, but this was the start of things.  You were safe and here with Bucky.  The three of you could have a life together.

You pulled back slowly and caressed his cheek.  “You both look like shit.  You want to take a shower and sleep?”

“God damn yes,” Bucky said.

“We’re going to need to head down to the armory and then debrief.  Steve said.  “You’ll be here won’t you?”

“Yes, Steve,” you teased, giving him a gentle push.  “Go.  Do what you need to do and I’ll make sure there’s dinner here for when you both get back.  I promise I’m not going anywhere.”

// NEXT

[aricazorel]

“Are you jealous?” “No...Maybe.” (Part 2)

Follow up to this prompt <from the trilogy appreciation week event>

Pairing: Kaidan Alenko x Rebecca Shepard; set during ME1; word count: 1625

Commander Rebecca Shepard walked the Presidium shops tailing her Lieutenant. She smiled. ‘Her Lieutenant.’ It had a nice ring to it. One she had accidentally voiced after the completion of their Noveria mission. She’d been so relieved that everyone survived the whole ordeal that she let it slip.

Fortunately the two of them had been alone during the admission. However, to her surprise, Kaidan hadn’t objected to the slip. Instead he said he liked the moniker. Of course his cheeks had been tinged pink as he gave her a boyish grin. One she only ever saw cast in her direction.

Maybe that’s why she hated the sight before her. Kaidan had suggested upgrading her omni-tool to something that wouldn’t piss her off, she wouldn’t break, and couldn’t corrupt. Something more intuitive for her to use. He’d suggested it after repairing her ‘tool for the umpteenth time during the Noveria mission. The 24-hour layover on the Citadel for repairs, resupply, and debriefings provided them the opportunity to look for one.

But the sight in front of her was not Alenko pointing out all the options she had and the mods that were available. Instead it was a pretty blonde sales clerk explaining to him what was available and asking what he needed. Polite as always, the Lt. had yet to tell her to fuck off. At least that was what she hoped he would have done. She would have…

Shepard glanced up at the fancy graphic sign that read ‘Firefly Technologies Limited.’ The in-store advertisements flickered between products they sold, customer endorsements, and information about the company. It was apparently a newer tech company, owned by humans, and had only recently opened a shop on the Citadel.

The Commander crossed her arms as she attempted to control her face. Something that normally wasn’t a problem. Of course normally she wasn’t affected by anyone talking to a member of her crew. Then again it wasn’t just any member. It was Kaidan. Maybe that shouldn’t have made a difference, but it did.

“Thank you for showing me your inventory, Serenity,” Alenko’s voice called, breaking her out of her trance.

Serenity? Her name was Serenity and Alenko already knew her name?

She watched the blonde flicked her hair over her shoulder as she gave him a flirty grin. “It’s my pleasure, Kaidan.”

And lovely little Serenity was already on a first name basis with her Lieutenant…

Shepard growled. She knew she growled. Maybe it wasn’t loud enough for anyone to hear. Whiskey brown eyes flashed her way, letting her know that was not the case.

The red head turned away pretending to look at an omni-tool mod. She knew it wouldn’t fool Alenko. Tech wasn’t her thing. It was his area, and she had become heavily reliant on him for it.

“I was actually wondering if you had access to the newer version of the Bluewire omni-tool,” the Lieutenant said politely.

“Well, yes, but that is still a very basis ‘tool,” Serenity replied. “For someone with your tech skills, I think you’d want a more advanced model.”

“Oh, I already have the newest Logic Arrest,” Kaidan said as he flicked on his ‘tool. “I am asking for a friend.”

The blonde tilted her head. “Even a basic Alliance soldier should have a more advanced omni-tool.”

“I understand, but the Bluewire has the interface I want, and it can easily by modded with Specter level mods.”

“Specter level?” Serenity said in confusion.

Shepard couldn’t help the satisfied grin that tugged at her lips as Kaidan gestured in her direction. Her Lieutenant explained, “My CO needs something that’s easy to use without all the bells and whistles. Something I can easily set up for her to use.”

“But you said Specter level,” the blonde’s eyes widened as they went to Shepard. “She’s the first human Specter?”

Kaidan nodded with the patience of a saint. “Yes. Commander Shepard. Now, Serenity, can you help me out?”

The blonde clerk nodded as she slowly helped Kaidan procure what he needed for her new ‘tool. Maintaining the same self-satisfied grin from earlier, Shepard leaned against the wall, arms still crossed. Maybe using her ‘Commander stare’ as Joker and Ashely called it on the innocent sales clerk wasn’t the best idea, but part of the Commander enjoyed seeing her squirm.

Anyone flirting with her Lieutenant was quickly becoming a pet peeve of hers. And she could think of no better way to signal ‘hands off’ than using the stare enemies hated. At least that was what she told herself and for a while it worked.

***

“Are you busy later, Kaidan?” Serenity asked as she bagged up everything for the Lieutenant. “I was wondering if you might want to go out for drinks.”

That was all Shepard had allowed herself to hear before she made a hasty exit from the store. Her feet carried her away as her mind screamed ‘coward.’ She wasn’t a coward. She was simply making a strategic retreat to avoid embarrassing herself or the Lieutenant…And maybe the Alliance or humanity at large…

How the hell had she had she let her attachment to a certain Alliance Lieutenant become so problematic? How had she become attached at all? Why had she let her emotions be affected so much by anything that Lieutenant did? His smile. His concern. His ability to stand up to her when warranted. His honesty. His integrity. His hand on her shoulder in reassurance. His smirk. His whiskey brown eyes…

Why did watching another woman talk to her Lieutenant drive her so crazy?

Shepard stopped dead in her tracks. There it was. Her answer.

‘Her Lieutenant.’

Had she laid an unspoken claim to Kaidan. Thinking of him as hers when she wasn’t sure she had the right to.

The Commander leaned against the railing of the walkway overlooking a series of fountains below. What really added to the chaotic storm of emotions she as feeling was the fact Kaidan had admitted he liked being called ‘her Lieutenant.’

“Damn,” Shepard muttered as she hung her head. She was in trouble.

“Are you alright, Commander?” an all too familiar voice from behind her.

She sighed. Of course he would find her, being the good little soldier he was.

“You left the store before I could give you the mods,” Kaidan went on as he leaned against the railing beside her. “I got the feeling that something was wrong.”

“Nope. Nothing’s wrong,” Shepard said a little too quickly as she pushed off from the railing. “All systems go.”

“Shepard—”

“You can hand off the new ‘tool and mods and set up my omni-tool later,” she offered, avoiding his gaze. “I wouldn’t want you to miss drinks with Serenity.”

“Shepard, I—”

“Go on. Get. I can manage the rest of my leave on my own without a chaperone.”

“Hey,” Alenko said as he caught her forearm with his free hand. “Are you jealous?”

“No,” she snapped as she saw his skeptical expression. She sighed. “Maybe.”

She prepared herself for a lecture or a reminder of the regs or even laughter. Instead he moved to stand in front of her. He wore a gentle smile as he said, “I thought I was ‘your Lieutenant.’”

Her eyes widened in surprise as he added, “I’m not having drinks with Serenity. I already have plans with someone.”

“Kaidan, you don’t have to—”

He gently pulled her arm between them, activating her omni-tool with a grin. “I can promise you there is nothing to be jealous of. All my attention is on a certain Commander. You might know her.”

Shepard swatted his shoulder as she rolled her eyes. “Really, Alenko? Throw my own words back at me?

“They are good words,” Alenko smirked as he shrugged. “But if you don’t want this new omni-tool that won’t piss you off when you use it, I can just go return it.”

As he turned away, Shepard’s hands shot out preventing him from walking away. “Oh, no, Alenko. That’s my omni-tool and I need my Lieutenant to set it up for me. Remember?”

Kaidan’s expression became unreadable for just a moment before it passed. Shepard watched as he arched an eyebrow, his usual control back in place. “Okay. I’ll still do it on one condition.”

“And that would be?” she asked as he stepped closer. Just a few more inches and it might be considered inappropriate.

“On our downtime, no ranks.”

“I’ve tried to get you to do that before, but you insist it keeps you out of trouble.”

“I’m already in trouble…Rebecca.”

The Commander’s jaw dropped at the sound of her first name passing through her Lieutenant’s lips. She watched as a wide grin spread across his handsome features. That just made everything worse. Or better. She wasn’t sure anymore. Nothing made sense.

Except that she was head over heels for her Lieutenant. She’d deal with the ramifications of that realization later. She had only a few hours of shore leave left…

“So, Kaidan, I’m trouble, am I?”

“The good kind.”

“Really?”

“Then—I suppose we’ll be getting into trouble together.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am.”

“Kaidan!”

“Rebecca.”

The Commander could feel the heat rising to her cheeks. Glad Alenko provided cover from the rest of the crowd, she murmured, “I like it when you say it.”

“Maybe I can say it more often…I could practice while I set up your new ‘tool.”

“Is my Lieutenant flirting with me?”

“If you have to ask then I guess I’m not doing it right.”

“Or I’m not used to someone being sincere while they do it.”

“I’m sincere, Rebecca.”

She laughed quietly. “And that’s how I know we are both in trouble.”

“I can live with that.”

Shepard grinned. “So can I.”