#will likely just have a handful cos I doubt there’s much interest outside my circle of friends aha

[timethehobo]

Making myself some squad charms cos official gives us nothing. 😅 Finally got around to finishing them.

[internalsealpanic]

For What It’s Worth

Summary: A deal with the devil goes smoothly. a/n:  As a joke, my co-writer suggested I post daddy kink fics on Father’s Day. Here’s Roman’s bwahahhahahahahahah. No further thought process was put into this. warnings: dub con, daddy kink, cockwarming, and infidelity/cheating

Masterlist

The men drag you into a lavish room. It's sleek with large glass windows and a wooden floor shined like mirrors. You think it's pretty but you can't help but think of how impractical it is to have such large windows until you consider how much money Roman Sionis has and how he'd probably spend it on bulletproof windows. You rub your arm as one of the men shoves you forward to face none other than Black Mask himself. You try to keep your posture straight which is made easier by the fact that the man refuses to even look up from his work.

"Boss, we found this woman lurking in the halls. She said she had some business with you."

"I- I work for the Maronis… Sort of.." You didn't lie about working for the Maronis but Sal Maroni wasn't in town and he certainly didn't have a message for Roman.  "But I'm not here for the Maronis today, Mr. Sionis. I'm here to ask for an extension for my husband's debt."

This gets Roman to look up from his paperwork. "How did you get past my security?" He says, scrutinizing. Your limbs are shaking. Maybe it would have been better if you could convince Mal to just skip town but that wasn't an option. Roman already had men looking for him.

You swallow in a vain attempt to steady your rapidly fraying nerves.  "I told them I was here to deliver a message from Salvatore Maroni and showed them proof," Your voice gets quieter as you speak, "that I forged." You clear your throat trying to wrestle up some bravado. "Anyway, I'm here to try and ask if you can extend my husband's debt."

Roman waves one of the men over. The man thrusts his hand out for the ID you'd shown him earlier and the supposed note from Maroni. They all look well made. They would probably be good enough to fool even a detective given you were able to clean them up a bit. Roman is quietly impressed but he's also annoyed that you had managed to sneak in and disturb his work.  "Who would that be?" He asks, not looking up from your work.

"His name is Mal... Mal (L/n)." Your husband has worked for Sionis even before you two were married before he came clean to you. He swears he'll get out of the life as soon as he manages to pay off this debt. He swore on his mother. Roman is looking at you, brow raised and mouth drawn into a flat line like he really can't remember who Mal is. How can he not remember someone his people are hunting down?

"He-- he runs drugs for you." Still nothing. "And he- he told me he owes you a large debt and that's why you've been sending men to find him for the last few days." You say in one long breath. You were exhausted just thinking about the false facers hanging around outside your home and the number of times they've harassed your neighbors for Mal's whereabouts.

"Oh yeah, him." Roman says, setting down the ID and resting his chin on intertwined fingers.

You dig your nails into your palms. It was uncomfortable the way he's sizing you up.

Roman looks away from you momentarily, focusing instead on his glove and what you assume is a spec of dust pinched between his fingers. "So what do you have to offer?"

You hold back a relieved breath and begin rifling through your bag.  "Well, we can offer our house as a collateral and there's also the shop and  maybe... the car but that may not be worth much..." You really didn't own anything substantial. Nothing that would interest a mob boss anyway and you didn't have any valuable information from working with the Maronis. But what you could do was beg. Men in power love nothing more than a reminder of their power and even with your meager possessions with enough honeyed words, you could buy your time. You just need to buy Mal sometime and you could work something out. "If we offer up more of our possessions as collateral we could- we could pay the debt off in a couple of years. Maybe a little more. Mal and I just need a bit more time."

A dark chuckle rises from Roman's chest at the hopeful look in your eyes. "You think you can pay that off in a couple of years? How much do you think your husband owes?"

You stop rummaging through your bag. Your head tilts up slowly to look at a grinning Roman. Nervously, you fidget with your ring as you rack your brain for the exact amount Mal told you. Was it a hundred grand or was it more? Did Mal even really tell you or did you come up with some reasonable number?

"Sweetheart, I asked you a question," Roman says with a snap of his fingers.

You flinch. "He- He told me it's only a couple hundred grand-"

Roman barks out a laugh that echoes in the room.  "Either your husband is stupider than I thought he was or... Do you think I would send men after him for chump change?" He says, voice rising with his temper.

"No..." You whimper shrinking in on yourself. Mal, what have you done?

He likes that sound. "Sweetheart, that husband of yours owes me 5 mil." Roman leans back in his chair to look at you. Not bad, he thinks. "Sir that- that can't be right..."

Oh, Roman definitely likes the way 'sir' rolls off your tongue. "You're right. It's technically 5.4."

You choke. Your stomach is hurtling to the ground with a splat.

Roman beckons you to come close. You're too dizzy and numb to disobey. You don't even react when Roman slides you into his lap or when he places a hand over one of your thighs. Your body reacts to his touch but your mind is still caught up in the numbers. How could you not have known Mal had so much debt? How could he hide it from you?

"Do you want to tell me I’m wrong again?" He asks, squeezing your thigh. You whimper. The simple touch and the gravelly voice in your ear was much more attention than what you'd gotten in months. You try to shush yourself but your breathing is already starting to get labored. Roman's lips quirk in amusement as he feels your body starting to tremble. "I can show you just exactly what he spent 5 million on if you’d like."

You really don't know if you want to but it's not like your input really matters at the moment. Roman snaps his fingers and one of the men in the room hands him a tablet. He grasps your chin with a firm hand to make sure you're paying attention. You try to wriggle out of it for a second but then give up, paying full attention to the numbers on the screen. "He spent an awful lot at one of my whore houses last month."

You go completely still at the words. You look hurt but nowhere on your face could Roman find any spec of surprise. He wouldn't doubt that this isn't the first time your husband strayed from you considering how much of his debt was spent there.

Your eyes go misty. Your body begins to tremble with barely contained anger. You try to breathe and calm yourself.   Digging your nails into your palms, you walk yourself through a breathing exercise. Mal told you it was the last time when you'd caught him for the second time.  He begged you on his knees for you to stay telling you that it was gonna be the last time.

Roman's hand slides up your inner thigh, inching your skirt up. "Did you know that’s what he spends his nights doing?" Your breath hitches you clamp your thighs together.

"I bet you’ve been so lonely haven’t you darling?" Roman whispers, lips brushing against the shell of your ear. He presses circles into your flesh. "Barely touched…barely kissed. Just waiting for your dearest husband to come home."  He nips at the spot behind your ear that makes you pull his shirt into a tight fist. Your head is hazy with a swirl of emotion but all you can concentrate on is the way Roman's touch is so firm against your body. "And here he is, at the Rosette Club." Roman places the tablet in your hands for you to see your husband standing impatiently at the front desk.

You let out a strained breath and your legs easing at his touch. Roman rewards you with a pleased hum. "It's funny," he says, inching your skirt up.  "The girl he requests the most has a passing resemblance to you. Wonder why he would bother paying  if he's got you at home begging for his cock." Roman brushes his lip against your neck. Your body reacts wonderfully to his actions, leaning back to give him space to do as he pleases.  Your warm body is so pliant to his touch and your voice is so sweet. "I can’t understand why he’d pass you up for another whore."

Roman's hand brushes the edge of your lace panties and he smirks. "Darling, did you wear those for me?" He toys with the fabric before stroking your clothed pussy, feeling the wet heat. "Would you like to hear my counteroffer?"

You nod, trying to keep quiet. You couldn't bear to look him in the eyes.  Roman grips your chin to force you to look at him. "I'm going to need you to be a good girl for me first." You swallow. "Are you going to be a good girl for me?"

You nod your head vigorously. It's hard to care about how eager you seem.

"Words, doll." Roman says coolly, yanking your head back by your hair.

"Yes- Yes, sir. I'll be good."

You just miss someone wanting you.

"Good,"He releases your hair. He grips your hip tightly as he starts undoing his belt. You suck in a sharp breath when his cock springs free.  Roman can see you staring which certainly inflates his ego.  "Sit on my cock and don't move until I tell you to, got it doll?" He says, stroking his cock.

You nod again, then quickly add: "Yes, sir."

You shift to face him, flicking your eyes towards the other men in the room. Roman snaps his finger. The men leave without a word. You're not stupid enough to think it's purely for your sake but you don't really think about it much as you push your underwear to the side.

"Good girl." Roman says, gripping the back of your neck as he guides you down onto his cock.

You cry out in short pants as you slide down his length. You feel your insides stretch for him. The veins of his cock hitting all the right spots. Roman grunts as your warmth swallows him down to the hilt. You let yourself adjust to his girth, grinding your hips against his.

Roman leans forward. You brace your hands against his shirt, waiting for him to pound into you... he doesn't. You open your eyes and watch Roman put on glasses and continue to work.

You squirm, trying to get him to move. Roman answers with a warning squeeze of your hip. "Now sit still sweetheart, I’ve got things I need to finish."

You pant heavily and wrap your arms around his neck sitting as still as possible.

Roman makes this incredibly difficult as he trails a hand up and down your spine and kneads your ass while he works.

You quietly breath daddy into his ear while he works in both desperation and retaliation.

Roman's patience is waning based on how hard he grips your flesh. It makes your skin heat and the coil in your stomach wind tighter. You squirm a bit trying to shift the angle just a little, just enough to hit the right spot.

"Sweetheart," he says in a warning tone, "what did I tell you?"

"I’m sorry daddy, I just wanted to make sure you were comfortable." You nuzzle your face into his neck breathing deeply. He smells like cigar smoke and whiskey.

Roman doesn’t have the heart to scold you since you're  behaving so well. "Are you always this good for your husband?" Roman sneers, squeezing your ass and moving your closer to him.

"Yes sir. I try to be." You're incredibly embarrassed considering the situation and trying so hard not to move your hips.

"You’re this well behaved and he doesn’t fuck you?" Roman grinds out as you squeeze around him.  "Then again, you are married to an idiot."

Roman tilts your chin to look at your face. Your husband really is an idiot, Roman thinks as he looks into your desperate, half-lidded expression.

"No wonder you were so touch starved," he says, starting to bounce you on his cock, "it’s a crime to leave a sweet ass like this untouched for months."

You let out a shaky breath as he continues the lazy pace, grinding his cock inside you in shallow strokes.

"Were you hoping he'd finally fuck you if your saved his skin?"

"Maybe." You whimper. You close your eyes, winding your arms tightly around his shoulders. You push your husband out of your mind and do your best to concentrate on the cock pulsing inside you. It was far too easy especially when he'd apparently pushed you out of his long before.  "I- I just miss being touched."

Roman brings his hand down on your ass and the slap rings out in the room. Your greedy hole strangles his cock. "Don't worry sweetheart, daddy will  take good care of you." He grinds out.

It's about another hour before Roman gets done both from being purposefully slow and being very distracted by all the little things your body does to let him know just how desperate you are.

Roman, finally done with his paperwork, runs his hand through his hair and leans back into his chair. That might have been the longest hour of his life. "Get off." He orders, brusquely. His patience was a hair's breadth from completely dissolving.

You whine and pout at him but use your shaky limbs to get off of Roman, moaning as his cock drags against your walls.

He can see the desire slick on your thighs. "Get on the desk and spread your legs for daddy." Roman says, loosening his tie.

He stands up and pushes you back onto the desk. You scoot back, careful not to disturb the paperwork much to Roman's amusement.  You spread open your legs wide, the bottom of your heels catching his legs.

You're so wet for him that you're dripping onto the desk. He looks into your debauched face and Roman's cock twitches in his hand. You would definitely make a killing at the Rosette Club. Roman pumps his cock as he watches you stroke your clit in time with his hand. You purr his name softly as you look at him with hooded eyes.

"Christ sweetheart, look at you. You're such a good little slut." Roman grinds out.

"Please, daddy."

"Put your fucking hand away." He growls.

You pull your hand away from your pussy and bring it to your lips. You lick up a long stripe, lapping up your own juices.

Oh, he is definitely keeping you for himself.

Roman pulls you closer to him and hooks your legs around his waist.

You wrap your arms around his neck. "Please daddy, I need you." You dig the bottom of your heels into his ass drawing out a sharp breath from him.

Roman kisses you, running his hands up and down your sides. You melt into the kiss consumed by the touches and passion you've missed for months.

He pulls back and tugs on your bottom lip with his teeth, biting it before licking over it to soothe the sting. The head of Roman's cock teases your folds, parting them just slightly. Your hand finds its way to the back of his neck, pulling him closer, and he goes readily, deepening the kiss.

Roman slides his cock back into you and you scream into the kiss. He fucks you recklessly into the wood of the desk. It screeches and scrapes against the wooden floor as his cock thrusts deep into your pussy.

Groping and claiming every part of you he can reach, Roman pulls back from the kiss. He yanks on your shirt, causing one of the buttons to pop off,  then sinks his teeth into your shoulder. You hiss his name, the stinging on your shoulder mixing with the pleasure.

"Tell me doll, has that husband of yours ever made you feel this good?"

"No, sir. Ah! He- He's never been able to- Ah! Satisfy me like this."

"That's right, baby. You'll only be hungry for Daddy's cock, won't you?"

"Yes, sir." You say in a breathy moan, dragging your nails across his neck.

Roman hisses a litany of curses in your ear as your pussy milks his cock, gripping him and making it harder for him to pull away. He pushes you flat on your back as he thrusts his cock deeper into you.

He bites your shoulder again. Your walls spasm around him. "You tighten so nicely around me when I do that." Roman hisses bites you again, then groans. "Christ, baby, just like that."

After a few more thrusts, you cum on Roman's cock with a pathetic little whimper. He empties himself inside you with a groan.

You lay on the table flat on your back, your breathing harsh.

Roman straightens himself out like nothing ever happened.  He sneers down at you. You look completely fucked out and hazy from your orgasm.

"You're going to work for me," he says. You sit up and nod as best you can.  Roman leans forward,  nibbling on your neck and caging you in with his hands. "And you're going to come to my office any time I ask."

"I-" You swallow down the raspiness of your voice and try to sound as pleasant as possible.  "Of course, sir."

Roman yanks your head to the side. "You’re such a good girl for daddy." He purrs, sucking a mark behind your ear. "Tell me the truth sweetheart, does that two-bit gangster even know you're here?"

You shake your head. This was your last resort plan after your contacts backed out of helping you get out of the city. You could easily create new identities for you and Mal but getting out of the cities without being hounded down by False Facers was an entire different problem. One you didn't have time or the resources to resolve. But somehow all that planning felt like it went to waste. Mal was never going to change for you.

"Mal  thinks I'm going to my boss to beg him for a loan."

"Why didn't you?"

"Because Mr. Maroni would never lend me the money if he knew what it was for. He thinks Mal is a waste of an investment..."

"You really are wasted on that husband of yours." Roman tuts, stroking the side of your face. You soak up the affection shamelessly. You know full well it's wrong to seek comfort in someone else especially someone like Roman but... you feel lonely and used and you just want someone that wants you so openly.

"Get dressed," Roman says, taking out his phone, "and get your things from that shit hole you call a house."

You open your mouth to ask him why and where but he cuts you off with an annoyed look.

"If you're going to be my pet, I can't wait an hour to fuck you."

Your cheeks heat up as you shuffle to get dressed. You look nice bent over and flushed, Roman thinks. Maybe he should bend you over his desk sometime. No point mulling it over now. He'll have time to think about it.

You quietly mutter a thank you sir before exiting the room with your legs awkwardly clamped together, your cute little cunt still filled to the brim with his seed.

It should take you about an hour to pack your things and get back to him. Maybe longer if that husband of yours begs you to stay. Well, Roman can eliminate that second possibility right away.

He opens his phone and sends a video with the message: "Your debt is paid."

If your husband is smart, he'll skip town.

If he's stupid, he'll rack up more debt.

If he's even stupider, he'll protest.

Either way, Roman has you and if you're as smart as he thinks you are, you'll be worth the 5.4 mil in and out of his bed. If you aren't and he gets bored, he could always just stick you in one of his whore houses and make a killing. There's no shortage of men with deep pockets who'd like to get their hands on a hussie like you.

It's all a win-win for Roman.

[nonstoplover]

nightly shared cigarettes ~ ron speirs (band of brothers)

my masterlist  |  my hbo war masterlist

request: Hello, I’m not sure if you’re up to another Speirs request👀 could you write something of him and the girl that the company has rescued from the german on their way or mission, this is just a loosely prompt that I have in mind haha😉 thank you in advance

pairing: ron speirs x SOE agent female reader

summary: when on patrol in haguenau, soldiers of easy co. find a captured british agent. until further notice she has to stay with them and in the meantime she grows closer with one of the lieutenants, someone who's fully inpressed by how badass she is.

words: 4.9K

a/n: thank you for the request, lovely anon. i'm always up to write anything with our sweet little grumpy kleptomaniac !! i hope you enjoy how i interpreted your request xx

also i just wanna note here how much i honestly respect the SOE agents (special operations executive), i did research on this and i'm- wow.

taglist: @50svibes​ @liebgotttme​

When Webster's eyes fall on the young woman crouching in the corner of the room they've just bursted in, for a moment all he feels is confusion as it fills his mind. He comes to an immediate halt, Martin almost colliding with his back. Soon both their slightly widened eyes move around her - taking in the stains of blood and dirt all around her ripped clothes, the bruises colouring her skin, the disheveled (y/h/c) hair that was probably once in a braid but now is falling in her face, the exhaustion written on her features even as she eyes the newly arrived group of men with careful interest.

Before anyone can say or do anything, she opens her lips and in the loud noise, in a quite rusty voice announces a short sentence. "I'm British."

The paratroopers of Easy share a glance, feeling even more confused than before. Nobody have told them about any British woman being in that building, not even in the whole town of Haguenau. Nevertheless, knowing that they have to hurry, Martin orders his men to get her too, bring her back along with the Germans. McClung leans down to grab her and lifts her up in his arms much easier than he's thought - she's unbelievably weightless, at least compared to the heavy equipment he had to carry around in the past month, or to the weight of his comrades when he had to drag one of them who got wounded out of the firing line.

When they get back to the other side of the river and inside the basement, he places the girl on the ground next to the two German soldiers and then the company seems to forget about her as Jackson's suffering keeps everyone's thoughts busy. Only after the heartbreakingly young boy passes away under the helplessly watching eyes of his comrades is when Jones has the chance to actually get a look at their captured foes - surprised to find a woman sitting there as it's been too dark outside and they've been in too much of a stressful hurry for him to cast even a short glance at the captured three.

He immediately calls Martin over to ask him about it, and after learning all the news the staff sergeant can offer, he sends the closest soldier available to get one of the Captains before squatting down in front of her.

"So you say you're British?"

(y/n) slowly raises her glance at the young man before moving her head in a small, weak nod. "Agent," she mumbles the word almost inaudibly before pausing for a couple long seconds, then adds one more thing. "SOE." And then her eyelids start closing. She's too tired to stay awake. Sleep is a too tempting idea for her to fight it in such a state. Jones calls for Roe, afraid that she might die right there before him - before they get to know any reportable information about her -, but the arriving medic reassures him that she's just on the way to fall asleep.

Speirs comes rushing in soon, casting a swift glance at the broken-looking group of boys as he moves to the back, only coming to a stop when he's directly next to Doc and Jones. They tell him all the - very little - news they're able to and he orders Webster to bring her to the company CP, saying that they'll keep her under watch and that when she eventually wakes up, someone's gonna interrogate her.

As Web's carefully moving with her in his arms to the other building, his ears catch an almost inaudible mutter coming from the girl and he instinctively leans in closer to be able to hear something maybe useful.

"Ich weiß nichts davon- (I don't know anything about it)" her voice cracks and her arm that's not pressed into the man's body jerks violently as she's fighting the obvious nightmare, her head whipping around. "Ich heiße Lotte! (My name's Lotte)"

Webster doesn't know what to do as she shakes unstoppably - should he wake her or not? With his grip tightening around her body to keep her from falling, he tries mumbling a few reassuring words close to her ear in hopes that it would help - and it seemingly does as her twitching around kinda lightens. Arriving to the CP, he lays her on the now free couch - with Lipton finally agreeing with Speirs' words to go to the back and rest in a real bed -, and after moving the blanket gently on her, Web moves back to the other side of the room to sit down there, keeping an eye on her as he was told.

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

The next morning (y/n) wakes up to the voices of several men quietly speaking around her, and for a few seconds the same edginess fills her body as the one she's been almost constantly feeling in the past weeks, but then her mind finally catches up with her ear and processes the words that are spoken in English - not the German she's used to.

She slowly opens her eyes, squinting at the sudden light even in the dim room and trying to remember where she is and how she got there. Just as faint memories of a grenade explosion, shouting American soldiers and being carried in the arms of someone with gunshots slamming into the ground all around enter her mind, one of the men notices her wakefulness and signals to the others to let them know as well.

(y/n) watches one of them rush out of the room while the rest of the group stays where they've been, on the other side of the room, in a loose circle. With her hands finding support on the sofa next to her body, she pushes herself up into a sitting position, her eyes never leaving the men in case they reacted to her movements. But they don't, all of them stay as still as statues right until someone enters through the doorway - and with a glance his way, she can wordlessly confirm to herself it's not the same one that has just left. The men seem to stiffen and stand straighter before the newly arrived one signals them away and except for one of them they tardily leave the room.

The officer - that one's obvious after a second glance at his uniform and seeing the way he communicates with the others - pulls a chair to the middle of the room and sits down on it facing her, while the other - who's face she finds faintly familiar but has no idea as to where from - stays in the back, leaning against the wall.

"I'm Captain Speirs," the officer says and her eyes focus back on him. "101st Airborne Division of the US Army."

He waits for her to answer, but she stays silent, waiting to hear what else he has to say - but it's hard to start this kind of interrogation for him, not knowing what to do with the woman claiming to be British who was captured by the Germans.

"Your name's Lotte?" First it seems like a statement, but the end of the sentence comes out more like a question and (y/n) raises an eyebrow in surprised confusion. How does he know about that?

"Lotte?" She asks back.

Speirs glances back towards Webster for a moment who simply shrugs, then turns his hazel eyes back to her. "You said that yourself in your sleep."

Ah, damn. This will get her in serious trouble one day - speaking in her sleep, chattering around.

"That's my code name," she nods, only hoping that she won't reveal too much with this information. "As an agent."

"Who do you work for?"

"That I can't tell you, I'm sorry."

Ron raises an eyebrow as a response and (y/n) lets out a sigh. "Look, I really can't say more, the most I can is that I work for the United Kingdom. For the Allies."

"You're British?"

"I am. Born in England."

Ron watches her tilt her head to the side as she speaks the sentence with a curious glint in her eyes. All thoughts that it might be a trap start to fade away the more he hears her obvious accent - that can't be learned if she was actually a German and only pretending to be English. Still, all the secrecy surrounding her, keeping her in a metaphorical fog from his eyes doesn't let the slight doubt disappear as well. When he doesn't say a word for more than a minute, another sigh escapes her lungs and she turns in her seat so her feet hangs off from the side of the couch and her upper body is supporting itself against the back-rest.

"My name's (y/n) (y/l/n), I volunteered to join the organisation in 1943 and had jumped into Germany in March 1944. Got captured by a group of German soldiers this January."

"What were you doing here?"

She turns her eyes to the ground, two parts of her mind fighting each other. One says she should answer honestly - these are American soldiers, allies, for Christ's sake, and she's already said a lot of things - and one says she should divert the question because what she's doing is a secret, one that she's swore to keep even if it cost her her life. Barely any people outside the organisation know about its existence.

"Well, since you won't answer, I'm gonna have to guess. Since you're a secret agent who's working for the British government, I'd say you were doing espionage and sabotage actions."

Oh my, she's said too much, everything about her has become obvious... She must be more exhausted than she thought.

Speirs stands up, and raising a hand pushes his fingers in his hair, deep in his thoughts. Though before anyone could say or do anything else, Babe Heffron enters the room and tells his superior how Captain Winters has asked to speak with him. Ron signals at Webster to stay where he is and walks out through the doorway.

"The Germans talked," Nixon announces as soon as Speirs enters Winters' make-shift office in another part of the same building. "They say the girl's a British spy."

"She won't say much, but that's what I figured as well," Ron nods.

"We're trying to get in contact with her superior, whoever it might be," Winters joins the conversation as he's systemizing the papers on the desk with his just finished reports.

"She's a part of a secret organisation, sir, so it won't be easy, I guess."

"Maybe we should let her use our radio to do it herself," Nix suggests with a shrug.

And that's how a couple hours later - during which Doc Roe finally got a chance to attend to her bruises and wounds, and dictate some hot food into her - she finds herself sitting in a different room, feeling much better already as her fingers carefully try to get connection with the HQ of the Special Operations Executive under the watchful eyes of a few American soldiers.

In the end (y/n)'s ordered to stay with the company that has found her until she got better, wounds healed and strength back to normal before getting further orders. They have to check first anyway if it's safe enough for her to go back to her previous position or if the Germans know too much about her already.

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

The next day Easy's pulled back to Mourmelon and she travels in the jeep with the captains - Winters, Nixon and Speirs. Since they've already heard the full conversation she had with HQ and so they know about the SOE, she's more willing to answer their questions about what she was doing in Germany, how she got there, what training she got beforehand, et cetera.

The more he learns about the young woman, the more amused Ron feels. He can't shake the thought that he's never met a more badass woman than the girl sitting next to him. All his life, when he thought about the female part of the population, he knew that if he ever got himself a girl, it should be someone strong, daring and fearless. And it wasn't easy to find someone like that - until suddenly this British spy appeared in his life.

After arriving, the soldiers get a proper meal first, then everyone's dismissed to rest anyhow they choose to. (y/n) goes back to the room they've assigned for her, still feeling the past weeks' exhaustion creeping up on her and after changing into the American uniform Captain Winters got for her - so she doesn't have to walk around in her torn, dirty clothes anymore - she falls asleep on the inviting, soft mattress. When she wakes up drenched in sweat and panting hard, it's sometime in the middle of the night already, everything's quiet around her and only the light of the moon comes in from the darkness through the window.

She stands up, stretching her muscles and trying to calm her shaking body before slipping on her boots again and putting on the probably unused - almost still crispy - jacket before silently moving out of the room. The cold, February night air fills her lungs and cools her warm and sweaty skin under a short second immediately after she exits the building. Slowly starting to walk next to the wall, she lets herself drown in her thoughts again.

"You runnin' away?" A voice asks from the dark after she mindlessly turns in a corner, making her jump and press her palms against her chest, her eyes wide and heartbeat going so fast as if she's just run a marathon.

As she tries to catch her breath, her glance lands on a burning end of a cigarette and moving a bit further up, she meets Ron Speirs' lightly amused, sparkling eyes.

"You scared the shit out of me," she admits, still panting. He says nothing, just continues watching her - a half minute later she gives in, rolling her eyes and answering his previous question. "I'm not running away, just wanted to get some fresh air. What are you doing out here in the middle of the night?"

"Can't sleep," he shrugs.

"Nightmares?" (y/n) turns around to lean with her back against the wall right next to him.

"Maybe."

Glancing curiously at him, she waits for a while for him to say something else, but eventually figures that it's all she's gonna get from the man - he's seemingly not one to speak a lot and admit his true thoughts and emotions.

"You're not the only one," she mumbles, turning her gaze down to the ground under her feet as she mindlessly kicks away at random rocks scattered around.

He still doesn't say a word, and (y/n) starts to feel like she's annoying him, that her company is unwanted here but just as she places her palms flat against the wall to push herself away from it, a hand holding a pack of cigarettes appears in front of her eyes. With a swift, hesitant glance towards the man she slowly reaches up to take one and as she places it in-between her lips, Speirs raises his other hand, lighting the smoke for her.

At the sudden flash of light, he gets a better look at her, and his eyes swiftly move up and down her body, taking in the nearly literally breathtaking sight of the girl wearing a uniform, one that's almost like his. Even as the flame dies out from the lighter, the image is right there in front of his eyes - as if it's painted on the insides of his eyelids.

They smoke in silence for a while, both deep in their thoughts - his mainly consisting of how most men find women in fancy dresses and skirts, wearing high heels and make-up the most beautiful sight on Earth, and how seemingly he's just the opposite of that. A woman in uniform, not dolled up at all, radiating such strength and courageous confidence from her whole body that it feels like it's gonna consume him - that's what makes his mind spin and maybe even his heart skip a beat.

"Where are you from?" (y/n) asks a few minutes later, exhaling the smoke from her lungs.

"Brighton, Massachusetts," comes his answer right away. "But I was born in Edinburgh."

"You were?" She asks back in surprise.

Ron nods, taking another drag of his cigarette. "My family moved to the US when I was four."

The girl hums, falling silent for a few seconds as she contemplates his words. "Is it nice? In Brighton," she adds to clarify any uncertainty about her question.

He takes a breath, thinking over his answer before actually opening his lips and speaking up. It becomes the longest sentence (y/n) has heard from him - and it feels like she's finally able to see a little more through the wall around his heart and soul. By the time they finish their second cigarette, she knows about how he got to the 101st, what training they partook back in the States, and where they've been around Europe, what they've done before getting to Haguenau and - unintentionally - rescuing her.

And even though she feels like she'd gladly listen to him talk for hours, days, if she had a chance, a yawn takes over her features and she feels a sudden surge of sleepiness move through her bones and veins.

"I'm sorry, Captain, but I think it's time for me to call it a night. Maybe you should try to get some sleep as well, you deserve to rest properly," she flashes a small smile his way that warms his chest even in the cold winter air.

Stomping out her cigarette on the ground, she raises her eyes once more - only to find him already watching her. "Good night," she nods with the warm look in her glance still apparent, then turns around and makes her way back to her room.

Speirs is left alone with the goosebumps on his skin - ones caused by the way she said his rank - and he stays there for a couple more minutes, thinking about their conversation, about the girl. Then he moves back to his room as well, following her advice - and eventually getting the best sleep he's had in a long, long time. No nightmares, no waking up after seeing his men die over and over again, no trouble falling back asleep with stains of blood and dead bodies appearing in front of his inner eyes. He just sleeps. Peaceful, as he did as a child, with the only dream that appears being one about a woman. Her.

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

The next night when (y/n) wakes up from her sleep, she almost instinctively puts the rest of her uniform back on, not thinking just walking towards the same place she found the young man the previous night. She doesn't even know why, but disappointment sweeps in her body when her eyes take in nothing but his absence. Nobody's there, just her.

"Want a smoke?" The familiar voice of Speirs enters her ears only a few seconds later, making her jump yet again.

A chuckle leaves his lips as he watches her spin around, panting just as much as she did the last night. "Would you stop scaring me every goddamn time? You're gonna be the death of me," (y/n) scolds him with a frown playing on her eyebrows, but he can see the playful glint in her eyes that lets him know that she doesn't mind it that much - that she's just glad to see him again.

"Sorry," he says with his lips curving into a smirk that says the complete opposite. As a peace offering he holds his pack of cigarettes out for her, similarly to the first time just about 24 hours ago, and then lighting it for her.

Conversation starts easier this time, even Ron's more willing to speak his mind, sharing his thoughts, asking questions. Time seems to fly as in no more than a blink of an eye (y/n)'s already stomping out her third cigarette. He hesitantly offers her one more, trying to convince the small voice inside his head that he's not doing it to keep her around for some more time. She shakes her head, but doesn't make a move to leave, just keeps on leaning against the cold wall, opening her lips to ask him yet another question.

Only a little while later, when a shiver moves up her body, leaving her shaking and teeth clinking, is when they suddenly realise how cold it actually is to just motionlessly stand outside, and this time Speirs is the one to offer to call it a night.

From that night, it becomes an everyday thing - or more like everynight in their case - for the two of them, no matter how tired they might be the next day when they talked throughout almost the whole night - until the sky started lightening, signalling the closeness of dawn. They stand there, in each other's company, smoking and sharing stories about their lives, getting to know the other more and more.

It becomes the part of his days Ron looks forward the most - sometimes he doesn't even try to get some sleep, just sits on his bed thinking until their unspoken time of meeting comes. She's always joking around, leaving sarcastic comments whenever she has a chance - leaving him amused by how optimistic she can be from time to time even in such terrible times, after all the things she's gone through.

Her quietly ringing giggle and her full-on, bubbling laughter soon become his favourite sounds he's ever heard in his life and he finds himself trying to make jokes himself, coming up with all kinds of funny stories he can just to be the reason she lets out those angelic sounds.

During the days, (y/n) spends her time with Easy company, joining them in whatever it is they're doing, making friends with the men - just enjoying themselves. One time she's just moving between buildings with Joe Liebgott, Babe Heffron and Chuck Grant when Speirs comes walking from the opposite direction, with about four or five packs of cigarettes in his hands.

"Will you leave some for me too, Captain?" (y/n) calls out to him with a mischievous grin and Ron has to bite back the smirk that's threatening to appear on his lips - both from the playfulness of her sentence and the fact that she called him that again.

The three soldiers next to her turn to look at (y/n) as if she's gone crazy, but then they only get even more shocked when their superior answers - especially when hearing and seeing the unusual merriness radiating from him.

"Sure thing, miss."

The girl bites her bottom lip to keep in the giggle, not turning her eyes from his until they pass each other, her cheeks turning slightly pink in the process.

"What the hell was that?" Liebgott inquires with a frown.

"I asked for some cigarettes," she shrugs nonchalantly.

In the next half an hour, the three paratroopers take it upon themselves to fill her in with all the rumours going around the men about the company commander.

That night when she arrives to their usual spot, he's already there. As soon as her eyes fall on him, her lips curve into a suggestive smirk. "It seems like I'm not the only one you like scaring the hell out of," she announces, drawing his attention to her.

Ron raises an eyebrow in question, and she explains in a couple words what she's heard from her friends in Easy that afternoon. He can't help but grin as his shoulders move in a shrug as the routine-like action of him offering a smoke and lighting it for her takes place - it's become such a habit that they don't need any words or thoughts to do it, their hands moving in instinct.

"If only they knew how not scary you are when someone takes the time to get to know you," she sighs.

"Someone as in you?" The corners of Speirs' lips turn upwards into a sly smirk. "You're trying to get to know me?"

"Hey, I didn't spend the past many nights suffering to get information out of you for no reason," she jokes, a small giggle leaving her lips.

"If it's so bad you describe it as suffering, why do you come back out here every night?"

(y/n)'s cheeks burn and she blesses the darkness for hiding it as he now openly teases her. "I guess I like the company too much to give it up," she speaks quietly.

Ron's heart feels like bursting with happiness to hear that sentence - something he never thought possible before.

"Anyway, I might enjoy them being scared of me," he shrugs again, seamlessly diverting the subject as he doesn't know what to say to her confession - he can't just say that he feels the same way, now can he? Even if he does.

The girl raises an eyebrow with an amused sparkle in her eyes, forgetting about the seriousness of the previous moment herself, more than willing to let him change the subject in her slight embarrassment.

"You do?"

Seeing his nonchalant nod she can't help but laugh loudly and sharply and his free hand swiftly comes up to cover her lips and muffle the sound before someone in the surrounding buildings wakes up. For a couple seconds they stay like this, until (y/n)'s laughter dies off, first into small giggles, then into a content silence. Even then, his fingers don't leave her skin, and the more moments pass, the more aware she becomes of his touch.

It feels like her skin is tingling wherever she feels him gently pressing against and the remainder of her cigarette imperceptibly falls to the concrete that's beneath their feet. Ron can't help but wonder about how hers are the softest cheeks, the softest lips - the softest things his fingers have ever touched. (y/n) slowly, very slowly raises her eyes until the (y/e/c) orbs connect with his hazel ones and she gets lost in the intensity of his gaze.

Hesitantly he starts lowering his hand, letting it fall from her face, back to his side - but he doesn't move further, stays right there, close enough to hear and feel her small breaths as they move the air between them. Time seems to stop between them as they stand captured in each other's eyes.

"Ron," she whispers and his eyes flutter shut, heart skipping a beat. He doesn't even know how she knows his first name, but she has never said it before and now hearing it he can't help but want to hear it again and again and again. By the way his breath hitches, for a moment (y/n) fears she said something she shouldn't have, but then his eyes open again and she's taken aback by the emotions flowing in his sparkling orbs - so the fact she called him by his name was anything but bad.

Heartening up from his reaction she carefully reaches out with her fingers until they touch his, pausing for a moment to give him a chance to pull away. When he doesn't move a single muscle in his body, just keeps on watching her, she moves once more, snaking her hands in his and intertwining her fingers with his. For a second or two that seems like long hours for the two of them they stay like that, then out of nowhere Speirs lunges forward and hungrily presses his lips against hers.

She grips into his hands tighter before not much later they slip out of her hold, only to move up to cup her cheek and the back of her neck. He tilts her head further back to have a better angle - to be able to kiss her deeper, and she sighs into his mouth contently, her own arms moving up his back, clinging into his body.

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

For the remainder of Easy's time in Mourmelon, off the line, the captain and the secret agent don't spend another night talking outside in the cold February night, smoking. Instead, they do the very same thing inside, in his room - lying in his bed, in each other's embrace, sharing passionate kisses every once in a while. Sometimes to kiss the pain of the past or the uncertainty of the future away, sometimes only because they can't help the overflowing emotions in their hearts and minds - the only thing that seems to matter anymore is to feel each other.

.::the end::.

my masterlist  |  my hbo war masterlist

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[aricazorel]

"Are you jealous?" "No...Maybe." suggested by @russian-dumpling

pairing: Kaidan Alenko x Rebecca Shepard; set during ME1; word count: 1759

Noveria was cold. There was no doubt about that. It was a planet full of constant snowstorms. Nearly an ice planet.

Just like Hoth, Lieutenant Kaidan Alenko thought, unable to help the Star Wars reference. He glanced up at the thick transparent steel windows above that kept the raging winter storm out and the heat in. At least it was warmer than the Rebel Base…

“Hey, Alenko! You still with us?” Shepard’s voice called from beside him.

He glanced over at his CO noting that Ashley and Garrus had disappeared. “Don't you mean you, ma'am?”

“Oh for crying out loud! Don't ma’am me when we're alone,” she chided, a hand on her hip.

“We're still on the job, Commander.”

“Kaidan, is there a reason you're always so formal?”

“Habit it, ma'am, and it keeps me out of trouble.”

“Trouble? You, Alenko? Never.”

The Lieutenant snorted. “You don't know everything about me, Shepard.”

“Not yet,” the red head smirked with a wink.

***

While waiting to meet up with Gianna Parasini, Shepard unsurprisingly had elected to visit a few of the shops for tech and weapons mods. In truth it was the weapons mods that the Commander was really interested in. She only mentioned the tech mods to entice the Sentinel to tag along. In reality she didn't need to bribe him with anything other than herself.

He knew shortly after the Eden Prime mission that he was in trouble. Romantic entanglements with anyone he served with had always been a no no in his book. Falling for a superior officer was definitely not something he had ever seen himself doing. Yet there it was or rather she was standing outside yet another shop staring at the display in the window.

The Lieutenant was definitely in trouble.

He'd once told her he liked adventurous women. Kaidan would be lying to himself he didn't admit that Shepard fit that description to a tee. And that taste in the opposite sex is what would land him in trouble by the end of their current mission. Especially if the glances she was throwing over her shoulder towards him were any indication of things to come.

And there it was. The flirting grin she'd shoot him when she thought no one was looking. Of course Ashley had caught glimpses of it and teased the fire out of him about it. Despite his misgivings about the feelings he knew he was developing for his CO, Kaidan returned the smile as she motioned for him to join her at the display window. And of course he did.

As the Lieutenant walked over to her, Shepard motioned to a cluster of omni tool mods and one very specific omni tool. His eyes lit up as she casually mentioned, “I can open a line of credit with this store. You know. Get the license for the Normandy’s requisition officer so we can access their inventory anytime we want.”

“Really? Alenko asked excitedly as he looked from the Logic Arrest omni tool to Shepard.

With the amused look on her face he couldn't be sure if she were serious or not. Remembering himself he said, “I shouldn't ask you to use Alliance resources or your Specter status just to get me a new ‘tool.”

“But you didn't ask, Kaidan. I offered,” she corrected as she entered the shop. “Besides they have weapons mods too.”

Alenko cocked an eyebrow as he followed. She was his CO, a fellow officer, a friend. Yet he couldn't help but think she might harbor some feelings beyond all of that for him just as he did for her. Should he say anything? Should he let her make the first move? Should he see how things played out?

He sighed as he watched a salesman approach Shepherd with a broad grin. There were regs against fraternization. They were on a mission to stop a rogue Specter and his synthetic army. There was no place for romance, yet his feelings remained.

In an effort to distract himself, he focused his attention on the Logic Arrest Shepard had pointed out. In truth he did need a new omni tool, especially with the current mission. A part of him however couldn't shake the feeling that if he had said yes just a few minutes ago he'd already have a new ‘tool instead of looking at it in the display.

Kaidan let out a low growl. He should be able to focus on things without his thoughts circling back to Shepard. On a mission, in combat, doing his duties. Those instances were too problematic to allow that. The only acceptable exception was if Shepard was in danger.

But his down time? Sure she was nice to look at, athletic, red hair, nice smile, gorgeous eyes, great personality, honest, compassionate, amazing sense of humor, humble, firm. Anyone would be lucky to be the focus of her attention. Yet in the reflection of the display glass he saw her glancing at him as the salesman went on about various mods for her weapons the other man had were noticed Specter issue.

Apparently her status as a Specter had made the rounds rather quickly. Of course salesman wanted to land a large purchase from her then. Either way the Lieutenant could have sworn he saw the Commander wink at him in the reflection before she turned her attention back to the very friendly salesman.

“I can see the Specters have outfitted their newest agent with the latest weapons. Of course you can never go wrong with modifications,” the blond-haired man said smoothly. “Surely having the best mods on the market would help keep your lovely self safe.

“They certainly wouldn't hurt,” Shepard replied an even tone.

“Well, what is your primary weapon?” the man asked. “Maybe your favorite?”

“Those are two different things,” Shepard smirked with her arms folded across her chest.

“Really? For most customers those are one in the same,” the blond man muttered.

“I'm not most customers,” the Commander assured him confidently.

“I see,” the salesman muttered as he opened his ‘tool, showing the inventory available. “Perhaps something for your assault rifle first. We can't have our first human Specter being mowed down by rogue Geth. Protection is everything especially for a beautiful woman such as yourself.”

Kaidan rolled his eyes at the man's blatant attempt to flirt with the Commander in order to make a sale. Fundamentally the Lieutenant knew why the other man was doing it but that didn't deter the desire to tell the man off for disrespecting his CO. If he was totally honest with himself he had to admit that it wasn't just the man's lack of professionalism that bothered him.

He shifted, resisting the urge to go to Shepard’s aid. If she needed help, she would say so.

“I have plenty of protection already,” Shepard said as she gestured towards him. “My Lieutenant over there is an accomplished soldier and biotic. He's covered my six more times than I can count.”

Kaidan knew he was smirking as he caught her eye in the reflection once again. Whether she had intended to or not she had just padded his ego though he would never admit that. “Biotics will only get you so far,” the salesman muttered, his mood souring much to Alenko's delight.

“Oh but you haven't seen the Lieutenant train with his biotics,” Shepard mused with a big grin. “It's …quite the sight.”

Kaidan knew he was blushing as the salesman said, “I can provide you with top-of-the-line weapons mods. I'm afraid I am not licensed for biotic amps.”

Shepard made a noise of acknowledgement before she said, “You know what? I think I'll take that Logic Arrest in the window…and any mod you have for it.”

“Oh well, what about the weapons mods? Surely you need –“

“I already have the most advanced. Me being a Specter and all. But my Lieutenant needs the best omni tool available,” she insisted as she turned to Kaidan.

“I understand but you are his superior. Doesn't that mean –“

“If you can't sell me what I want, I am sure another shop can,” the Commander interrupted as she walked over to the Lieutenant.

“No. No. I can accommodate that,” the salesman said conceding that his sale to the first human Specter would not be as large as he originally thought.

Kaidan couldn't help the shit-eating grin as the salesman was forced to wait on him instead of Shepard.

***

Half an hour later Kaidan sat on the retaining wall of one of the many reflection pools near the shopping promenade as he fiddled with his new omni tool. They were waiting for Ashley and Garrus to rendezvous with them before taking the next step of their mission. For whatever reason, the Commander had spent her time watching him program his preferences into the new Logic Arrest.

He did his level best to ignore the attention until she said lightly, “Are you jealous?”

The Lieutenant paused in his motions as conflicting emotions demanded his answer one way or another. “No …maybe.”

She crossed her arms as she asked in surprise, “Really, Lieutenant? Of a weapons mod salesman?”

Kaidan knew he was blushing as he glanced at the nearby fountain. Was he that obvious? Was she going to give him a dressing down or just tease the crap out of him? Maybe even enlisting the help of Ashley and Joker?

“Hey, Kaidan?” Shepherds voice call to him as he felt a light pressure on his forearm from her hand. The use of his first caught his attention more than her touch.

He glanced back at her, seeing a tender smile. “I can promise you there is nothing to be jealous of. All my attention is on a certain L2 biotic. You might know him.”

Kaidan smiled as he replied, “Yes ma'am.”

Shepard opened her mouth to say something else when she heard Ashley and Garrus call out to them. She shrugged at him as she turned to greet them but not before she winked at the Lieutenant.

He watched as she walked over to their teammates as he finished setting up his tool. Any doubt he had about being more than comrades-in-arms or friends had evaporated. He was more certain than ever that things between them were more complicated than the mission parameters allowed.

But he didn't care. He was definitely in trouble, but he found himself not giving a damn about that either.

He liked adventurous women, and Shepard was definitely that. And so much more.

[dreaming-of-assclass]

KAYANO IS PROBLEMATIC

Alright, I’ve got your attention. Now here’s what I have to say:

I think most of us can agree that her arc, her character wasn’t handled well. But I’ve been thinking more about this lately...and there was so much wasted potential.

@assclass-conspiracies made an amazing Kayano Civil War AU that tackles most of it, especially the backlash it would cause to the class. And I’d like to expand on this because Karma is arguably the biggest character in the series...and this plot line opposes his character especially.

One of the biggest components of who Karma is...is his distrust in people. He’s constantly on guard and aware of things, ready to spring into action. He literally distanced himself from Nagisa and broke off their friendship because he felt unsafe.

Where was this behavior during Kayano’s arc? It should’ve been amplified.

I’m gonna talk about Kayano now, because even though I adore her...boyyyy, there’s a whole can of worms to open.

Kayano was driven by grief. She grew up in a ruthless industry, and her sister was her literal only support system. Losing Aguri crushed her, plus the tentacles...she wasn’t in the right state of mind for most of the year. 

And it’s understandable. There’s a lot we can sympathize with her for.

But a lot of people either seem to forget or disregard but...Kayano wasn’t exactly totally innocent, and the class especially shouldn’t have viewed her this way.

There were more than a couple instances where the class’ lives were genuinely in danger, and Kayano chose to stand aside.

She didn’t do anything to keep her identity a secret, for her own personal goal.

The worst example, is when Nagisa, her “best friend” is getting the shit beaten out of him by Takaoka.

So back to Karma

He got scared, wary and resentful of Nagisa, who although unsettling, was harmless. All Nagisa really did was catch him off guard. His potential for stuff was there, but the kid really didn’t do anything.

On the other hand, there’s Kayano, someone who was genuinely problematic. Even though she’s totally redeemable, of course, and there’s no doubt that she grows to love the class and her friends...

She still caused harm, and the class...shouldn’t have really brushed it off. Especially not Karma. Everything we’ve seen of his character up to this storyline points to him being enraged by her reveal.

He shouldn’t have been as fine with it as he was in canon. While I believe these two have a lot in common and he can ultimately empathize with her...that doesn’t change how out-of-character it is. 

I don’t think Karma would be fine with a second that someone so close to him in his inner circle was hiding such a huge lie, bloodlust, and was capable of harm.

Not to mention, Karma wouldn’t exactly be thrilled that she chose to stand by while their classmates and them were in danger.

I just find it odd how Karma was holding onto all that strong resentment towards Nagisa by Civil War...but he barely gave Kayano a second thought.

It almost kind of shows how little thought was given to her arc...the biggest character in the series acted OOC during it.

Also:

“Kayano was done dirty and deserved better”

“Kayano is a badass”

“Kayano is problematic, but redeemable”

Are opinions that can and should co-exist.

I can never hate on my girl, I love her and all the intricacies of her story so much. But part of Kayano’s wasted potential is her “redemption” and truly finding a place in the class, in life, and re-discovering herself. After almost an entire year of pain, mourning, and lying...it can’t just be easily swept under the rug. There has to be some complicated feelings from everyone, especially the two other main characters, at least.

Kayano’s arc never received proper closure, and even by the end of canon...she’s still in such an unstable mental place compared to everyone. She’d thrown herself into deathly situations twice, still hadn’t fully grieved her sister...

Urgh...she deserved so much better.

I just...always am wishing her storyline was handled better. But whatever, that’s what fanfiction is for, right? Though I also wish the fandom had more opinions on her outside of “Love interest,” or “Intruder to Karmagisa.” She’s so much more than that smh.

Last note to end this with:

Karma vs Kayano Civil War would be amazing, and like I said above...plausible and makes a lot of sense. It’s more in-character for Karma. 

I mean, I get that he has to reconcile with Nagisa, and Civil War is how that happens...hmm...

Karma trying to beat the shit out of both Nagisa and Kayano?

[hphmmatthewluther]

HPHM April Prompts 2021: Day 6: One Truth, Two Truths, Green Truths, Blue Truths

And I thought yesterday’s prompt was juicy! Here’s day 6 of @stupendousbookworm ‘s #aprilprompts2021!

Prompt # 6 - It's Truth or Dare night! MC and co. sit in a circle for a fun night (with veritaserum for truths!). But when MC picks dare, Penny dares MC and (Love Interest) to play seven minutes in heaven in the broom closet!

‘Hel-ga Huff-le-puff’ Matthew mouthed as he knocked out the rhythm onto the closest barrel.

“That’s it?!” Merula said incredulously. “And it’s always the same barrel?”

“Indeed!” piped up Rowan, “Helga Hufflepuff’s son decided to have it this way as a tribute to her.”

“So?” Merula said, crossing her arms.

Matthew shrugged. “It’s worked for centuries, hasn’t it?”

“Defending a Wizarding Tradition? Who are you and where’s Matthew Luther?” Merula scoffed as the door swung open. There in the doorway stood Penny Haywood.

“Guys! You made it!” Penny exclaimed, letting them into the Common Room. Matthew had never been here before, and was beginning to wish he had found his way here beforehand. It was the very definition of cosy; a circular room filled with plants and a large fireplace at the far end of the room. In the middle of the room was a large cauldron surrounded by chairs, on which were quite a few of Matthew’s friends: Chiara, Tonks, Tulip, Andre, Barnaby, Charlie, Bill, Jae and, much to Matthew’s surprise, Talbott and Ben.

“We were wondering where you were.” Talbott said, eyeing the cauldron in the middle.

“Well, I had to convince these two to come.” he said, gesturing to Rowan and Merula.

“I was just...concerned about being tired tomorrow.” Rowan said, crossing their arms.

“But...it’s Saturday tomorrow, Rowan.” said Penny, a little confused.

“I..well...yes, um...anyway, I’m here!” they declared, sitting down. Their cheeks flushed as Penny sat next to them. That left two empty seats between Penny and Barnaby, which Matthew and Merula filled.

“Alright, you guys came just in time, I think it’s ready now!” announced Penny, stirring the potion in the cauldron. Matthew looked at it, shocked, as did Merula, Rowan and a few others.

“P-Penny...” stammered Rowan, “Is that what I think it is?”

“If what you were thinking was Veritaserum, then yes!” she exclaimed, getting some flasks ready, “When I found out some of you hadn’t tried this, I just had to get everyone here to try it!”

Matthew wasn’t sure he liked where this was going, “Penny, if this is some Wizarding thing, keep in mind that some of us...” he gestured to himself and Ben.

“I also don’t know what we're doing.” admitted Barnaby.

“I’d guessed, Barnaby.” said Merula.

“Well, we’re playing Wizarding Truth or Dare!” Penny declared. There were a few gasps. Bill and Charlie leant forward. Ben looked even more nervous than usual, and Rowan was right there with him. Barnaby still looked confused. Merula kept her face still. Matthew was only slightly nervous. He was with friends, and he knew none of them had any ulterior motives, not even Merula.

“Don’t tell me, we use the Veritaserum so we have to tell the truth?” he asked, gazing at the mixture.

“Very perceptive, Luther.” said Merula. He sighed, having an inkling as to what she was thinking about.

“Before we begin, let’s make a rule.” Matthew said, “Nothing about the Cursed Vaults. If we’re here to have fun, let’s not open that can of worms. Alright?” They all nodded, and he noticed Merula relax.

“Well, if that’s everything, let’s get started. I’ll go first, Bill can choose what happens.”

“Truth!” said Penny.

“The most illegal potion I’ve made? I tried making Felix Felicis once...keyword tried...”

“Dare.” said Bill.

“Alright...four cartwheels...here we-”

“Okay, Impressive.” said Tonks, defeated. “Right, Dare!”

“Impersonate Dumbledore!” Jae declared.

They all watched as Tonks’ pink hair grew and became white, as several wrinkles appeared on her face.

“As Headmaster I declare...” she said in his withery voice.. “That you are not allowed to go into the Forest as it is too dangerous...except when we send you there in tournaments or for detention.”

“Not bad...Truth!” said Jae.

“Um..” said Ben, still a little nervous, “The craziest thing you’ve smuggled into the school?”

“Ooh, easy! A live cockatrice!” he said, “That was a wild one...”

“Right...now it’s me...T-Truth.”

This continued, until Tulip was sitting upside down, Charlie was speaking in a French accent and Merula was stroking Matthew’s Niffler Spencer, which she had convinced to follow her back here. They had gone round a few times, and it was now Matthew’s turn. So far, it had not got too...inappropriate, though they did all know one too many facts about Barnaby, and Penny had given Rowan (and everyone else) a reason to go red. Matthew was glad for that, and he wasn’t about to spill anything he didn’t want to.

“Dare.” he said, eyeing Penny nervously. She had that mischievous look that meant ‘I’m about to suggest something for you to do for my enjoyment.’

“I dare you...to spend 7 minutes in heaven with Merula!”

“What?!” they both said at once. Chiara gasped. Tulip laughed out loud. Bill merely smirked.

“There’s a storage room right over there.” The Head Boy said, pointing to the left. Matthew’s brain had fully ground to a halt. He had recently established that he liked Merula, and that he found her to be rather good-looking, but he had never expected something like this to happen so soon, and had reservations about acting on his feelings, especially considering his suspicions. They were both pushed to their feet and moved over to the closet.

“W-Well...look...do we...” Matthew spluttered. Merula looked more annoyed than anything, but at some point it must have occurred to her that she was still under the influence of Veritaserum.

“Oh, oh no...” she whispered. Matthew’s face was bright red, and hers was bright pink as the door to the storage room opened.

“In you go!” Penny said, pushing them in and closing the door. Matthew instinctively  pulled out his wand.

“L-Lumos.” he said hoarsely, illuminating his and Merula’s faces. They were unbearably close together now, the closet they were in being extremely small. Slowly, they both crouched down until sitting on the floor.

“S-So, um...” Merula began, pushing a hand through her hair, “H-how are you holding up, um...”

There were a few snickers from the other side of the door. Matthew scowled, before pointing his wand downward. “Muffliato!” After which, several annoyed grunt noises were heard. The two smirked at each other.

“Thanks.” said Matthew, flicking his wand’s light around.

“Anytime.” she replied sweetly, before illuminating the end of her own wand. Thirty seconds, Matthew’s brain worked. There was another pregnant silence.

“Why did Penny do this?” Merula asked impatiently, kicking at the ground.

“Because she loves to cause gossip and scandal.” Matthew said, “I don’t know what Rowan sees in h-” Oops. Merula leant forward.

“Khanna has a thing for her? Why? They’re so uptight! And she’s...a bimbo!”

“That’s a bit much.” said Matthew an eyebrow raised. “She’s better than any of us at potions.” One minute, Matthew thought to himself. The smirk on Merula’s face suddenly vanished. “Listen...um, I wanted to ask you something.”

“A-Ask what?” Matthew said.

“Why’d you stop them asking about the Cursed Vaults?” she asked, “This would have been the perfect time to oust the Mole.”

Matthew’s stomach began to fold in on itself. He wanted to say that he just wanted to have a good time tonight, and not worry about it, but: “I-I just...I think I already know who the Mole is.” He looked up at her.

Merula stared at him with fear in her eyes. “Wh-Who?”

Matthew didn’t answer. He couldn’t. She already knew the answer. Oh, how he hated seeing her like this. “I...don’t blame you. I-”

“What?! You know now, don’t you! I’m your stupid mole!” she shouted. Matthew flinched at the sound, hoping nobody outside could hear her.

“Yes, I know, but-”

“But what?! What could you possibly want? I don’t know anything! They told me nothing! They used me, and now I’m stuck with them, and now your friends will all abandon me, and…” she realised what she had started to say, and looked down at the floor. Expecting her to stop talking, Matthew extended his hand towards her.

“Merula. Listen to me. You’ve been through things nobody else should be through. I don’t blame you at all.” he announced.

Merula stared at him for a moment, then snorted. Matthew had to stop himself from smiling too, knowing that now wasn’t the time, no matter how adorable he found it.

“You ought to blame me. I’ve tried to kill you so many times. More than that, I doubt your little friend group is going to be as forgiving.”

“I don’t care.” he said simply.

“You don’t...” Merula had to stop and take that into consideration. “Look, I know we’ve...you know, the Celestial Ball and all that, but...it’d make sense for you to be mad at me, wouldn’t it!”

“I don’t care.” he repeated.

“Then...then for a Ravenclaw, you’re...an idiot! Why on earth aren’t you mad at me?!”

“Because I get it. I’ve always understood why you do the things you did.” Matthew explained, moving a step closer.

“H-How...”

“Merula...I grew up in the Muggle world. I had to deal with a lot of...arseholes, but also people who were arses so others wouldn’t bully them. Their insults were always empty. You could tell they were only saying it because someone else had said it.”

They stood in silence for a moment. “I...I see...” Merula said finally. “But it still doesn’t excuse me!”

“I know that. But, I know you’re going to try and make things right.” he said in reply.

“You don’t know that!” she yelled.

“Yes I do.”

“How?! I’m...I’m an awful person! Why would anyone trust me! I’ve been awful to everyone here!” she screeched, tears forming in her eyes. Matthew couldn’t take much more of this. He was trying not to do anything she might protest about, but seeing her like this was so gut-wrenching, that he found himself moving closer, until he held her slender arms in his hands. She pulled back slightly, but returned a few moments later. Tears were now well and truly forming in her eyes.

“I...I’m not a good person...you can’t deny that, can you...” Merula sighed, slowly moving her thumb around Matthew’s wrist. He shook his head.

“Mm...maybe you’re right. Maybe. But I know, deep down, you’re trying to be a better person. And that’s the difference.” He declared.

Merula looked up at him. “I...don’t know what to say...”

“Then you don’t have to say anything.” Matthew said, pulling her into a hug. He’d hoped this would make her feel better, but when she started crying more, he worried that he’d done something wrong and began to soften his grip.

“No...wait, it’s just....been a while since I’ve had a...” he heard, her head resting on his chest. He smiled, and put his arms back around her, feeling his cheeks flush and seeing hers do the same. He’d lost count of how long they were in there, but it couldn’t have been more than 2 minutes. Eventually, Merula moved her head up and looked at him, pushing him up against the wall, moving onto his legs.

“You know...I always thought you were alright. Even when we were enemies, it was sort of...nice, having someone to compete with.”

Matthew’s eyes widened slightly at this, “That’s...really nice of you to say, Merula. I...” he sighed, and took a breath. Having anyone, let alone a girl he really liked being this close to him, was very distracting. “For a while, when we were still in first year, I...didn’t think I could find the Cursed Vaults. I’d...all but assumed that my brother had gone forever. But then...you showed up. And I sort of said to myself, ‘Come on, she’s expecting a challenge now, you can’t let her down,’ and so...I actually tried. And, well, you know the rest...”

“Indeed I do.” she said with a smirk, moving closer to his face. “Remind me why we’re rivals again?”

Matthew returned her smirk. “For the reputation, I assume.” He wasn’t sure which one of them moved first, but they both seemed to have had the same idea, and so before either of them knew it, their lips were together.

It was a bit of a mess, with teeth colliding together at first, but both parties were thoroughly enjoying the experience. Story of our lives, Matthew thought to himself, the chastity of the kiss slowly vanishing as their tongues crossed over each other. He felt an overwhelming desire for more, and so he moved his arms up to Merula’s hair (something he’d wanted to do for the longest time) and grasped it in his hands, Merula then starting to elicit small moans. Still holding Matthew’s arms, she began to move backwards until Matthew had her against the other side of the closet, which quite frankly felt amazing. In fact, as he kissed her, he was surprised to see how little control he had over himself, as his lower quarters began to move of their own accord. Merula didn’t seem to mind much, as her own hips began to buck against his own, until they moved together in a rhythm. The teenagers were both so caught off guard by this that they broke their kiss. Upon seeing their hips moving together, they both broke into laughter, putting their foreheads together as they did so.

“Ah..haha...what even...is this...?” Merula giggled, in a tone of voice that Matthew had never heard from her before. Matthew couldn’t really think of much else to say; his mind was on a lot of other things instead of words, so he started pecking Merula with kisses up and down her face, eventually reaching her shoulders. With the last of his self-control, he pointed his wand at the closet door and whispered, “Colloportus.”, smirking as he heard a click behind him.

“It’s been...six minutes...I think.” he said breathlessly, before pulling her tie away to suck on her neck. 

Merula tugged on Matthew’s tie in return. “Better make this count, Luther.” she whispered, her hands moving towards his trousers. For fifty two seconds Matthew and Merula were in absolute bliss. 

Matthew had started fiddling with Merula’s top bottom when the door shook. “Hey! Your seven minutes are up!” yelled Penny.

“Alohomora...” he muttered, unlocking the door. Then, he noticed a small mark on Merula’s neck from where he’d been kissing it. “Episkey”, he whispered, watching it disappear.

“Thanks.” said Merula, straightening her tie. They pushed open the door, and saw everyone crowded around the door, including Spencer the Niffler.

“Well?��� Andre asked, “What happened?”

“Ah, It’s Penny’s turn.” Matthew reminded him. All eyes fell on the blonde Hufflepuff.

“D-Dare.” she said finally. Matthew smirked. He pointed at her, pointed at Rowan, then pointed at the closet. Rowan went an even deeper red. Penny also went a shade pinker, getting up and moving towards the closet. Before she did, however, she pulled Matthew close and whispered in his ear:

“You resisted Andre’s question. There’s only one trigger for that to happen with my Veritaserum.” she said, giving him a silent wave before entering the closet, closing the door behind her and Rowan.

[jemej3m]

a comprehensive set of rules (part 1)

light and breezy!! (this is not a b99 au)

this is...long.

plot?????? what?????????

*

January:

“So you’re telling me,” Aaron repeated. “You’re pretty sure this guy is into some organised crime shit?”

Andrew made a noise, rolling over on his bed to press the phone between his ear and the pillow. Usually their calls were short and succinct, as was tradition ever since they departed from college - Andrew heading to Baltimore for policing academy and Aaron to Chicago for med-school - with Aaron doing most of the talking and Andrew occasionally humming in response.

Tonight Andrew was riddled with questions. Usually his moral compass was simple and easy to adhere to, but this was - to put it mildly - fucked. He didn’t care about authority, or loyalty to his police oath, but he couldn’t just screw a guy whilst suspecting him of murder. Or whatever Neil had gotten himself into.

You can’t talk, his own brain reminded him, so kindly, so gently. He made a scathing noise and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“A woman tried to kill him and talked shit about his family. You should’ve seen how bone-white he went at his father’s mention.”

“So - you’re just going to excuse him? On the basis of what, an inclination to murder is genetic?”

Sometimes it was genetic. Andrew almost laughed. Aaron heard the irony in his own words, too and grumbled out a low ‘Shut up.’

“He said he couldn’t date a cop, anyway.” Not that Andrew was interested in dating.

It did appear as though he and Neil was very incompatible: Neil didn’t do sex and relationships, was criminally inclined and had yet to text him since their disaster of a second date.

Andrew was only emotionally ready enough for casual sex, one-night-stands and loveless hookups, and didn’t exactly know whether or not he could ignore Neil’s background, seeing as every day he went in to work and interrogated perps with gang tattoos and blood still drying on their hands.

And yet.

Andrew still wanted to see Neil. See he was alright. Talk to him. Spend time with him. Andrew still wanted to try and set something up, something that’d benefit both of them, maybe a way that Neil could escape from his current life, a way for Andrew to get invaluable knowledge.

Andrew still wanted to try and have something with Neil. Not romantic. Not a relationship, or sex, or even friendship.

Just - something.

“That’s that, then.” Aaron said, unhelpful. “Nicky was all screechy about it on the phone. Said that the guy was cute. I bet he has no clue.”

“No,” Andrew agreed, making a mental note to check out ‘Allison’ and ensure his cousin was safe. “No clue at all.” He sighed, rolling onto his back and staring at the ceiling of his bedroom. “It doesn’t matter. I doubt we’ll ever see each other again.”

*

February:

“Shit,” Andrew muttered as coffee dribbled down his vest. The taser tucked into its pocket made an odd sound, as though it were drowning or something. He fished it out and sighed: Kevin, another fresh-faced detective who seemed to think he had the right to criticise Andrew’s every move, wouldn’t let this go. Andrew seemed to always be needing new equipment, so much so that Kevin had decided to photocopy the request forms and pin them snootily to Andrew’s desk.

Andrew hated Kevin. Renee had forced him to be civil, though, and he trusted his partner enough to listen to her advice.

“Didn’t see you there,” came a familiar voice. Andrew’s head snapped up: canvasing the truly miraculous sight that stood before him. “So sorry.”

Neil’d had his haircut since Andrew had last seen him, but he bore purple shadows under his eyes, his skin pale and sickly. A hood was drawn up, the sweater too large on Neil’s wiry frame. His jeans were loose too. He was far from the well-dressed bad idea Andrew had gone on two dates with, just over two months prior.

“Come into this cafe, officer,” Neil said, voice flat. “There’s a bathroom.”  With that, he spun on his heel and marched back into the coffee-shop that he had no doubt been waiting outside of for Andrew to pass by.

Andrew followed silently, ignoring the lukewarm coffee that was dripping down his chest. There was a tiny bathroom with two cubicles, of which Neil somehow had the key for. He spun around and leant against the door, eyes dark.

“Neil,” Andrew said. “What the fuck?”

“I can’t be seen with you, or talking to you,” he managed, voice slightly raw. “Things are - not great, right now. I’m sorry I vanished.”

“You have to give me context,” Andrew insisted, stepping closer. “What the hell is going on?”

Neil shut his eyes. “If I promise you that I’ll explain everything, afterwards, will you help me?”

“I take my promises seriously,” Andrew warned.

Neil nodded weakly, wringing his fingers. “I know.”

Andrew sighed, taking some paper towel from next to the sink and patting himself dry. “What’s happening?”

Neil swallowed. “My father’s going to court, based on charges of tax evasion and money laundering.”

Andrew gestured for him to continue.

Neil hung his head. “I’m going to usurp him, him and his closest allies. I need a cop I can filter information through to, so that they can be locked up permanently. All five of them.”

“Someone once told me that they’d never be safe unless the threat was dead,” Andrew said, voice low. “You can’t fool me into thinking you just want them in jail.”

Neil had the audacity to look surprised, like maybe he thought Andrew wouldn’t remember. He’d learn to assume Andrew knew everything soon enough. “He has enough enemies that it’ll be taken care of, for me. Honest enough for you, officer?”

Andrew straightened out. “And when he and his crooks are gone? What then?”

Neil’s smile was almost sad. "Then I will take his place.”

“You could dismantle it entirely,” Andrew argued. “You don’t have to follow his footsteps.”

Neil just shook his head. “There are higher powers at work, Andrew. It’s my legacy: I have no choice." He in a shuddering breath. “If I could abandon it all, I would. I don’t want this life. I don’t want his name, or his smile, or his bloodthirst. I don’t.”

“Neil,” Andrew warned.

The man squeezed his eyes shut. “You know I watched him kill my mom? She didn’t want this life either. He was going to kill me too. Maybe he should have.”

“Neil.”

Andrew had the man’s chin pinched between his thumb and forefinger. He opened his eyes.

“I’ll help you,” Andrew said, against better judgement. “Tell me your name and I’ll help you.”

Neil’s swallow was constricted, weighted. He took out a tiny slip of paper and tucked it into Andrew’s pocket. “I'm still Neil.” His inhale was desperate. “I am still Neil.”

Andrew nodded slightly, stepping back and watching as the man unlocked the door and slipped out.

Slowly - carefully - Andrew unfolded the little piece of paper.

It was a business card, the logo embossed into the paper.

Nathan Wesninski and Co. it read, accented with gold.

*

March:

“How the fuck...” Dan said, flicking through the file. She, Wymack and Renee all sat opposite Andrew, peering over his work with trepidation.

Under a strictly Need-To-Know policy, Kevin was excluded for his previous ties to Riko Moriyama, who was the son of a yakuza boss (though that was not widely known). Matt was excluded on the basis of too many mouths to control, though Dan would probably fill him in. Seth was excluded because he sucked and Andrew hated him. That left his partner, his captain and his sergeant, all of whom were mildly shocked that Andrew had picked up such a large and intricate case independently.

“How did you find all this?” Dan demanded, recoiling from the contents of his file. Beside the many photographs laid a dried chunk of flesh in a sealed bag, of which DNA tests would confirm to be Mary Wesninski’s, who vanished over 14 years ago.  Neil said he’d cut it from the branching aorta of his mother’s heart, of which his father kept in a small container, alongside her tongue and eyes, seeing as his father would miss a whole organ, but not a chunk of the underside. He didn’t get his name the Butcher for nothing.

“Unless we have a weapon, or something with prints that connects Wesninski to that-” Wymack pointed to the piece of Mary’s heart. “It’s still circumstantial without your CI coming forward as a witness.”

“They will die,” Andrew said calmly. “I’ll keep working for a connection, but nothing about my CI gets published. Nothing.”

“Okay,” Renee agreed, smiling warmly as she rounded the table. She waited for his nod to drop a hand on his shoulder, rubbing small circles of warmth. “We’ll figure something out, Andrew.”

“I can’t believe we have a chance against Wesninski,” Wymack muttered, rubbing his temples.

“Not yet, we don’t.” Dan reminded him.

Not yet, Andrew agreed.

*

April:

Neil walked a slow circle around Andrew’s apartment, eyeing the windows and doors, the fire escape, the kettle, probably even the fucking toilet paper. Andrew watched as he toed off his shoes, pulled his sweater sleeves over his hands and finally joined Andrew in the living room.

“Got bored of figuring out the best point of exit?”

Neil scowled, settling on the couch beside him. “I shouldn’t be here.”

“Well, yours wasn’t exactly an option, was it?” 

Neil just drew his knees up to his chin, curling into a small ball on the couch. “The trial’s been set for late September.”

“I know,” Andrew agreed. 

“You haven’t brought any evidence to the prosecutor yet.”

“I haven’t.”

“Was what I gave not good enough?”

“No,” Andrew grimaced. “A chunk of Mary’s heart tells us she’s dead. Without prints, or a weapon, or DNA evidence surrounding her body, there’s no way to connect Nathan to her death.”

Neil winced, teeth biting into his lip. The minute rocking back and forth was beginning to get on Andrew’s nerves. “I can’t...I don’t know. I don’t know what to do.”

“We’ll figure something out,” Andrew insisted. “We solve crimes for a living. There’s always an answer.”

Neil scoffed, body still shaking. “You’re probably aware of 20% of what goes on in this city.”

“So tell me the other 80.”

Neil stared. 

Andrew gestured vaguely. “The different gangs, the territory lines, shoot outs and brandings and who’s having an affair with who. I don’t care. Just talk.”

“What good is gossip?” Neil wondered aloud. 

“You’d be surprised,” Andrew said lightly, like this wasn’t completely for Neil’s benefit. He needed to get Neil out of his head. It looked like the man hadn’t sleep in weeks, his nails bitten down to the quick and body stiff with bandages. The fact that Andrew couldn’t help him much more than this - at least not now - was putting him through the wringer.  

“Fine,” Andrew huffed when Neil wasn’t forthcoming, getting off the couch. From under the TV he grasped a random DVD and shoved it into the player that Nicky had bought for him a few years ago. 

“What’s this?” Neil blinked, owlishly. 

Andrew just dropped back down onto the couch. “Do you trust me?”

Neil looked at him, eyes narrowed. 

Andrew reached out to push the long fringe away from Neil’s eyes. “Neil, do you trust me?”

“I...” he looked down to his hands. They slowly curled into fists. “I want to.”

Andrew tilted his chin up with the tip of his finger. For a moment there was nothing else, just blue and gold and fate and future. “Then believe me when I say I will find a way.”

Slowly, Neil nodded. 

*

May: 

“Dimaccio, Plank, and the Romero siblings,” Andrew leant on the table with his fists, the fies splayed out around them. “We lock them up, one by one. Nathan loses his circle, loses his security. He’ll put out the wrong foot without anyone else to fall back on.”

“Who should we start with, then?” Wymack inquired, letting Andrew steer this investigation down to the very last report signature. 

Andrew arched an eyebrow, momentarily recalling the jagged scars on the inside of Neil’s elbows. 

“She’d wanted to cut my tendons, once,” he said, before yanking down the sleeves again. 

“Ladies first,” he told Wymack, picking up the photo of Lola Malcom and pinning it right into the centre of their case-board.

*

June: 

Dimaccio snarled as he was lead away in shackles, hair shaved close to his skull. He was probably double Andrew’s height and width and had three police escorts shoving him into the back of a wagon. Across the back of his hand had been the characteristic X, the one Neil bore, the one Lola had worn too. 

Two down, three to go, Andrew thought, something like pride grinning wolfishly within his chest. These were only the bail hearings: proper convictions wouldn’t be till the new year. It didn’t matter: so long as they were locked up, Andrew could move forward. Wymack stood beside him, thumbs hooked into his belt loops. 

“Nice work, kiddo,” the chief acknowledged, shaking out a cigarette and gesturing to the exit. Andrew followed. 

Leaning against the courthouse’s sandstone exterior, Andrew stared up into the cloudless sky with an accusatory squint, till Wymack nudged him.

“Your phone’s ringing,” he muttered, cigarette drooping with ever syllable. 

Andrew fished out the burner that he always kept tucked into his back pocket. He flicked it open immediately: there was only one person who had this number. 

“Andrew,” Neil panted. “Thank god. Okay. Hi.”

“N -” Andrew glanced at Wymack before turning away. “What’s going on?”

“The chances of me being able to contact you from now on will be slim to none: with two of them gone, I have to step in.”

“Christ,” Andrew muttered, stubbing out his cigarette. “Where are you now?”

“Bathroom,” Neil muttered. “Some stupid event thing for his business front. I’m not who matters right now. Do you have family that’s traceable to you? A next of kin?”

“You’ve met Nicky and Erik,” Andrew said, suddenly cold all over. “My twin and his wife live in Chicago.”

“They should be alright,” Neil murmured. “But Nicky and Erik have to go. Can they win a flight overseas? I’ll wire you through money if you need it -” 

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’ll sort it out.”

“You need to be careful,” Neil insisted. “He’s going to come after you. That’s twice your name’s been on the front of the arrest records. I’ve sorted something out, okay?”

“Forgive me if that sounds less that appealing.”

Neil laughed weakly. “It’s not a pretty solution, but it’ll work. You have to keep working, and if I can’t keep interacting with you without blowing this whole thing over, then our only choice is...” 

“Allison,” Andrew muttered. “Jesus Christ.”

Neil hummed in agreement. “She’ll pick you up from yours in an hour. Be ready.”

“How does she know where I live?”

“Like she doesn’t track my every move, Minyard. She’s my accomplice. Gotta go, now. He’ll get suspicious.” 

Something twisted in Andrew’s throat. “Stay safe.”

Neil paused, then mumbled “You too,” and disconnected the call. 

Wymack was watching him with an arched brow. 

Andrew shrugged. “My CI’s quick.”

“Unpredictable asshole,” his boss muttered, shooing him off with a derisive flick of his fingers. Andrew saluted him as he departed, before twisting on his heel and jogging back to his car. 

*

“Guest room, guest bathroom, living room, kitchen, blah, blah.” Allison waved her hand around emphatically, her manicured nails glittering with rhinestones and pearls. They were probably real, if her apartment was anything to go by. 

Everything was white, grey or pink, aside from the dark-oak parquetry on her floors. The marble countertops were polished to sparkle, every device in her kitchen practically unused. It was Nicky’s dream penthouse. 

“It pays to murder, doesn’t it?” Andrew wondered when he’d inherited Neil’s loose tongue. 

The look Allison gave him was withering. “I don’t murder. I clean up.”

“Because complacency is so much better than participation.”

She rolled her eyes. “I can’t believe Nicky didn’t tell me you were a fucking cop. Would’ve never set you up on a date if I knew.”

“I’m going to have his father in max security by the end of the year,” Andrew reminded her. “Don’t make me abandon the case.”

She grinned. “You wouldn’t. He’s got you wrapped around his finger.” At Andrew’s glare, she waved him off. “Don’t worry: he’s just like that. I never said that I ain’t wrapped around his finger too. It’s impossible to not want to shield him away, wrap him in copious amounts of blankets, kiss his forehead and tell him it’ll be okay. I tried it once,” she grimaced. “It didn’t work.”

Andrew didn’t picture Neil, a mobster’s son, wrapped in blankets on Andrew’s couch, smiling (genuinely) as Andrew pressed a kiss to the corner of his eye. He did not picture that. He did not. 

“For what it’s worth,” Allison said, in a voice softer than Andrew thought she was capable of as she looked out the enormous windows that overlooked Baltimore’s busiest district. “I’m glad he trusts you. And I’m glad you’re helping us.”

“Don’t get sappy on me, Reynolds,” he pointed at her in warning. “I’ll lock you up too, if you give me a reason to.”

Her laugh was pearlescent, her grin cat-like. “Neil would scalp you before you could even say my full name. Don’t forget, Minyard,” she winked. “I’ve got him wrapped around my finger, too.”

*

this will continue in p.2 with july-december!! after that we’ll go back to our regularly scheduled softness and humour. i’ve already got another one-shot planned around kevin and neil.... :D

[scullysexual]

*Prompt request for AU where Mulder gets Scully pregnant in high school and they are “forced” to marry but fall in love.*

I was more hopeful for this part tbf but it is what it is. Don’t expect much, I don’t think I’ve ever written someone giving birth before and even writing it from Mulder’s POV was a struggle. It’s not the best but hey ho, we have weaknesses and this is mine. Part 5 should be much better, that I can actually write.

A Baby is Forever: Part Four.

Part One.

Part Two.

Part Three.

AO3

I was more hopeful for this part tbf but it is what it is. Don’t expect much, I don’t think I’ve ever written someone giving birth before and even writing it from Mulder’s POV was a struggle. It’s not the best but hey ho, we have weaknesses and this is mine. Part 5 should be much better, that I can actually write. @today-in-fic

- - -

“You know, when you said you wanted to take me on a date, I was expecting more than your basement and pizza.”

“What’s wrong with my basement?” Mulder asks, picking up said slice of pizza and almost shoving the whole thing into his mouth at once. “It’s warm, we have food, you get a sit down…”

Her feet had been hurting her a lot more recently. Something Mulder had gotten the first hand pleasure of listening to Dana complain about it.

“…and I’m letting you pick the movie tonight. What more could you want?”

Dana smiles, her eyes glancing around the room and deciding that this does beat being outside in the cold, standing.

“How’s the baby?”

“She’s good,” Dana says, her hand instinctively falling to her stomach.

“What about the kicking?”

Dana smiles, fulling away of the kicking and the punching and the general moving around that takes place.

“She kicks and punches a lot. Mostly at night when I’m trying to sleep.” She looks down at her stomach, feeling nothing at the moment. “I think that’s when she’s awake, actually.”

Mulder laughs. “Gets that from me.”

“Well, if that’s her sleeping pattern past her being born, you know who’ll be dealing with her at night.”

Her smile drops when she realises what she’s said. Mulder does, too. They hadn’t discussed what the arrangements will be after the baby is born. However many times Mulder has proclaimed that he wants to be around when she’s here they never journeyed into that conversation, of just how this co-parenting will work.

“I was thinking,” Mulder begins, looking down towards the carpet. “I could convert this basement into a bedroom, get my bed down here. We could put the crib in the corner-“

“Mulder-“

“-and you could both live here.” He looks at her then and she sees the hope in his eyes, the wish that she might agree. “We can’t avoid this forever, Scully.”

Dana looks down, beginning to fiddle with the cuff of her sweater sleeve. “My parents were talking about setting up the crib in my room.”

She hears him sigh. Looking up slightly, she watches him twist so he’s facing forward, hunched over and looking grumpily off to the side.

“I was just hoping that we could all live down here. Do you really want to wake your family up with the baby’s cries at 3am?” Looking over, he catches her eyes. “Do you really want to do this alone?”

No, she doesn’t. She wants him there, wants him involved. She gives the basement another glance, trying to visualise it.

“It’s just for a year, just while we’re still in school,” Mulder says, knowing that she’s thinking about it. “Once we’re done with that, then we can get our own place.”

It dawns on her suddenly, what he’s saying.

“You really want to live with me?”

He nods, smiling, grabbing hold of her hand limply holding onto her sleeve.

“Yes, Scully.” His other hand comes to hold her hand, too, trapping it in between. “There’s nobody else. I don’t want to date anyone else, I don’t a relationship with anyone else. I have everything I want right here.”

Her and the baby.

She’s touched and surprised and so feeling so incredibly lucky.

“I think I want that, too.”

His lips are on hers all of a sudden. She’s taken aback but soon reciprocates the kiss, melting into him and realising just how much she’s missed this- their first kiss taking place on this very couch.

The baby kicks then, awake and alert and Dana breaks the kiss, giggling slightly as she looks down.

“I think she’s jealous,” she says.

Mulder cocks his head to the side, looking down at her stomach too.

“Looks like I’ll just have to give him a kiss, too.” And he’s there, his lips pressing against the area where the baby just kissed. It’s the most intimate thing she’s ever experienced.

He lays against her, his head not too far from her bump and places a hand on her stomach, rubbing his thumb the area. Sighing, content in this new part of their relationship, her fingers begin brushing through his hair.

“We haven’t came up with any names,” she says.

Mulder moves so head is resting against her ribs, allowing him to look at her.

“Um…I have a name, actually.” She perks up, wanting to hear it.

“So I’m not the first person in the family to be named after an animal,” he says, all serious. “It’s actually a tradition- on my mother’s side. Her brother is called Herron so I was thinking that we call the baby Wolf, you know to stick with that tradition.”

Dana let’s that information sink in, perhaps feeling herself go through the five stages of grief in the process. Wolf was interesting and she wasn’t anyone to knock people’s family traditions but she was hoping for something a bit more…normal.

“Wolf?” she says, half asking, half trying it out.

Mulder nods, his face portraying no emotion.

“Wolf…” she says again.

The game is up however, when a smile cracks across Mulder’s face and that’s when she realises she’s just been played.

“I thought you were being serious!”

He laughs. “No,” he says shaking his head. “There’s no tradition, I’m just called Fox for the sake of it. I’d never subject my child to that kind of pain.”

Dana smiles, not believing she just fell for that.

“Seriously, do you have any names?” she asks.

She watches him think, really meaning it this time.

“I’ve always liked Arthur,” he says, shyly.

Arthur…Arthur Mulder. She likes it.

“What about you?” Mulder’s asking. “You’re so insistent that this baby is a girl, what girl names do you have?”

She thinks about that herself. Missy had bought her a book of baby names, going through it one night and rattling off the names she liked to Dana. Names like Amber, Daisy, Summer, Autumn and on and on until Dana had asked if this book was just full of hippy-sounding names and Melissa had been caught out.

Dana hadn’t liked any of the names and it was becoming the biggest stump of her whole pregnancy.

She never realised just how big of a responsibility naming children was. Even asking her mother was no help.

“Just find a name that you like.”

That was just the problem, it felt as though she didn’t like any names.

She thought back to her childhood, to the various toys and dolls she had when she was little. Dolls she named because, as her mother said, she liked the names.

Only now, sixteen-year-old Dana didn’t like those names anymore and she was back to square one.

Until they were in the basement finding a stroller and Dana found something else.

“Missy got this big doll for Christmas one time,” she tells Mulder. “I used to get jealous because she would never let me play with it but it was a pre-named doll, belonging to a collection or something and I found it the other day when we were trying to find my old stroller.”

The doll’s name had came to her the moment she picked it up. The one name she didn’t even consider before finding it.

“Emily,” she says, sounding it out for the first time. “I like Emily.”

“Emily,” Mulder parrots. He moves his head then, so that he’s hovering above her stomach.

“Do you like that name, Emily?”

The baby kicks and Mulder looks back up to Dana, a massive smile right across his face.

“I think we have a winner.”

.:.:.:.:.:.:.

He’s outlining a Dungeons and Dragons campaign when the call comes through.

It’s Melissa Scully bringing the words of, “Dana’s having contractions.”

Mulder’s eyes immediately shoot up to his calendar. He has the due date circled and today isn’t circled. She still has a month to go.

He tells her that he’ll be there in five minutes and doesn’t even finish the phone call before he’s darting up the stairs and out the door.

She’s getting ready to be loaded into the car when he gets there. She looks petrified, no doubt having the same thought he had when Melissa called. Discarding his bike on the grass, he’s running over to her wrapping her up in his arms.

“It’s too early, Mulder,” she cries into him.

“I know, I know. It’ll be fine, I’m going to be with you the whole time, okay?”

She nods before clutching her tighter as another contraction grips her.

“How far apart was that one?” Mrs Scully asks.

“Like, ten minutes?” says Melissa, standing in the doorway. Mulder didn’t even she was there.

He doesn’t miss the worried look that crosses Mrs Scully’s face, so glad that Scully can’t see it.

He loads her into the back of the car, grabbing her hand and not intending on letting it go until she’s through all this, until that baby is sitting in their arms.

“Mulder, I’m scared,” she says quietly.

It breaks his heart. He’s scared too but he knows one of them has to be strong. He wraps his arms around her tighter, squeezes her hand tighter and keeps his eye on the watch as Mrs Scully instructed him to once they started driving.

“Don’t be. I’m here, your mom’s here. We won’t let anything happen to you.”

The contractions stay at ten minutes apart for the rest of the drive and up till Mrs Scully gets them sorted in the hospital.

Mulder keeps his promise, keeping hold of her hand the entire time as everything around him becomes a blur. He’s asked questions but when they get no answer from him, they ask Scully or her mother the questions.

He overhears them talking, discussing whether there’s time to stop the labour, to see if she can wait two more weeks, get her over that 37 week threshold.

Mulder turns away, focusing his attention back to Scully.

“You okay?” he asks. The hand not holding hers runs through her hair.

She nods, shutting her eyes at the soothing motion.

“I think they’re gonna try and stop the labour.”

Her eyes are still closed but tears begin to prick at the corner of her eyes as she shakes her head.

“What’s wrong?” Mulder asks.

“I think my waters just broke.”

He squeezes her hand, bringing it up towards his mouth and pressing his lips against it.

“You’re both gonna be okay,” he tells her.

“Don’t leave me.”

“I won’t.”

He stays with her, as promised, through the while thing. As the contractions become frequent, as she’s told to push. He keeps hold of her hand, fingers almost breaking with how tight she grips him, offering words of encouragement when he can. It becomes the best most terrifying day of his life.

But soon, their baby is born and just as soon, she is taken away.

He wants to stay with Scully. He wants to know that she’s going to be okay. He wants to stay by her side just as he promised.

“I don’t want her to be alone,” Scully quietly says.

“I don’t want to leave you.”

“Go!” she says a little louder, pulling her hand out of his grasp. He mourns the loss of it, having held it for so long. “Stay with Emily. Make sure she’s okay.”

Mulder nods, understanding that he’ll lose this battle. So he stands, leans over to kiss Scully’s forehead, and tells her he’ll check on her soon.

It’s the best most terrifying day of is life.

Were you really not expecting me to use Emily?

[femmeharringrove]

merry christmas yall have the first chapter of a fic i completely forgot about

It’s Christmas eve, and Steve hasn’t slept in at least three days but that’s fine.

It’s not, not really, but those are the two words the boy has learned to live off of: that’s fine. It’s the motto of complacency, his father said once, after hearing it on the radio. Steve was just twelve at the time and already knew then that his father’s opinion wasn’t worth shit. Steve isn’t complacent, thank you very much. If he has to label himself, he thinks chill is a better word. He’s a chill guy, he’s the most chill person he knows, and everyone loves a chill person so it’s fine.

It’s stupidly early and he’s on the stupid green sofa in his stupid big house and he feels like shit, which is a surprise to exactly no one. The living room is a mess – he should clean it, he thinks vaguely, but he doesn’t plan on making a move anytime soon. If his parents were coming home he’d do it; can’t have them knowing their son’s become a wallowing slouch as of late. But they’re not coming.

His mother called yesterday, trilling over the line in her unnaturally pitched voice about how Prague was just beautiful this time of year and she wished he could be there to see but someone had to hold the fort down and speaking of they just won’t be able to make it back for the holidays but how would he feel about driving to Cincinnati on New Year’s Eve to join them at one of his father’s business socials that would be fun right? And Steve just listened because what else could he do?

He hadn’t been expecting them, anyway. The family hadn’t celebrated Christmas together in four years.

And in those four years he’d had options. Tommy’s family was happy to have him over, he spent many a holiday with the Hagans and then he’d spent that one truly merry Christmas with the Wheelers, and it was fine, but now he’s got none of that. This year, it’s him and the big empty house and he sort of hates it but it’s fine, thanks.

Steve watches the shadows on the wall shift with the rising sun and feels some vague sense of relief; it’s easier to breathe when the sun is out. That’s what’s been bothering him, really. When he does sleep, his dreams are plagued with darkness and cold and danger, and when he wakes up it’s still darkness and he feels like he can’t breathe. Those nightmares have gotten worse, infinitely worse over time. It’s easier to avoid sleep altogether sometimes. And he has no obligations this holiday season, no parties to appear at or houses to crash, so he can afford the heavy circles under his eyes this year.

It’s fine. It has to be fine, so it is. Even if it isn’t really.

Hawkins got snow last night. Steve drags himself up from his seat and meanders to the back door, eyes gazing out over the endless white carpeting the ground outside. He used to love snow. Now anything cold makes him uncomfortable. He hates the winter, makes him think of the dark Upside Down.

Or that damned Soviet Union and their officers and their cold, cruel faces watching on as he tells them he’s not a spy.

Had that really been this year? It feels like a lifetime ago. It feels like just yesterday. He tears his eyes away from the snow and pads into the kitchen in search of something warm. Coffee? Definitely coffee. He waits in the kitchen while the dark beverage brews and since he’s here he figures he may as well get some food into his body. Steve can cook – it becomes a necessity when you spend most of your childhood devoid of parents – but he doesn’t really want to cook. Takes too much energy, and he’s not willing to put said energy into that. So he goes with toast, because you can never go wrong with toast, right? He even slathers the bread with copious amounts of butter. It’s not the most fulfilling breakfast, but he likes it well enough.

The coffee finishes brewing and Steve spills a good bit of his father’s whiskey into it before dunking three spoonfuls of sugar in and retreating back to the couch. He grabs the remote on his way over and drops himself gracelessly on the cushions before pressing a button. The screen flickers to life and he chugs half of the hot beverage, flips through channel after channel before settling on some feel-good holiday movie. He hates these movies, he really does, but if he’s lucky it might be enough to lull him to sleep for an hour or so.

Steve used to love Christmas movies. He watched families on television gather together and enjoy one another’s company, children waiting for the magic of Santa Claus while parents shared tender moments under mistletoe. It was everything a younger Steve had desired in a holiday. Even when he had his parents home for Christmas, things had been different. Their home was filled with strange adults, co-workers of his father’s and social acquaintances of his mother’s. Santa Claus never came to visit him – his parents would simply give him a gift or two gathered from their trips abroad. He used to enjoy it, but as he got older the presents got less and less interesting, less personal. He went from wishing for those perfect movie-esque holidays to resenting them. That being said, they have their appeal.

Even now Steve can’t help but get a sense of warm comfort and joy radiating from the film, a warm sensation wrapping around his chest. It’s a strange comfort to him, in spite of his bitterness. There’s something inherently warm about holidays, and yet Steve finds himself feeling cold. He wonders idly what his parents are doing now, if they’ll remember to call tomorrow. The boy sits and sips on coffee and wonders and he’s right about the movie because he ends up dozing for a little bit. He dreams of families and caroling and trees and the whole scene takes on a peaceful, golden haze. Something almost physical wounds around his body like a cat rubbing along his frame in a form of greeting. It’s the nicest dream he’s had in a long time.

Which is why, when the doorbell startles him out of his dreams, Steve feels like he’s capable of murder.

The boy is so confused at first he doesn’t realize it’s his doorbell. When the incessant ringing gets accompanied by an even more incessant knocking on the door, Steve groans. The warmth seeps away and he heaves himself up from the couch. The mug is drained of its remaining lukewarm contents before he sets it on the coffee table. Footsteps land heavy as he stomps his way to the door, yanking it open and preparing to bite off the head of whoever dared to disturb him so early on Christmas Eve of all days.

His face morphs from a snarl to a look of surprise. Dustin grins up at him, oblivious to Steve’s previous anger.

And he’s not alone, either. El is there, too, brown eyes sparkling at him, arm tucked in Max’s as they flash him identical grins. On Dustin’s other side, Will’s smile is something more timid than the rest of his co-conspirators. Steve’s shoulders drop.

“What are you dipshits doing out here?” he snaps playfully. “Not you, of course, Will.” Will’s smile widens while Dustin and the girls make faces of protests.

“Hey!” Dustin squawks indignantly. “I’m your favorite, that’s not allowed to change!”

“Oh yeah?” Steve’s hands settled on his hips. “Who rang the doorbell?” El’s hand shoots up. “Uh-huh. And who started knocking?” The younger boy shares a guilty look with Max, who kicks guiltily at the ground. Will blinks at him in innocent confusion. Steve smirks. “So, every single one of you played a role in waking me up from my nap with the exception of Will. Little Byers is now my favorite.” Max groans and Dustin makes another scandalized sound, while Will and El both try to hide their giggles. Steve feels a mix of fondness and frustration as he watches them; that seems to be his default emotion around these damned kids. Shaking his head, Steve opens the door wider. “Okay, okay, now why don’t you all come in so I can figure out what I owe this visit to?”

“No need,” El responds, her laughter dying down. That amused happiness never leaves her face, however. “Will you have dinner with us?”

“Mom and Hopper want you to join us,” Will adds. “You can help out with the tree and everything.”

“And baking and cooking and shit, because Hop and Mrs. Byers aren’t the best in the kitchen,” Max finishes, and even though Will makes a small attempt to protest he and El share a knowing shudder. Dustin bounces on his feet slightly as he looks up at the older boy.

“Plus, if you say yes I can ride back to the house with you!” He grins broadly. “Whaddya say?” Steve blinks.

What does he say?

It’s a nice idea, sure. He loves these kids, feels safe with the two adults in question, and spending the day with them promises to be interesting at the very least. But if they’re all there, he has little doubt about Nancy and Jonathan being there too, and he’s really not mad about it anymore but there’s a little bit of awkwardness lingering between the trio. And even if he did go, those lovebirds will have each other. The party has each other, Hopper has Joyce.  Steve is bound to be left out eventually. He knows it’s not on purpose, of course, but he knows how this goes. How many times has it happened before? And he’s already a little bit pissy this holiday season, that truth isn’t likely to make this any more enjoyable.

But eight pairs of eyes watch him expectantly, hopeful looks etched onto their faces. Steve’s gaze shifts past them, down the driveway and he finds Hopper’s truck waiting at the end and he doesn’t have to see the man to know he’s also waiting for an answer.

He doesn’t like disappointing people. He’s chill, Steve goes with the flow as a matter of principle, and this is where the flow seems to be leading. He makes a show of sighing, theatrics making the kids smile even wider.

“I shouldn’t –“ A series of pleas and protests interrupt him and he has to work hard to keep from smiling. Damn, Steve should have run off to New York or Hollywood and becoming an actor, he’s good at this. “- Oh, alright. I guess I can come for a little while. Dustin pumps his fist into the air as the others grin widely. Dustin rushes to the Beamer and Max isn’t far behind.

“Get your keys, Harrington, let’s get moving!” he shouts. Steve can’t help but laugh.

“Hang on, you little gremlin, I gotta get real clothes on! And do my hair!” The two set on riding with him dart back over and duck under his arm into the house, and Steve waves Will and El off. “Go on, you two, don’t wait for me. Tell Hop I’ll bring the little devils with me,” he orders. Both nod eagerly before setting off back to the car. Steve sees them off before turning back into the house. Max is in the living room, face wrinkled into something resembling disgust.

“Jesus, Steve,” she says, “Do you ever clean this place?” It has gotten pretty bad over the past month or so. Steve tries not to wince at the judgement he feels radiating off of the redhead.

“Never, it’s a point of pride at this point,” he teases instead, and she makes another face, nose crinkling before she rolls her eyes and makes a snide comment about messy boys. Steve reaches over and ruffles her hair, reveling in her giggled squawk of protest. “Oh, be nice, Mayfield. It’s a holiday!” Dustin’s footsteps thud down the stairs.

“It is the holidays, so I know you got me a gift, Harrington,” he states, eyes narrowing. “Where is it?” Max perks up in interest now, spinning from the curly-haired kid to the taller boy, eyebrows arching up.

“Oh, uh, presents? Yeah, um -” Steve smiles sheepishly, rubbing at the back of his neck. Dustin’s eyes go wide.

“You forgot?” He marches down the rest of the stairs. “I can’t believe you, Harrington! Party members are supposed to get gifts for other party members! How could you forget?”

“Steeeve,” Max whines, head falling back dramatically. “I can’t believe you!” And she shouldn’t. Neither of them should. Again, he’s sure he’s missed his calling in life with the whole acting thing. Of course he got gifts for them – tucked safely away in the trunk of his car. He doesn’t plan on outright putting his name on them, but he’s sure the kids will figure it out tomorrow morning, which ones he leaves for them.

Chuckling at their antics, Steve hops up the stairs two at a time and dives into his room. How did this become his life, dealing with more barely-pubescent teens than any nineteen-year-old should? Steve’s shower is quick, and he styles up his hair before digging out an ugly sweater his grandmother had gotten him four years ago. Back then people were convinced the boy would go through a growth spurt; he did, but he hadn’t beefed up in the way everyone anticipated. The sweater still remains baggy on his slender frame, but he wears it nonetheless. Jeans are hastily yanked on and socked feet are shoved into sneakers before he trips his way down the steps.

Max and Dustin are anxious by the door, and he grins at them as he approaches the hall closet and grabs a coat. He hears his keys jangle softly in the pocket as he pulls it over his shoulders.

“The two of you have no patience,” he teases, watching them dash out to the car. He follows at a slower pace, amusement tugging at his lips. The kids are practically buzzing with excited energy, urging him to speed up, and they clamor into the car the moment he gets it unlocked, Max beating Dustin out for the coveted shotgun position. The younger boy pouts at Steve in the rearview mirror. Steve smiles right back at him. “Don’t look at me, she won this round, buddy.” Max’s smile is smug next to him, and Dustin scowls before slumping in the backseat. Steve shakes his head. “Alright, everybody buckle – even you, slouch potato,” The kid’s sulking is immediately replaced with a displeased squawk, and Steve doesn’t bother to hide his pleased smile as he eases out of the driveway and out onto the road.

It’s an easy trip; Steve exits Loch Nora and cruises down Dearborn. From there it’s a turn onto Maple and he has Max dig out cassettes from the glove box now. Wham! sings about holidays and heartbreak as Steve drives carefully past the Sinclair home, then the Wheelers not long after. He’s sure the occupants of both homes are either not there or too busy to be peering out of curtains in search of their kids’ babysitter, but he doesn’t want to risk having them see him do anything remotely reckless, and so he adheres to the laws of the road. Once he turns onto Cornwallis Street, he relaxes, speed inching up as he goes. Dustin’s previous sour mood has all but evaporated and he talks in that loud way of his, leaning up so he can get a look at the two people upfront. Max is just as chatty, and Steve is happy to let them converse, offering small hums here and there to show he’s listening.

He’s not really listening, but he doesn’t need them knowing.

Whiskey eyes try to focus on the road as he makes another turn, this time onto Kerley. It’s been five months since Hawkins last had to fight off monsters. Five months since the mall went down in flames. Five months since the Soviets and their needles and their gate.

He has nightmares still, about the room and the faces and the pain. Sometimes Robin’s there, panicked eyes screaming at him to help. Other times he sees Dustin, the kid looking betrayed as the general smugly tells him about Steve’s slip-up in his interrogation. Some nights he has dreams that leave him feeling physically cold. Those are the dreams he can never remember – whenever he tries, his head aches in a sharp sort of way that quickly has him leaving the whole thing alone. Even now as he thinks about it a dull throb warns him against it just behind his eyes. His thoughts wander further as the Beamer rolls onto Mirkwood.

Robin thinks he needs help. She may be right. Two weeks ago he almost had a full-blown panic attack in the back room of Family Video after seeing someone who looked eerily like the so-called doctor that ended up tugging his fingernails out with horrific ease. Even Keith had been surprised, awkwardly giving him the rest of the day off. Robin, bless her soul, tried talking him down, but ultimately she just held him while he sobbed frantically. Every day after that she gave him this look and he felt like he was suffocating under the weight of her pity, the cold force of her concern, the bitterness of her remorseful anger.

He still isn’t sure how he knew she was feeling all of that so clearly. Steve’s not great at a lot of things, but he’s always had a knack for reading a room. You learned how to do that after witnessing your parents have screaming matches almost every night they actually spent the night in Hawkins; he had to decide whether the tension in the air was manageable or too electric for him to safely involve himself in. When you struggle up the social ladder of high school, you learn how to read people and earn their favor. It’s his thing, always interpreting. It’s been five months since that little quirk seemed to get more sensitive. He doesn’t exactly know how he feels about that, or if it’s a good thing at all.

Steve slowly tunes back into conversation as he turns off of Mirkwood and makes his way down a simple dirt path. From what he can tell, Dustin and Max didn’t quite miss his additions to their conversation during the drive. Easily the two chattiest people in the Party, the older teen’s convinced they could talk for a week straight, without pause, and never notice the lack of anyone else’s input. It’s impressive, if you ask Steve. Max’s electric blue eyes catch his for a moment and she grins widely. She looks for all the world like a normal girl, not like someone who’d almost lost her brother on the Fourth of July.

The Beamer finally comes to a halt. Steve laughs as the two kids scramble out of the car and rush up the driveway. He takes a moment to turn the ignition off and now he’s suddenly feeling rather hesitant.

Why did he let them talk him into this?

The boy slumps in his seat. He should go home. He should crawl onto the couch in the living room and hide under blankets the rest of the night. The kids would not be particularly pleased with him, he’s sure, but he’ll make up for it with the gifts in the trunk. But if he leaves, when is he going to have a chance to leave those gifts for them? He certainly can’t come back tomorrow, and after that he’s just going to feel bad. Up ahead, Dustin’s head tilts as he looks back at the car.

“Harrington! You coming?” Steve hesitates, waves the kid off, and as soon as Dustin turns again he drops his head against the wheel.

He really, really should leave.

The door is slammed shut with a nudge of his hip, and Steve trudges his way up the driveway. Joyce is at the door, all smiles as usual. In spite of his doubts, the boy can’t help but smile back.

“Steve! I’m so glad you came,” she greets, pulling him into a hug as soon as he gets near. Steve settles in her hold for a few brief moments before tugging away reluctantly.

“Hey, Mrs. Byers. I would have brought something with me, but -“ Joyce cuts him off, gentle hands waving about dismissively.

“Oh, none of that,” she chides, “And it’s Joyce, honey. Besides, you can still help in the kitchen.” Her smile turns almost sheepish. “Hopper and I could use an extra hand.” Both of them are stellar single parents, but Steve knows for a fact that neither can cook to save their lives. Steve’s been mastering the art since he was thirteen, he’s gotten quite good at it. He nods at the woman as he slips past her into the house and for a moment he’s overwhelmed by how homey the place looks.

Wrapping paper, string lights, and other festive odds and ends litter the floor. Hopper and Jonathan seem to be in the process of setting up the tree in a corner. A holiday record plays loudly, barely heard over the roaring chatter of the kids yelling and running around. It’s chaos, the very best kind. He’s surrounded by the inherent warmth of it all and the lingering trepidation melts away quickly as Steve lets his shoulders relax.

Eleven notices him first among the kids, and is quick to slip out of a confused Mike’s grip to greet him. Her hug is warm, and Steve holds her tight, one hand rubbing her back as he returns her embrace.

“Hey, kid,” he chuckles, ruffling her hair. Eleven beams up at him.

“You came,” she proclaims. Now Steve lets out a full laugh.

“Well, of course I did! I couldn’t just not show up. Besides, you and Will left me with the little hellions, remember?” Will comes next, shy smile creeping across his face as he tucks himself easily against Steve’s side. Steve pretends to give him a scolding look. “Had my ear talked off the whole way here thanks to you.” Will knows for a fact the older teen isn’t even remotely upset with him. The attempted glare melts into a grin and the boy relaxes, his smile growing easier as his slender arm squeezes around Steve’s waist, then retracts as he backs off. Lucas, already trapped on the ground with Max and Erica, waves in greeting. His teeth flash brilliantly in his bright grin and Steve tips an imaginary hat in his direction. Not too far off, Mike nods in his own greeting, gruff in his usual manner but maybe the holiday magic is working because there’s something unusually friendly about the gesture. Steve returns it in kind.

When Nancy makes her appearance, she falters at the sight of him and Steve’s body almost flinches with the strangeness of it all. Her eyes blink once, twice before she gives him that sad smile.

“I didn’t know you were coming.” Steve’s answering smile is painfully awkward.

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t planning on coming. The kids roped me into this last-minute, you know how it is with them.” He becomes distinctly aware of Jonathan eyeing them from across the room and clears his throat.

Yeah, maybe this is a little bit of a mistake.

His escape comes in the form of Hopper, the man’s burly arm falling across his shoulders in a gruff greeting.

“Glad you decided to show up, kid. You’re the only competent chef in this house,” he jokes, but it isn’t really a joke. You’d think a couple of adults would know how to cook a decent meal – well, Joyce can cook a decent meal, but it’s just that. His smile is only slightly less awkward as he’s guided into the kitchen, tossing an odd sort of goodbye to the girl as he goes. Joyce gives him a relieved look as he enters the kitchen.

“Steve, do you think you could help me with this soup?”

He’s kept pleasantly busy after that. Between helping with Joyce’s mushroom soup, letting Dustin peel carrots for the pot roast, taking that job away after the kid hacked apart the vegetables beyond recognition, and attempting to restore some general sense of order to the lawless land of the kitchen, Steve barely has time to think about Nancy or Jonathan or the yelling all around him. He hardly pays attention to the pleasant buzz filling his body as a result of the warm atmosphere. It’s dark by the time all the food gets finished. He’s oddly proud of himself as he looks at the spread of food on the table. It’s nothing fancy, but beef and soup and biscuits on Christmas Eve isn’t a bad idea if you ask him.

He can sit at the table with the rest of the adults. There’s space, and Joyce asks him sweetly if he’d like to sit with them. Steve feels decidedly more comfortable on the living room floor with the kids, however.

And that just seems to be the bulk of his problems sometimes, doesn’t it?

Steve Harrington is almost twenty years old, and he has nearly no friends his own age. To top things off, he also has no idea what he’s doing with himself currently, his past haunts his sleep and his waking hours, and his future is all but nonexistent. He peaked in high school and his life has been in a steady decline ever since. But it’s not all bad – at least he’s got the tragic honor of babysitting the six toughest kids in all the world.

And they aren’t even kids anymore, are they? They’re creeping up on their fifteenth birthdays, all of them. Dustin’s is less than a month away already. Steve can’t believe it. They were kids just yesterday, it feels. He was a kid just yesterday, wasn’t he? Monsters have a funny way of forcing you to grow up, he supposes. And they’ve truly grown, his kids.

Eleven’s curls bounce as her head swivels back and forth to follow their conversation, smile warm and genuine as she leans against Steve’s right. Dustin’s always by his side, the little snot. He looks so happy all the time, his eyes crinkling around the edges as he talks animatedly on his left. Mike’s grown so tall, it’s crazy. Coltish legs are folded awkwardly under him as he sits by Eleven’s side. Lucas rivals Mike in height, though he looks significantly less awkward as he leans up against an engaged Max. She’s cut her hair recently; it’s not a bad look, though he knows she wants to grow it back out again. Something about her is tinged with a bitter sadness, something that makes Steve’s throat choke up in a most peculiar way. He gets it, though; Billy’s brush with death wasn’t that long ago, and she’s still struggling with her grief. But she’ll be alright, he knows. Billy’s getting better, her friends are too stubborn to allow her to struggle alone, even if Billy isn’t their favorite. And on Mike’s other side, simply enjoying the moment, sits Will. He’s grown too, but he’s kept much of his quiet mannerisms. He catches Steve’s eye and smiles a little wider, an action Steve mimics.

Sometimes, the calmer Will Byers is the one Steve claims as his favorite. In all truth, he doesn’t have a favorite.

He has different relationships with each kid, that’s all. His relationships with some are weaker than others, weaker than he liked them to be. Some of them share a bond even Steve can’t explain. But the one thing each relationship has in common is the boy’s love for each and every one of them. There’s no favoritism, even if he tells them otherwise. There’s no choosing, none of that. Each of these six kids have Steve’s whole heart.

It’s Eleven who catches him staring next, and she must see the fondness on his face because the smile she gives him is soft and tender and knowing in its own way. Eleven took to him surprisingly quick; he didn’t quite understand it yet, but he was glad the kid felt so at ease with him.

He’s dragged into the present by Dustin very suddenly collapsing against his side, snorting in laughter as Mike stares at Lucas, offense clear on his face.

“How do you not like the Beastie Boys?” he questions, and now it’s Steve’s turn to snort.

“No one likes the Beastie Boys, Mike,” he chuckles, trying to ignore the appalled look the younger teen gives him. “It’s just what you listen to when you reach the teen rebellion phase.”

“I’m not rebellious!” Mike huffs. Steve’s sure Karen Wheeler would beg to differ.

He doesn’t want to spend the night. Joyce already has her hands full with all these kids, and he doesn’t want to add on to that, so he goes out to the car once the kids have all gone to sleep in the basement and gets his sack of presents and he’s going to leave after giving them to Hopper, but Joyce stops him, a curious look on her face.

“You’re not leaving, are you?” she questions. Steve feels awkward now, shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

“You’ve already got plenty of people spending the night, Mrs. By-“

“None of that,” she cuts him off with a wave of her hand. “You’ll have to come back tomorrow anyway if you leave, you’re having dinner with us.” Steve doesn’t remember agreeing to that, but now he doesn’t have a choice. Hopper, setting a gift under the tree, grunts in agreement.

“She’s right, kid,” he confirms as he stands straight again. “Can’t get out of this one, the kids won’t leave your door until you come back with them. It’ll be much easier on everyone if you just stay.”

And he doesn’t want to because this is their tradition, this is something they’ve been doing together for years as one large family and Steve isn’t really a part of that, so he wants to give them space, but Joyce is already dragging him back inside with the gifts, then she’s off grabbing blankets and Hopper busies him with the task of wrapping last-minute gifts until he forgets wanting to leave.

The couch is his for the night. Joyce gets him some of Jonathan’s clothes and even kisses his forehead and wishes him a merry Christmas before retreating to her room for the night. Hopper wishes him a good rest, and he understands because it’s already ass o’clock in the morning and it’s only a matter of time before those kids come barreling up the stairs to yell about their gifts. The living room is dark, aside from the gentle blinking of the string lights on the tree. It’s a silent night, indeed. He feels warm, and not just from the blankets tucked in close around him.

For the first time in three nights, Steve sleeps. He’s blissfully without dreams.

It lasts barely five hours.

The basement door is opened quite aggressively, and a cacophony of feet thud in before he hears a loud hushing sound, followed by the loudest whisper he’s ever heard.

“Dudes, Steve’s asleep!” one of the little shits hisses. Steve’s fairly sure it’s Dustin. He prays they turn around and go back downstairs for another hour or two.

“Shut up, he’s gonna hear you!” a girl’s voice hisses back, and she’s impossibly louder than the first kid – undeniably Max, Eleven would never whisper that loud. Jesus, who taught them how to whisper?

“Both of you shut up, let’s just get to the target,” a third, quieter voice butts in, and they’re just quiet enough that Steve can’t tell who it is, which tells him it’s either Mike or Will. He’s betting on Mike.

He knows what their target is. Steve takes a moment to contemplate. Either he lets them poke around the presents until Jim or Joyce come in and stop them, which will definitely result in loud protesting and a permanent end to his rest, or he can get up now and get a little bit of sympathy from at least Will for them waking him up. Either way, he’s awake now.

He hears someone poking at a box and goes with the latter.

“Aren’t you little shitheads supposed to wait for your parents?” he groans, eyes peering at the group blearily. All six of them freeze.

“Abort mission?” Lucas whispers to Mike.

“Abort mission,” Steve confirms before the other kid gets a chance, sitting up and stretching. Eleven treads silently over to the sofa and finds her way under his blanket to press into his side.

“Merry Christmas,” she hums, as if she has nothing to do with the early morning shenanigans that roused him. Will joins them on the sofa, and it’s clear the other four are trying to decide how to best fit themselves on the piece of furniture with their babysitter. It’s about to get very cramped, he realizes.

“Yeah, yeah, bah humbug,” he grumbles in reply, but no one misses his fond smile.

Joyce makes her appearance thirty minutes after that, and of all the things she expects to see on a Christmas morning, this was decidedly not it. None of the kids on the couch notice her upfront, too caught up in their giggles and hushed conversation. Steve looks tired, she notes, but he’s not as pale or tired-looking as he was yesterday. He may not be her kid, but she worries about him nevertheless as if he was. Shaking her head slightly, she pads further into the room.

“I hope you all didn’t wake Steve up,” she tells the younger teens as she reaches the sofa. Guilty looks are shared and a few mouths open in hopes of explaining themselves, but Steve beats them all to the punch.

“They didn’t,” he covers, smiling softly up at the woman. “I was up before these hellions tried getting into the presents.” Joyce doesn’t believe him, not for a second, but she leaves it alone as she leans down and gives Will and Eleven kisses on their forehead. Max gets one next, followed by a gentle ruffling of Mike’s hair because he gets fussy about kisses. Lucas smiles as he gets a kiss, and Dustin responds in kind. Even Steve gets a kiss, and he smiles in spite of his surprise.

“Thank you, for keeping them out of the presents,” she tells him as she straightens up and sways off towards the kitchen. He thinks about going to help her, but he looks at the kids sprawled out on the sofa with him and he just can’t bring himself to make them get up, so he stays put. They whisper back and forth about present predictions (Dustin makes a passive comment about some people forgetting to buy presents, Max makes a face at Steve and it takes serious effort to not laugh), and by the time Joyce returns with coffee the six are practically bouncing with restlessness. Their excitement is downright infectious, Steve feels their giddy joy in his bones, his stomach twisting in a good sort of anxiousness. Hopper shuffles in soon after, makes his way directly to the kitchen and gets himself a mug of coffee. He brings an extra one out for a very grateful Steve. Mike makes a face when the smell of caffeine reaches his nose. Lucas doesn’t have to smell it before he gets that disgusted look on his face.

“I can’t understand why you drink that stuff,” he states. Steve inhales the warm smell, sips on the drink (and he’s got to give the chief a thanks because it’s got just the right amount of cream and sugar – not too much, but just enough to take the edge off of the bitter taste), and pauses for added drama before forming his response.

“Lucas, my friend, let’s revisit this conversation when you hit nineteen.” He rests the mug on top of Eleven’s wild curls and revels in her giggled protest.

Outside, the sun is just beginning to poke through the darkness. Steve glances towards the window, watches the black sky turning into blue, and couldn’t help but feel that maybe, maybe, this Christmas isn’t going to be so bad after all.

In an attempt to distract the gaggle of children from the glistening presents under the tree, Steve finally nudges the kids off of him and makes his way to his feet, and he stretches out his body with a few, satisfying cracks in his spine. He’s getting old.

“Hey. You little gremlins want hot cocoa?”

They do, of course they do. And they follow him like a line of duckling behind their mother as Steve trudges into the kitchen. They sit in a row and happily sip on the warm drinks as the brunette then sets about making breakfast. Joyce rubs his shoulder and says he didn’t have to, but Steve is happy to do it, he likes making himself useful. Besides, he’s good at this, the kids love his pancakes. He even whips up scrambled eggs and slices of wonderfully crisp bacon. The smell draws a bleary-eyed Jonathan from his room. He looks surprised by Steve’s presence, but offers a small smile.

“Merry Christmas,” he offers, ruffling Will’s hair on his way by. He pours himself a cup of coffee, and Steve smiles back at him.

“Yeah, Merry Christmas to you too.”

[another-snape-story]

Staff Meeting

Chapter IV

So you moved in your chambers, which were going to be your home for the whole next year, and probably for another one or two. You liked having some space, but this place offered you much more than you’d ever dream of.

Looking around and studying every single thing your glance caught, you stretched out your hands and spun around in the center of the spacious room with high arched celling – and a chimney – and large branched candlesticks on the walls – and… Wait what? Was this a window behind those curtains? You’ve never seen anything like this before. The smooth glass surface offered a fascinating view. It was not a typical view someone would expect (even the most picturesque one) – your window looked out into the depths of the lake! Although water stole the brightness of sunlight, it still could reach you, seeping through the deepness in wide soft rays, overflowing your chambers with greenish dim light.

All your doubts gradually faded away, filling your heart with delight, promising you a good time inside these walls!

The time flew by unnoticed in looking closely at the furnishing and examining other little things, which gave this place a special charm. You regretted having to leave so soon – there was still so much to observe. You reluctantly adjusted your hair, and in another few minutes you were ready to meet the rest of your colleagues.

“Obnoxiously punctual you are,” you heard familiar voice, once you opened the door and stepped in the corridor.

“Sounds like a compliment,” you smirked to the man in a black suit. For a brief moment you seemed to catch a glimpse of a smile in the corner of his mouth, but once you blinked to clear your vision, it vanished, leaving you wonder if your imagination was playing tricks on you.

You walked upstairs without saying a word to each other. It didn’t surprise you any longer. Although your destination turned out to be the golden griffin again, you realized you’d never find it from where you started along with Professor Snape. If the castle confused your ways all the time, then how many puzzles did it have in store? Will you ever be able to handle its jokes without someone’s help?

‘Sherbet Lemon’ pronounced with that same stern expression on your accompanier’s face brought you back to the day you first stood on this place, and you couldn’t help sniggering under your breath. Why you found it so cute and funny?

Headmaster’s office was exactly the same as you remembered it, with one only difference – this time there were more people here, and no Headmaster himself. You decided, staying close to the only man you knew (who at least talked to you… sometimes) would be the better choice, so you followed him through the crowd, shifting your gaze from one face to another.

“Oh, you must be our new Professor in Applied Herbology?” asked an aged woman in a black old-fashioned pointed hat.

“If you’re not expecting some other people for this position, so obviously I am,” you answered amiably yet with astonishing confidence, drawing attention of other staff members.

Soon you were enclosed in a tight circle of curious witches and wizards, who started attacking you with numerous questions, the majority of which you hardly wished to answer. You hated having unwanted noses in your business, so – barely giving out any information about yourself – you replied politely, mesmerizing your co-workers with your wit and acuity. Professor Snape was pushed aside and remained standing aloof, leaving you alone with the pack of your colleagues altogether. Traitor!

The agitated buzz subsided, once Headmaster Dumbledore appeared out of nowhere.

“Nice to see how excited all of you are to meet our new Professor! Now it’s time to introduce you officially!”

You couldn’t find words to describe how glad you were when the shaking-hands-ceremony was over at last, and all the attention was directed to the Headmaster. He gave some instructions concerning working routine and encouraged the staff for the upcoming year. It was nothing left but to hope it wasn’t that boring as it sounded.

You happened to take place beside the only person you seemed to know here (at least you’ve seen him more than just once) – you felt like something draw you to him. He wasn’t so annoyingly cheerful and sweet, which favorably distinguished him from the rest. Curious it was, but you could somehow relate to this brooding man.

A spark of interest flared within your eyes as Headmaster mentioned the Sorcerer’s Stone and Him-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. The whole story with the boy who lived after his attack engrossed you – there was no article in periodical you haven’t read yet, and now you had a chance to see him. The year promised to be eventful, no doubt.

Discussion how to protect the Stone was long. It was mainly Professor Snape and Professor McGonagall speaking with Headmaster, and Professor Quirrell interrupted them from time to time. Hanging on to their every word, you tried to come up with something that might help. The matter was urgent indeed. Gringotts break-in showed the Stone needed extra protection.

“We can put as many protective spells as we wish, but don’t you think that keeping the Stone within school walls might endanger its students?” you joined in. “If they passed through Gringotts security system, can you say for sure they won’t get here?”

The man beside you turned his head in your direction, yet his detached thoughtful gaze wandered across the desk surface, approximately where your hands rested.

“We’ve been arguing about this with Severus since the first day the Stone was brought here,” Dumbledore laughed quietly, and you could swear there was something in his glance – a mixture of surprise and content – as he looked on both of you.

“Oh, I didn’t know that…” you felt like an idiot, shoving your nose somewhere you didn’t belong. “Forgive me intrusion.”

“No, no,” Headmaster cheered you up. “I highly appreciate your concern! Each opinion matters, and now I’ll have to think twice before making my final decision.”

“May I suggest then?”

“Of course,” he invitingly waved his hand.

“We could produce a complicated protection, which would obligatory require everyone involved to remove it, making it impossible for an outsider to break the spell.”

“She’s right,” Professor Snape approved after a long pause. “This might be the best option.”

A short man, who was sitting on the pale of books – Professor Flitwick, if you were not mistaken – agreed with a soft nod of his head. So also did Professor McGonagall.

“Anyone else willing to declare themselves?” Dumbledore successively gave a look to each Professor attending the gathering, and as there was none, he added:

“I have one more idea, but I still need to think it over. Anyway everything said tonight might come in handy. And now I guess we all deserve some rest.” With last words he raised up to his feet and left.

You had no desire to stay here any longer and headed for the exit.

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Tag: @diaryofafan17​

[scriptaed]

ink nemesis. 05

Genre: Angst/Fluff || paparazzi!au; fake dating!au;

Pairing: Reader x Yoongi

Length: 7.8k

Synopsis: As an aspiring writer drowning under the public’s radar, a click of the pen is all you need to accept your supervisor’s offer to co-write an article for the SS - Secrets Spilled, a regular section of your company’s weekly tabloid; but fabricated stories and invasive details aren’t all that you write when you discover Min Yoongi’s dirty little secret. 

Help.

The ones who need it the most, speak it the least; not you, though, certainly not. You’re an exception, a loophole in the system they call humanity and its fragile emotions. Stone cold, apathetic, incapable of sorrow—somehow, under the cruel hands of reality, you’ve conjured a facade, a true master of a weighted heart and a bottled mind. 

No one knows you. No one understands you. No one wants your company unless you’re needed.

Rather, you won’t let anyone know you, you won’t let anyone understand you, and you won’t let anyone take advantage of you. 

Because how could you dare enable them to belittle you? You’re a self-proclaimed warrior in an army of one, fighting for the dignity of one, dying in the name of one: yourself. To wage a war against the rest of the world with a weapon fractured by faults as to be named honesty is to submit defeat; so you conceal the cracks and force in whatever you can to provide a temporary fix with permanent damage. 

You’re strong, you’re intelligent, you’re independent. 

Ill spite, malevolent comments, self-absorbed requests, they could never faze you. 

You’ve cultivated this art yourself, see? Your chest no longer aches, your mind no longer lingers, and your heart is numb but nonetheless persists to beat blood into your flesh. Emotions are mere words you could once sympathize with in the days of yore now overtaken by the present you. 

Frozen cold but begrudgingly living, you’re still a human.

Are you human? 

Your end lies after this frosted, forsaken era, a time you had sworn to never allow to be shed the light of day; but you had underestimated the addiction that vulnerability entails, for in the presence of him, you find yourself coveting for more. 

One moment, one touch, one kiss at a time, he disassembles the stone wall of your own prison. You could still remember it clearly. The graze of his touch thaws your icy skin, from your fingers to your arm, forming a trail of swirling, mystical circles. The warmth of his delicate, slender fingertips and the comfort of his palm resting on your cheeks elicit a fervent burn to your already rosy cheeks. The gaze of his secure, intent eyes that meet your wavering ones convey a thousand words more than any picture could. 

It’s okay to be weak. It’s okay to not understand. It’s okay to rely on me. 

It’s okay to hurt. It’s okay to cry. It’s okay to admit defeat. 

Even if they try to stomp on you, even if the entire world parades in the aftermath of your end, with me, you’ll always be okay. 

It is only now, as you lie on the bed side by side to this man whom had only been an infinitely distant star, do you believe that soulmates in the midst of countless constellations could truly coexist. 

He is the star whom you had always wished to whisk across your dull skies, after all.

There’s no doubt about it. He’s shy and a tad awkward, but in this very moment, he doesn’t dare take his eyes off his celestial pair and neither do you. The scene still electrifies your very being. Your insides stir at the vivid memories of his hand clutching yours after the two of you exit the daze in the aftermath of your kiss of faith and hastily leading the retreat back into your apartment. 

You could still whiff the petrichor along with his faded hint of minty, fresh cologne intermixed with the musky scent of his studio. You could still hear her gasp accompanied by the thud of her grab onto the concrete. You could still catch sight of her familiar silhouette, fading farther into the distance as he whisks you away, the two of you stumbling into the elevator and impatiently jabbing at the button to enclose the doors as well as your privacy, giggles, and breathy, fleeting kisses; even if the following hours of confiding in the silent embrace of another all occurs in a blur, you could still live vicariously through a moment too dreamlike to be true for an extinguished star like you.

On this bed and on this very night, serene on a high of this surreal spur of the moment, you finally believe you could reveal your authentic self. 

You hate your work.

The coworkers who only acknowledge you in search for aid after you had outscored them on monthly evaluations, the authorities who only take interest in you when you churn out works that rode the waves of ephemeral trends, the public who forgot you within the blink of an eye because you could not serve their exact orders, and the company that keeps you within the confines of your damn contract despite being promised freedom as a creative writer—all of your insecurities come flooding before your eyes.

As you turn to divert your attention from the ceiling to the now asleep boy, you wonder how you could halt the return of ice that creeps along your melted chambers. 

Would Yoongi treat you the same? Would he discard you when his interests prove to be fleeting and you could entertain him no longer? Had you fallen for the genuine him or had he put up a facade like your own? 

Is it okay to be happy? Is it okay to be in this unrealistic and unhealthy relationship between yourself, the predator of a paparazzi, and him, the prey of a star? Is it okay to love elsewhere outside of writing? The subconscious squeeze of his hands that wander over to yours subconsciously in the midst of sleep tells you: it’s okay.

Like each other’s liquor, finely aged by the warm embrace of another lonely soul passing by the cold, cruel skies, you’re gracefully lulled into deep slumber, wondering, wondering, wondering...

-

A chaste kiss held to your forehead as he holds both sides of your head securely, whispers of his trek to work, and tucks a blanket over your cradled body were only enough to stir you gently in slumber; for when you awaken by the sunlight that floods through the curtain you had drawn open along with the windows at dusk, a rarity in this chamber, the plush of his lips are as ethereal as last night. 

A hoarse groan follows your lengthy yawn when you discover you had somehow slept through the violent buzzing of your phone. One eye just barely peeled open and the other kept tightly shut in the blinding wrath of your screen, you reenter the interwebs with inadequate precaution so unlikely of you. 

The dozens of messages from clout-chasing coworkers whomst names you didn’t even know until the news between you and Yoongi had broke out were one thing. You had been so desensitized to the nagging idea of being used and tossed to the side at the convenience of others that you roll your eyes and scroll past without a second thought. 

The messages you receive on your personal writing blog, however, are a different matter. 

[Anon 7:01 PM] When is the bots update?

One minute right after you posted your longest work up to date of which you had poured your heart and soul into. Not even a single nod to its existence. Not even a courteous waiting period of five minutes.

One minute.

[Anon 8:20 PM] Put your god damn works under the read more line. It’s so annoying to scroll past

It isn’t your fault the “read more” option malfunctions on various devices.They wouldn’t care to listen, though. You’ve explained a myriad of times but received radio silence in return. 

[Anon 8:03 AM] OMG i can’t believe you finally updated bots! i won’t lie, i was upset when i thought it was discontinued. welcome back, writer! 

Welcome back? Writer? 

You had never left; and even if it had been several months since the last update of said series, it had never been indicated as discontinued. You had been here, writing, and interacting every single day of the past two months. Where, why, how would they assume you had left unless updates were the only factor to the status of your blog?

You have a name. Maybe you’re just looking into things now, surely. Perhaps it’s the grogginess of the morning haze that has left a bad taste on your tongue, but writer? Your name has been plastered all across your blog. It’s the very first line of your header on the top of your page, for Heaven’s sake! 

You had to have been overthinking things and conjuring conclusions that had never been implicated between the lines in the first place; but you couldn’t help it, not after your hours upon hours of work had been discarded, ignored, and kicked aside. No one is obligated to read all of your works. No, but all you desire is mere acknowledgement. You want to believe this is a rare mistake, yet why is this just one of the many incessant, perpetual trends of your blog as of late? 

Is this your fault? 

And why are you feeling so guarded, accused, betrayed, victimized, and so utterly frustrated, when, clearly, someone is supporting you? 

The pain gnaws at your constricted chest, so you handle it with the only coping method you know: writing.

[Reply] first off, thank you for supporting bots :”) i’m glad to know of your enthusiasm for this series. however, as much as i know you didn’t mean any harm with this comment, i do have to confess that this comment kind of irked me;; i get it if you’re upset because one of your favorite series hasn’t been updated in a while (2 months, really, which isn’t as long as i’ve seen some other series go without updates), but i’ve already said multiple times that the series is not on hiatus. i’ve already said i was working on it, and if i wasn’t, it was because i was busy with life and academics, which are my utmost priorities, or i was investing time on other fics. 

which leads me to say, i didn’t come “back” with the update of bots. no, i’ve always been here and i’ve always been writing. in fact, i posted a 33 THOUSAND words long oneshot for namjoon just 4 weeks before updating bots. and it’s not just bots, it happens for every ongoing fic that somehow overshadows all of my other side works. 

again, i know that these aren’t your intentions and i’m definitely reading into some comments, but with all the messages i’ve received, the interactions i’ve faced between my various fics, i feel like i have to voice my thoughts on my own blog. 

i’ve held back and bottled up my own emotions on this blog for almost 3 years now, but i’m just going to say this: i am a writer and i am human. i am not a writer of just one fic, of just bygones of the sun, of just the labyrinth, of just paper hearts, etc. i am NOT defined by just one work. i am so utterly grateful for the support any of my fics receive, and i’m not saying that people need to read all of my works (you’re obviously not obliged to and i’m thankful if you read even just one work), but i’m just asking for you guys not to just acknowledge my existence/worth only when your favorite fic is mentioned.

At the end of your spill, when all is said and done, you fail to publicize your heart by the simple click of a mouse like the many times before. It’s revitalizing to finally put the amassed angst in your chest into words, but the guilt of burdening others with concerns that no one deserves to bear plagues you on the daily; so there it stays, hidden and buried in your drafts for the long years to come. 

With moments of dread like these, however, there never fails to be dozens upon dozens more that awaits to whisk you away into brighter days within the comforts of your inbox. There were countless readers who would send you unconditional support through thick and thin. You could never understand how kindhearted they were to you, someone they’ve never seen, heard, and sometimes never even spoken to. Were they trying to take advantage of you? Are they trying to coax you into a perpetual cycle of writing absent of rest? Why were you always searching for a fault when so many have displayed nothing but patience, love, and understanding to you?

Just why could you not let anyone in? 

It’s an ongoing battle between you and yourself, one proven to be fruitless a myriad of times before. You let out a hefty sigh, persisting to express your gratitude, genuine and cautious to omit one half the truth, when a certain comment sends your heart racing. 

[MP3 7:56 AM] The pianist sounds like an enigma. Reminds me of this one girl I’ve been crushing on lately. Can’t wait for the story, genius. 

The ear-to-ear grin adorning your lips don’t come to attention until your phone rings and the butterflies in your stomach scatter as you’re snapped out of your short-lived reverie. A relieving yet oddly disappointing name plasters across your screen. 

“Yes, Solji?” 

“Y/N? Where are you right now? Are you home? Where’s Yoongi? Is he next to you?” you can hear the shaking of her head as she forces an abrupt halt to her blurted questions. “What I mean to ask is are you okay?” 

“Whoa, calm down, are you using me as a guinea pig for your future child or something? Ooh, someone must have got it on lately,” you hope your wiggling brows could be captured by the suggestive tone of your voice. “Don’t worry, I’m doing fine—” you sigh “—you’re the only one who actually worries for me at work. Thanks, I’m at home right now. Yoongi should be at work—wait, how did you know he was with me?”

“The paparazzi somehow caught you two last night in front of the apartment and now pictures have leaked and literally everyone’s talking about it at work. You’ve been living under a rock the entire last night, haven’t you? Or did you two…” she gasps. 

“No!” you exclaim almost to vehemently. You clear your throat and repeat with a lowered voice, “no, we didn’t do anything last night. We just...” 

Your cheeks burn red, despite the truth in your statement. 

“Girl, you better give me the entire story in full detail later,” she presses as the excitement manifests in the squeak of her voice, “but for now, you should drop a visit to the company as soon as possible. Even if you’re on a break, boss still wants you to attend our monthly meetings.”

“Ew, you mean those gatherings filled with passive aggressive jabs and snotty, arrogant colleagues?” you groan grotesquely. “I guess I don’t have the luxury to be fired just yet. Fine, whatever pays my rent.” 

“Don’t worry,” Solji’s familiar laughs envelop you with warmth, “I’ll be there too. I got your back.”

“Thanks, moooom,” you drawl. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Byeee,” she adds in a quick tease, “oh, and don’t forget: no glove, no love—” 

—she hangs up. 

Well, at least one person still remembers you, even if it’s to nag you about something that you would never even dare to fathom in the first place. Shaking your head, you laugh to yourself when your phone starts ringing again. 

This time, however, the name doesn’t disappoint. 

Your thumb accidentally accepts the call way too soon and you find yourself on the line with the very person who had your blood pumping just a second ago. 

00:00:01… 00:00:02…

“...hello?” 

His voice tangles your throat and you’re forced to clear it before hesitantly raising the phone to your right ear. You can’t sound too eager nor nervous, otherwise that would send the wrong signal—damn it, since when did you pay any attention to Yoongi’s impression of you?

“Yeah, what do you need—” oops, that’s too rude “—I mean... is something up?”

“Oh, uh, yeah,” he struggles to get his words out, “I, uh, left my… jacket at your place.”

You quickly scan through the mess of your apartment only to find his jacket neatly folded and conveniently placed right before you at the end of the bed. 

“Oh, found it. Do you need me to bring it to you—”

“—no,” the abrupt silence after his adamant refusal catches the both of you off-guard, “no, I can just… come over and grab it. Or, uh, you can keep it.” 

You could just imagine him shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly, gradually catching onto his antics.

“Okay, I guess I’ll just keep this hundred thousand dollar jacket here,” you chime. 

“Oh?” you could hear him kicking his feet onto the desk. “You’re keeping my jacket as keepsake?” 

“And why would I do that?” you scoff.

“Because you miss me.”

His firm statement comes with ease and oozes with so much irking confidence that you force yourself to hang up before the fluttering in your stomach overtakes your very being… that is, until the phone rings again. 

“What?” you groan. “I told you I’m keeping your jacket and not because I miss—”

“—did you check your blog today?” 

“Huh?” he takes you by surprise. “Yeah, I did. Why?”

A momentary silence befalls his lips. “Oh, well, did any comment stick out to you?”

“Hm…” you play along. “No, not really. Is there a specific comment you’re referring to? Have you been checking my blog, Min Yoongi? Hm? Thinking about me?”

“Yes, I’m referring to the comment I made under ‘MP3,’ you dumbass.”

“In that case, yes, I did,” you snicker before hanging up, “maybe you should check my response later.” 

Your phone rings again. 

“Ugh, what now? You’re being so clingy—”

“—are you free tonight for dinner?” 

“Dinner?” you repeat, taken aback. “Dinner as in… date dinner or just dinner dinner…?”

“Well, I was just thinking dinner dinner,” he mulls, “but I guess we could call it a date if you so want.” 

“Shut up,” you can’t help but laugh, “it’s a date then. I have something to do at work but I’ll let you know where and when to pick me up later.” 

“Oh,” he pauses and follows up with concern, “do you need me to come with you?”

“No, it’s not like I’m getting fired or anything,” you snort, “thanks, though… it means a lot. See you soon.”

The phone rings again right after you hang up.

“What?!”

“Nothing, I just missed your voice,” he says nonchalantly and probably shrugged before murmuring darkly, “oh, and, I’m the one who gets to hang up.”

The dial tone fills the silent air. 

-

Oh, how had you ever forgotten the pain of commuting to work, especially when making an unexpected detour under time constraints?

[Xiao Lin 1:29 PM] Hey Y/N! Sorry for hitting you up out of the blue but can we meet up really quick? I have something important to show you. 

The acquaintance’s text had you nearly sweating bullets, for she had persistently insisted on meeting this very moment—an hour prior to work; because according to her, whatever she has in her hands could be a pivotal moment in both his and your careers. 

What could she possibly have and were you right in suspecting her friendly mien?

Your toes scrunch in the tight fit of your pointed heels, fearing for dear life at the pace you were striking the ground. Incessant gusts of wind from passing cars and buses dishevel your hair but you pay no mind to the distractions, striding down the bustling streets with tunnel vision settled on the coffee shop a few blocks from work. 

A series of bell chimes capture the attention of the girl who had sat in deep contemplation with eyes under her jet-black bangs, staring at nothing and mind evidently elsewhere. 

“Y/N, you’re here,” she gives you a small, gently pressed smile, beckoning for you to sit in the chair across the table. “How have you been doing lately?”

“Hey, doing just fine,” you prim, quickly shuffling into the seat. “So what is it you wanted to tell me?”

Her eyes widen at your haste, blinking blankly for a few seconds before reaching into her purse perched to the chair beside her. The long, luscious locks of hers fall gracefully into curtains that shield you from glimpsing at whatever she’s pulling out. Your heart is suspended at the brink of a cliff when she suddenly pauses, stares at the cards in her hands, and takes a deep, determined breath in and out. 

Alas, she unveils her weapon.

There, spread neatly across the table, is a series of photos capturing the intimate moment you had accidentally intruded on during that fateful night. 

“This girl here,” the white paint of her nails highlight the silhouette beside Yoongi on the balcony, “is the CEO’s daughter that I mentioned to you before.” 

Xiao Lin’s gaze peers at you from under her bangs, intently observing your every movement. 

You gulp. You struggle to breathe. You don’t want to give her anything that could jeopardize your career and most importantly… him. 

Why, though? Why are you protecting someone whose photos elicit the painful drop somewhere deep within you? Why are you conveying nothing but jealousy and insecurity from the flashbacks that play right before your eyes? Throughout the fantasy that has been the last few months, somewhere along the way, you had let him slip through a fault in your defenses, even under the once so vigilant watch of yours. 

“Okay,” you finally muster the courage to lift your gaze to meet hers, “and why are you showing this to me?”

“Y/N, aren’t you dating Yoongi?”

Well, are you?

“Yeah, but these don’t have any context to them. For all we know, maybe this photo is old and she could just be his ex.” 

“I’m afraid not,” she presses her lips into a frown. “This venue is the same day the news about you and Yoongi broke out. They’re wearing the same attire as in their press, as well.”

Your brows furrow at her persistence. “Where did you get these photos anyway?” 

“One of my sources happened to snap a shot and showed me just last night… including this picture,” she slides forward a familiar scene you had bore witness to—your hands cupping his cheeks, his back facing the camera as he leans into you, and the woman’s figure watching from afar. “Don’t worry about it, though. I made sure to delete the photos from all her devices, and even if she slips, no one’s going to believe someone without previous credit to back her up.”

“Well—” you’re completely petrified by the attack “—I’m sure there’s a misunderstanding.”

“Y/N…” she says hesitantly under her breath, “did you know about this…? I’m required to report everything to my company by contract, especially since this involves relations to our CEO, but I’m telling you this first because I don’t want to hurt one of my only friends.”

Friend? How could she call you her friend after cornering you like this? She must have something up her sleeve. She must. 

“I don’t there’s anything I could add,” you deadpan with eyes glaring at her. “People are gonna take those photos and run away with whatever wild stories they can capitalize off of anyways, regardless of my commentary.”

“That’s why I’m asking you… do you not want me to release these photos?”

“You’d do that…?” you frown, cautious in wading the waters. “Why risk your career for me?”

“I’m not so dirty as to throw my friends under the bus without a thought,” she laughs and pretends to zip her lips shut. “Alright, my lips are sealed, then. Oh, also another thing…”

You keep her under your wary watch, still dubious, “yeah?”

“I’ve heard through the grapevine that Bang PD has been in talks with the company an immensely popular tabloid, SS, writes under… which, from what I remember, is your company. I heard there’s a certain writer there whose stories they want to use for BTS’s concepts.”

“Oh,” you cock your head, “and why are you telling me that?”

“I’m just saying,” she leans back into her chair as she watches you gather your things, “be careful no one’s taking advantage of you, especially after those photos.”

“Alright, well,” you scramble to find a safe response in the mess of your state, “thank you for having my back, but it really isn’t something you should be meddling with. I really have to get going now—”

“—wait,” a delicate hand clutches onto yours before you could depart and you whirl around to peer down at her. With orbs reflecting the sun rays in its dark chocolate hues, she speaks. “You know I’m putting my entire career at risk by working behind my company’s back.” 

“...yeah,” your eyes narrow at her, “I’m thankful for that.”

“But you know the kind of industry we work in, right? People aren’t afraid to stab others in the back as long as it profits them, so we always have to be vigilant.” 

“So…”

“So,” her words never linger on her thoughts, “I’m saying I need assurance from your side that you won’t turn your back on me, either.” 

“Lin,” you let out a breath of disbelief, “why in the world would I tell your CEO about this?”

“I don’t know,” she says firmly, “but that’s the thing, we never know until we’re on our knees, regretting every decison we’ve ever made.” 

“Lin, please—” you’re at a loss for words “—please don’t hurt Yoongi. Don’t release those photos. Please. I’d do anything.”

“Anything that gives me leverage, Y/N.”

Her stern gaze bores into yours. 

What could you possibly tell her? That your relationship with Yoongi is fake? That would only be throwing Yoongi and the entirety of BigHit under the bus. You can only imagine the despair that would come from betraying him like that. 

“I don’t have anything, Lin,” your voice cracks on the brink of tears. “I seriously don’t have anything. Please let him go. Just this once. Please—”

“—Y/N,” she murmurs with those pleading eyes, equally desperate as yours, “I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

Yoongi. BigHit. His members. The company. Solji. SS… you could tell her about SS. 

“I’ll—” you hesitate with bated breath “—I’ll tell you my real pen name.” 

“Your pen name?” her eyes widen at your suggestion, accepting the weight of your proposition by the wavering of your breaths. “Okay.” 

With your career, past, heart, tears, and soul, your every being is encompassed by these two words. Should you let her have her way? Hand over the key to control your state of mind? Let the potential infiltration of outsiders to intrude on your one companion in life?

Should you give it all up for him?

“Ink Nemesis,” you mutter, feeling your heart drop. “My pen name is Ink Nemesis.” 

The recognition of your alias in the tabloids manifests in her brightened expression and you had never struggled to inhale with such magnitude like you did at this moment. 

“Alright, nice to meet you, Ink Nemesis.”

She smiles.

-

Something smells in this meeting room. It’s a perpetual stench that reeks your surroundings that you would do anything to bolt from your chair.

Bullshit. 

“What’s with the long face?” one of the girls asks you with fake concern plastered all over that overly done face of hers. If it weren’t for the incident just an hour prior, maybe your thoughts wouldn’t have been so malicious; but you can’t help but wonder how you had ever put up with her attempts to get on your good side when monthly evaluations were just around the corner. 

“Nothing,” you mumble, sitting even more upright when you notice her own pretentious posture. 

“Aww, did someone wake up on the wrong side of the bed today?” another girl bumps your leather chair with hers. “Mr. Min Yoongi’s, perhaps?”

Oh, there’s the other girl who never really cared for your existence or anyone’s except her so called “squad” for that matter… until someone’s work garners enough momentum to be worthy of her attention, that is. 

“Yeah?” you snap and everyone jumps at the raise in your voice. “Well, whose bed did you wake up in this time?” The silence is overbearing enough to have you mentally regretting your temper in guilt. “Haha… just kidding.”

The group of girls force a nervous laugh before rolling back to their respective spots and gathering their files. 

“Ooh…” Solji mumbles under her breath beside you. “It’s 2019, Y/N. Slut shaming isn’t acceptable anymore.” 

“I know,” you grunt, storming out of the meeting room as Solji follows in your trek. “I messed up, okay? I’m just having a shitty day.” 

“Oh?” her playful expression immediately transitions to one of concern. “What’s wrong? Is there anything I can do to help?”

“No, unless you, their supervisor, can tell them to shut the hell up and stop acting so fake,” you roll your eyes and punch your timecard. “It’s just that they’ve never cared for me as a person until my works did somewhat well, and the only time that happened is when I hop on the bandwagon and write because I want to be praised and receive attention and not because I want to write. I can’t even be creative because then no one will ever even read my shit.”

“Is that why you’re still writing for SS?” Solji quickly punches her timecard and paces after you as the door slams behind you. 

Cars honk at every corner, buses puff at every stop, and lights beam in all orientations of the city as night befalls it. Her questions lingers in your mind, even as you march through the sidewalks and into the neighborhood a few blocks from the company. 

Why are you still writing for SS? Sure, the stream of comments are addictive not to say the least; but what you’ve always vied for is the euphoric rush of anticipation, the power that runs through your veins, knowing just how much control you had at the tips of your fingers. You had exclusive information and everyone is all ears. You could release a simple audio and set millions abuzz. 

At long last, the world is yours and you’re not theirs. 

“No, not exactly,” you finally answer. 

“Good then,” Solji huffs when she finally catches up with you at the end of the block, “because you should stop updating SS. I don’t want you involved with it anymore. I’ll have someone else in charge or maybe I’ll even pick it up again, just not you—”

“—what? No,” you vehemently shake your head, “no, why?” 

“Because he’s your boyfriend, Y/N. Did you forget that all of a sudden or something? It’s unhealthy to be writing as a paparazzi for your boyfriend. Does he even know about this?”

“Yeah, he knows I’m one…”

“For the SS?” she articulates.

“...no,” your voice is nearly inaudible until you erupt in protest, “but you can’t do that. You can’t just take it away from—”

“—yes, I can,” she raises a brow at your behavior, “it’s my tabloid.”

A sharp intake of breath cuts your words off as you submit to a temporary defeat in silence. A breeze passes by, carrying your locks gently in its waves along with the dampened traffic in the distance. 

It seems like the entire world is stripping you of your joys; because even Solji, the one motherly friend you could always rely on, is turning her back on you now. 

Your colleague senses the tension in the stagnant air and speaks once again, “what’re you doing here anyway—”

—a black car pulls up and you don’t hesitate to enter when you recognize the familiar silhouette of his through the tinted windows.  

“Do you always enter any stranger’s car—”

—Yoongi’s remark is interrupted by the shrieks belonging to a certain someone at the curbside. You had almost forgotten the reason SS was even created in the first place. 

“Oh my GOD! I’m-I’m such a big fan, I’ve loved you since you were a trainee a-and, I just can’t believe!!!” Solji manages to shrill as she jumps up and down, completely overjoyed.

“Do you know her…?” Yoongi whispers, slight concern intermixed with bashful gratitude adorns his face as your supervisor continues to jump in circles.

“Yeah, she’s, um,” you stubbornly give in despite your grudge, knowing fully well how much this moment must mean to her, “she’s like a mother to me. She’s a huge fan. Probably your first, actually.”

Solji’s head violently bobs in agreement and Yoongi could only chuckle at her enthusiasm. Removing her hands from her cheeks that are streaked with her tears, she manages to scavenge through her pocket to find a notepad and pen. She wipes away the mascara streaks and fruitlessly attempts to regain composure. “I’m sorry, I really didn’t want to act like a crazy fan. I mean, I’m not a crazy fan, but could you… if it’s not too much of a bother… sign this…?”

“Yeah, of course.”

It’s difficult for you to hide the grin twirling at the corner of your lips as he reaches over you to further fuel the elation Solji must have been squealing over. Once the star finishes his business, Solji ducks to meet the two of you on eye-level, continuously expressing her gratitude to her idol for his time when, out of the blue, she redirects her remarks to you. 

“Thank you, Y/N. Please understand I’m doing this for your own good,” she presses a bittersweet smile, even if you avoid her gaze by looking straight out the windshield. Chortling, she takes a few steps back onto the curb and waves you two goodbye, “have a nice date!”

The engine purrs to life as the window scrolls up and you’re left comfortably alone with Yoongi—until Xiao Lin’s voice echoes in the back of your mind. You had just given your entire life for this man whom you don’t even completely understand just yet. Lin has a point: who is that woman to him and why hasn’t he told you about her? 

Could you really trust the last remaining figure, a man of many secrets, in your life?

“What does she mean ‘doing this for your own good?’’ he quirks an inquisitive brow while keeping his eyes on the road. 

“Nothing really,” you mumble, looking out the window at the skyscrapers blurred by the warm golden streetlights. 

“Really?” he muses. “She seems like she really cares for you. I’m grateful.”

“Grateful? Who’s this cheesy man and where did you take my Yoongi?”

Yoongi chuckles at your retort before reaching behind your seat to reveal the bouquet of pastel colored flowers. He tips the adornment in your direction, beckoning for your acceptance. “Congratulations on being fired.”

“Ah, yes, there he is,” you roll your eyes briefly, despite the apparent smile that stretches from ear to ear as you take the bouquet into your hands. You could tell he must have ordered for an excessive number of flowers because the ribbon hangs on for its dear life to keep the bouquet unified. Your eyes flutter closed and you relish in the fresh, floral scent.

But he’s lying. He’s keeping something from you.

Alarms sound off to interrupt the ephemeral moment of genuine bliss. It always does this. You always do this. Why can’t you just take things as it is? Why suspect him? You’d be better off living in ignorant bliss. Or is it your innate method of preventing the dreadful anxiety that comes with the painfully endless falls off the highs? 

“Yoongi.”

“Hm?”

“Do you…” you struggle to speak, tongue-tied. “Do you… know anything about your CEO and how he’s coming up with your concepts?”

“Him? Coming up with our concepts?” his voice raises in surprise. “The boys and I come up with them ourselves. Why?”

“Nothing.” 

Your attempt to conceal your utter relief is in vain. 

“That’s a whole lot of nothing’s today,” he chuckles, catching a glimpse of you sniffing the bouquet before deciding not to press further. “Do you like the flowers?”

“Yeah, they’re pretty,” you turn to meet his cheerful gaze illuminated by the flood of red from the traffic light. “Why’re you suddenly acting like you’re my boyfriend?”

“Am I not your boyfriend?” 

He returns his attention to the street when the red shadows on his skin flicker green.

“You never explicitly said anything about it.”

“Why should I?” he muses as his hands find yours by the gear stick. He then intertwines his fingers with yours. “I feel our connection. You feel our undeniable connection. Do we need any words to define us?”

Words to define us. Words to commit. Words to omit the truth in the wake of a lie. 

“We do,” you firmly state and he turns to cock a brow at you. “I need to know who I’m with. I need the complete truth or else I can’t give my all in this relationship.” 

“Okay—” the both of you could feel the drop in temperature and the rise in tension “—what do you need to know?” 

“Do you know the daughter of the CEO who sponsored your movie premiere?”

“What premiere?” 

You raise your voice, “the night we met.”

“Oh,” the firm grip of his hands go limp and something mercilessly hammers against your chest, “no, I don’t know the CEO’s daughter personally.” 

Lies. Utter lies. He’s fucking lying. 

Why? Just why?

Do you tell him you know more than he thinks you do? Would that be a foolish tactic?

“Are you sure?” you press.

I’m giving you one last chance.

“What’s up with you, Y/N?” Yoongi frowns, brows knitted. 

“Nothing!” you nearly yell. Yoongi doesn’t react in the least bit. He retains that damn stupid cold facade of his, even as he lies. “Look me in the face and promise me you’re going to give this your all.”

Because I gave you my all. 

“Y/N, what even,” he mutters under his breath, turning to stare at you straight in the eye. “There’s nothing going on between us—”

“—turn the corner,” you demand lowly. “I want to go home.”

“Y/N, is there something I need to know?” he exasperates, groaning when you fail to meet the frustration in his eyes and obliges to your orders. “What the fuck is going on—”

“—what’s going on is that you’re fucking lying to my face!” 

Your screams stun him into silence. His lack of a response boils your blood. 

“I told you to tell me the truth! I literally shoved the answer to your face and gave you multiple chances to confess!” you struggle to catch your breath, chest heaving up and down. “At least say something damn it!”

The car comes to an abrupt stop. He doesn’t waste a second and shoots a stern gaze your way. His once cool temperament has been replaced by the fire set ablaze in the grinding teeth of his, jaws jutting and eyes darkening. One hand of his still clutches the steering wheel so tightly you could see veins popping under his white collared shirt. 

Both participants evidently fear the heated argument soon to erupt. 

“I don’t have any feelings for her,” he enunciates. “I only like you. I swear.”

“You still lied to me.”

“I’m sorry,” he takes a deep breath and sighs, eyes never disconnecting from yours. “I’m really, really sorry.” 

“Do you know—” you pause in a fruitless attempt to save yourself from breaking out into tears; instead, you choke over your sobs and despise the look of concern adorning that fake frown of his “—do you know how much I gave up for you? Do you know how much I left behind to protect you?” 

“What do you mean—”

“—I gave up my career, Yoongi!” you bellow. “I belittle myself, I’ve become hooked on the idea of fame, I’ve become the very person I feared. I’ve bargained away my only companion for you and you betrayed me!” 

“Y/N, just tell me what happened and I can fix it.” 

He sounds genuine, but is he? Can you trust him? Can you trust anyone but yourself?

Can you even trust yourself?

“You can’t,” you fail to inhale silently in an attempt to conceal the shaky breaths of yours. 

“And why not?”

“You can’t because,” your hands rummage through your purse for your phone so hastily that you almost cut yourself with your own nails, “because I told the one person I warned myself over and over not to trust but did anyways all because I loved you.”

The both of you are taken aback by your sudden confession; and if it weren’t for the condition that you’re in right now, maybe this would have been a monumental moment you would’ve spent hours and hours reliving and relishing through your memories. 

“I loved you,” you repeat, eyes shaking,” and you hurt me.”

He hurt you. Maybe he didn’t mean to. Perhaps this is partially your fault for neglecting to fill him in on your side of the argument. This could be the moment you tell him about that night you caught sight of him with her on the balcony or about how you had just revealed your pen name and signed your career away if Lin were to use it against you for his sake. 

But he hurt you.

People have trampled over you and you’ve had enough. 

How do you hurt the people who have hurt you?

How did Yoongi hurt you?

You don’t realize the blinding screen of your phone where your blog and its eight tabs are on full display until Yoongi squeezes your left arm. The imprecise, hasty jabs of your fingertips at the screen render your phone unresponsive, only furthering your fueling frustration as you clutch the device to the point of numbing your hands. 

Delete. Delete. Delete. 

“What are you doing, Y/N?” he seems to have collected himself in comparison to your wrath. 

“I’m deleting my shit,” you grumble through gritted teeth. 

“I know you are,” he emphasizes, “but why are you? I know how happy your blog makes you. Why are you doing this? What’re you going to do about all the people who love and support you?”

“Why do you care?” you snap, stopping momentarily to shoot a death glare at him. “It’s not always a source of happiness for me. To tell you the truth, you brought me happiness when this blog couldn’t. You, Yoongi. How am I supposed to trust them if I can’t even trust the one person I thought would have my back?” 

He’s silent. He’s holding back.

“How am I supposed to handle all this… all this pain? How do I—” you pause “—how do I get back at the people who hurt me? How do I regain control of my life?”

Silent, again. He’s biting his tongue. 

“I take back the one thing I had that they wanted from me. The one thing they can’t have. Then, I’ll finally be in control again—”

“—what kind of fucking control is that?” 

“Excuse me?” 

“I said,” the flames in his orbs have ice crawling along your skin, “what kind of fucking control is that? How can you call yourself in control when people have literally forced you into taking down the works that provided you solace? How can you call yourself in control when you’ve allowed people to get into your head and push you to this state of darkness, to the point that you want to hurt? You have this stupid fucking complex about you and I get it. I really get it, but do you ever plan on acknowledging it or do I have to shove it in front of your face for you to understand?”

“What? What is it that a successful boy like you could understand about a girl born with nothing like me? Huh?” 

 Yoongi doesn’t hesitate to bring forth reality. Cold, cruel, just like your world.

“You think the whole world is against you and you’re nothing but its poor victim; but have you ever stopped to think that maybe, just maybe, others are suffering under your hands as well? That, maybe, there are people who are genuinely kind and those people deserve so much more of your fucking time than those dumbasses who don’t deserve the light of day. Won’t you trust in the people who light up your world like you’ve lightened mine? Won’t you?” he flinches at the waterworks that stain your cheeks. “Are you going to love yourself by accepting yourself or are you going to keep picking at the faults of others and acting blind in front of your own? When will you let down those walls, Y/N?”

An epiphany dawns upon you when you find your gaze fixated on his, locked and challenged; and for a second, it’s almost as if you’re staring at an older self in the mirror. 

“You’re right,” you grab your purse and phone, kicking open the door. “There’s nothing left to love, not even myself.”

“That’s a lie,” he shakes his head, “at the very least, you should love yourself.”

“How can I?” you give him one last tilted, pressed grin before slamming the door. “How can I when even I have lost sight of myself?”

You can tell his heart shatters by your confession. His face turns pale, his lips part but fail to utter a single word of assurance, and he simply lets you go. Turning your back on him, you smile to yourself and take long, painful strides toward your front door. 

Why does it hurt so much to bring him pain like you so wanted? 

You’re on your way to self-discovery. All you need is to be alone again, like you’ve always told yourself to be, like you’ve always known would be best for you. 

Your mind works on autopilot, as if distancing yourself from others is merely second nature to you by now. The accursed picture still haunts you even as you shut your eyes. 

[99% uploading]

Now, finally, surely, you’ll be a hundred percent free from burden and the hands of……..

...

[evien-stark]

✧I Need You✧ Chapter 125

Back at the penthouse you freshened up, having to shake off the wilds of the past meeting before getting on the jet to go into what would be yet another most likely frustrating meeting. As you exited the bedroom, changed into a sharp fitted suit and tie (dress to impress … or intimidate, either one), slipping your bag over your shoulder, Tony met you in the front room by the elevators. “Hmn.” A humming approval. “Does this mean we’re still on for tonight?” 

Arching a brow, though unable to help your smile, “Why does this mean that?” 

“Come on. Slip on a trilby and you look like you’re ready for a night on the town.” At your rather dry look he held up both his hands. “In a good way, I assure you.” 

“Yes. I’m very assured.” Leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek. “I have to go.” 

Slipping his hand into his pocket, he returned with a jingle of car keys. “I know. Can I drive you?” 

With Happy having gone ahead to prep the jet, you were thinking about either driving yourself or getting a company car to take you. But… how could you say no to that. “Why so suddenly?” Still, you had to be just a little suspicious. 

“I need some air after all that.” 

“It’s very airy up here.” Eying him just a little more. 

He gave up the ghost with a caught grin. “Sure. But. I thought maybe we could talk, too.” 

Giving him a small pat on the chest and another kiss on the cheek, “Okay. But no speeding.” It must have been important. So you couldn’t really deny him. Especially not with the barest hint of anxiety swirling about him.

“It’ll kill me, but you have my word.”

Down in the parking garage he picked out the car that went to the set of keys he’d been jangling at you. Some slick prototype Audi no doubt. You really weren’t so interested in his car collection. The color was nice. And the front seats were comfortable. That’s what really mattered. 

Only just pulled out and away from the tower, his hands gripped the wheel before drumming his fingers slightly. “Did you bring the Reactor with you?” 

That… that didn’t feel great. “It’s in my purse. Why?” 

“Just checking.” 

“I was planning on leaving it on the jet. I don’t think bringing weapons into the White House is a great idea.” Everyone could spot it, by now. They knew what it was, when you wore it. Matthew was already jumpy. You didn’t need to make him worse. 

“It’s not a weapon, it’s defense. Remember?” Giving you a quick glance out of the corner of his eye with a grin. But both disappeared in the next second. “I think you should at least keep it in your purse.” His eyes were on the road and he was speaking in that pretend-effortlessly casual way of his.

But you knew better, and didn’t take the first thrown bait in order to get to the root of this. “What’s wrong?” 

At this he shook his head, fingers up on the wheel for a moment. “I think this is all a little too close for comfort. And certainly- probably- not a coincidence.” 

“We haven’t had many of those.” Funny, you were just thinking about this last night. It was like the two of you shared one brain sometimes.

“No we have not.” He cleared his throat, one hand moving around. “Let’s think about this logically. Hill just admitted SHIELD bungled a bunch of stuff- not the least of which was theft of- technically- sensitive United States property. Co-owned by Stark Industries, sure. But. Let’s be real here. I can bring the hammer down while you’re away, but that’s not gonna help anyone. ...no matter how much I want to.” Understanding, it seemed, why you’d walked away from turning into a volcano about SHIELD stealing from you. Even if he was incredibly angry about it. He cleared his throat and moved on, “Anyway. Now we’re on a sudden task force to retrieve it. Right around the exact time Ellis wants a private meeting with you in the White House.” 

When he laid it all out like that… yeah. It made sense. And it also made sense why he was in a bit of a quiet tizzy over it. “And here I thought you were about to say you thought Ellis had teamed up with Fisk and they were about to tell me to turn ourselves in.” 

“My next point, I’m sure. Because it’s either or. The universe hasn’t been too kind lately, with that sort of stuff.” At a red light he half tilted, gazing at you. “He didn’t say you couldn’t bring anyone, but it’s pretty clear he wants you alone. And I want you safe.” 

You tried a brave smile on for him, but it was just shy of painful. “Tony… if the government makes me into a villain-” Then what could you do? What could any of you do?

“Then we unmake. There’s always a way out. But I’m not trying to prepare you for a worst-case scenario. I’m just… trying to look out for you.” The light changed and he was quick to lean on the gas again to get the car moving, eyes going back to the road. 

Reaching over, you laid a hand on his thigh. “I appreciate it.” More than words could say. “...I’ll bring the Reactor. But honestly, if I’m about to be taken away in handcuffs I think I should just eat that and then get the lawyers on it. Attacking people in the White House would be exactly the sort of press we wouldn’t need.” 

“Fair point. But I still believe in the right to protect yourself.” Grinning, but not really feeling it. 

                                                   ---

He promised to pick you up, too, once you returned home. Hopefully it wouldn’t be a long stay in DC. Maybe a couple of hours, if you were lucky. This much air time for such a small visit didn’t necessarily feel good, nor did you want to spend so much time in the air in order to accomplish so little but… aside taking the suit to the White House’s front steps, this was the only thing you could do. 

After a quiet kiss on the private runway, you departed, heading up the jet’s stairs and giving Happy a murmur of gratitude for his help as always. Once the stairs were reloaded and you sat down, you pulled your laptop out of your bag to start working on some other things while you’d be otherwise incapacitated from actual work. 

Once the jet was in the air, Happy rose his voice to reach you from the cockpit. You were in one of the much smaller personal jets. Nicer. Comfier. Less consumption. “You want me to come with you?” 

This was not an offer of just driving you to and from the White House. He was asking if you wanted, or even felt like you needed him. Or at least somebody by your side. And, as the President had gone out of his way to isolate you… “I’d like that. Thank you.” 

“Just doing my job.” Head of Security. You heard his smile, but there was a wave of gratefulness and pride that thrummed out from him that really made it all worth it. 

                                                  ---

It was actually very nice to have Happy with you, as it seemed somebody had leaked your schedule to the press. They were parked out all along the sidewalk and the White House usual reporters were even waiting for you out front. Since the circle of people who knew you were coming on your side was very small, you had to believe someone on Ellis’ team told someone you’d be arriving. But why? 

Happy escorted you from the car and stuck tight by your side, arming people out of the way so you could make it inside. People were shouting the usual nonsense, looking for pictures, soundbites, anything that would give them good reason for no doubt having waited outside for hours. But you gave them nothing. Eyes forward, spine straight, and nothing to say. ...mostly because you had no idea what you were doing here anyway. 

Ellis’ executive secretary met you in one of the outer wings, which was nice because there would be less explaining to do about why you couldn’t pass a metal detector check. Something she probably knew- something probably everyone in the White House knew. But you were an invited guest. You’d have no reason to hurt the President. And you’d have nowhere to run if you even did. So… 

You tried to press your luck as you approached the west wing. “Why am I here, Delores?” Not the first time you’d spoken with her. Definitely wouldn’t be the last. Acquaintances at best, after these few years of having to more or less work for her boss. Privately or not. She was an older woman, kind but tough. Probably exactly what Ellis needed to run just about everything for him. 

Just in front of his door she paused with an apologetic smile, “I don’t exactly know. But. I’m pretty sure you won’t enjoy it.” She was lying, for sure. She knew everything that went on around here. Funny, how women ruled the world that way. Still. She did work for Ellis, and not you. 

“Thanks.” As flatly as you could make the word just as she knocked on the door. You made a small motion to Happy for him to wait outside, no doubt not invited in the slightest. Hopefully this wouldn’t take too long.

Just as the door closed behind you, you realized a little too late you’d walked into a trap. ...truly the thing that was a shock was just how surprising this was to you, considering you and Tony had been talking about it before you’d come. President Ellis was sitting behind his desk and standing in front of it was a very decorated officer. Not one you recognized immediately. 

“Thank you for coming.” Ellis found his voice just as you stopped short of the opposite side of his desk. “I’d like you to meet General Glenn Talbot.” 

Said man in question held his hand out. “It’s an honor to meet you, ma’am.” He was about your height, maybe a little taller. Broad shouldered. High cut hair, shaved on the sides, and a thick mustache. You didn’t get the sense he was here to take you away. ...not yet, anyway. 

So. Cordial behavior was probably the best idea. You put your hand in his giving him a firm shake. “Thank you. Mind telling me what I’m doing here?” Assuming he was the reason you’d been called here. 

At this he grinned. “Right to the point. I like it. Truth be told, you’re somewhat of a legend around the proverbial water cooler. Our relationship has been pretty hot-and-cold, I know.” Speaking of Stark Industries, you supposed. His smile disappeared in the next split second and he turned very serious. “But we’re beyond legends, now. We’re in the middle of an ocean. Sink or swim. And it’s important to know whose side you’re on.” 

You tried to refrain from making a face at him, and only slightly succeeded. Your brow arched without your permission, the corner of your lip turning flat. “I’m sorry. I have no idea what you’re talking about. Does anyone want to hand me a folder so I can get up to speed?” Where was your briefing? What was going on?? 

Ellis called your attention on the form of your name and looked up. “There’s been a lot of international talking lately. I would have liked more time, but my hands are being forced here. We’re- I’m- tasking you with being the United States’ Enhanced Forces Ambassador.” 

A chill crept over your shoulders. “I’m not enhanced, sir.” That was your story and you were sticking to it. And you really hoped now was not the time this was all coming out. 

He settled his hands together. “You have a suit that enhances your capabilities. That makes you enhanced. You’re also the most qualified out of your team. So don’t ask me what happens if you refuse.” 

This was a very serious threat. Letting you draw assumptions about what might happen to you- to all of you, if you turned this down. And none of it would be pretty. But you found yourself shaking your head. “That’s what you called me here for? To give me some imaginary position?” 

Talbot put his attention on you again. “Oh it’s real. And the only reason I’m letting you wing me is because I’ve seen the buried footage of you shouting down Nick Fury in his own building.” At that your face really did screw up. “Now you look me in the eye and tell me you still hold no allegiance to SHIELD.” 

“I’m sorry-” Putting your hand up to stop this madness. “Who the hell are you? What is this about? SHIELD is dead. Your people saw to that.” Giving Ellis the side-eye. He was involved as much as anyone in that. 

But Talbot reclaimed your gaze as he spoke. “SHIELD’s still running amok. And I’d ask you if you knew where its director was if I wasn’t so sure you’d just lie to me.” 

“Nick Fury is dead. You seem to think you’re smart, you should know that.” 

“I’m talking about Phil Coulson. And don’t try and tell me he’s dead, too, because we spoke not so long ago.” You opened your mouth to speak but he cut you off, “Now I’d expect someone in your position to understand the large scale impact SHIELD had. It goes beyond this nation. And other nations have been getting real antsy.” 

Your frustrations showed. “What does any of this have to do with me?” 

“We’re preparing a meeting at the United Nations in a month. Another denouncing of SHIELD. And you are going to stand right by me and smile your prettiest smile and pretend like you’re on our side.” 

“Which side is that, sir?” Boiling over now as you crossed your arms. “The one that builds up these momentous groups only to shutter them- label them terrorists- as soon as they stop being of benefit? Get rid of them when they stop being profitable? Or when they get caught holding all your dirty secrets?” 

He narrowed his eyes. “I don’t know who you think you’re talking to-” 

“That makes two of us.” 

This Talbot was clearly not used to being talked down to. Or told no. His hands balled into tight fists at his sides and he leaned a little to encroach on your personal space. “Listen up, ma’am. You and your team are getting real cozy up there on that throne. Causing destruction and chaos in the name of justice.” 

“Oh, so you think we’re alike, is that it? Isn’t that what the military does?” You held your hand right up to his face to stop him. “Don’t bother. I used to liaison back when Stark Industries pretended it cared about justice as much as you still do. It still all comes down to one thing- the bottom line. And that was something a little greener than justice.” 

He went a little red but something snapped his attention and he let go of an amused noise. “Yeah. I remember. You know, Colonel Rhodes has had nothing but nice things to say about you. Then again, you’re good at fooling lots of people.” 

You had to hold yourself steady. If the military was investigating you for some ridiculous position as a right arm to keep themselves looking strong, it would make sense that they’d talked to Rhodey. But there was just something sinister in the way he was talking about him. Your silence in easing yourself allowed the opening for him to keep speaking. 

“If the Avengers are going to go around taking out threats that the military can’t handle- then they need to live by some rules. And they need to show up when everyone else in the world starts questioning their authority. Or their peacekeeping strategies.” Getting close again he narrowed his eyes as he stared you down. “Am I making myself clear?” 

“Barely.” It was extremely unfortunate this had set your heart to pounding. This was an inevitability, you were sure. You just didn’t want to have to deal with it right now. But the fact was… the United States of America had several enhanced individuals under their employ. That they used to enact peace and justice. Even if it meant that came with violence. 

The world wouldn’t stay quiet about that for long. 

“Your people are about to become the new nuclear arms race. So it pays to have one of the supposed scientists- or ringleaders in your case- sitting by a general’s side while we all pretend we get along. Otherwise-” 

“Try threatening me again and see what happens.” Risking your luck. You would not be pushed around. You would not stand while he threw hypotheticals about ripping your team apart. No matter if what he was saying was true. When he balked, “I understand, Mr. Talbot.” 

Bristling even harder, “That’s General Talbot to you.” 

You ignored him. “It seems like I have no choice but to accept this position. But I’m still unclear about what this has to do with SHIELD.” 

“SHIELD hired your people. Brought them together without anyone’s knowledge. Without anyone’s permission, even. Now that they’re in the water, we need to show you belong to us and not them.” 

“SHIELD had the government’s permission. Just because you people pretend like that’s not the case doesn’t make it so.” This wasn’t the only thing you had to defend. And on the next breath, “And we don’t belong to anyone.” This was a mistake, and you hated that you took his bait so easily. Panic was not a good color on you. 

He seized it with a smirk. “Then that makes you vigilantes. Which makes you criminals. Enhanced or not. We can make a jail cell for everyone on your team. Don’t try me.” He was getting closer, pointing a finger very near to your face. “Because that’s the next stop. You start pissing off America with this superhero bullshit, you can be sure the other nations of the world will fall in line. Goes the other way around, too. Just in case you were curious.” His grin was terrible. “That’s not a threat by the way. That’s just facts.” 

But it was. You didn’t want to deal with this now. You didn’t want to face this now. ...and you wouldn’t have to. If you just sat by their side like an obedient dog and barked when they commanded speak. 

It was all too true. The Avengers operated in some seriously muddy waters. Ellis allowed it. You assumed it was because you’d helped him. More than he deserved, and never just for him. For the people of his nation, the reason you’d gone to war in New York with aliens. And the reason you’d go on more missions yet to… to do what you had to do. Yes. In the name of that fabled peace and justice. 

But what if Ellis revoked his permission? What if America turned its back on you? What if they labeled the Avengers a terrorist organization, just like they had done to SHIELD? What then? What could any of you do?

You had no choice. You had to eat this. For your family. 

“When next month are you addressing the United Nations about this? My schedule is dense.” Letting defeat show. It would go just as long of a way in placating this Talbot. 

“March 7th.” With your acquiescence, he seemed to slow a little. 

“I’ll be there.” Making sure to hold a steady gaze with him. He’d won now. Sure. He had you where he supposedly wanted you. And you’d take that with your head held high. 

It worked. He seemed to feel a little uneasy. There was also a strange sense of guilt. “For what it’s worth… SHIELD was good, when it was good. But I think we both know they let themselves get away with a lot. Simply because they knew they could.” 

You shifted your stance. “And you think the Avengers are headed down the same road?” 

“I questioned it. But less so now.” Holding his hand out again. When you took too long he frowned. “Make no mistake. This is what’s best for everyone.” 

Giving him your best dead-eyed stare, “I’m sure you think that.” Ignoring the last chance to shake his hand, no matter how petty that was. Turning to Ellis, “Is that all, sir?” 

His lips thinned, pressed tight for a moment and then he nodded. “For now. We’ll follow up before the meeting.” 

Adjusting your purse on your shoulder you turned very sharply and headed for the door. Just before you could put your hand on it, Talbot spoke up again. “By the way… you wouldn’t happen to know anything about the breaking, entering, and robbing of one of our facilities, would you? We’re missing some sensitive equipment from a vault.” 

You didn’t even turn to look at him. “I’m sure I know as much about that as you know about dismantled Stark Industries property illegally being harbored and utilized.” Much as you’d taken a beating, you had to remind these people you still had bite in you. You were not a woman to be trifled with. 

Not waiting for whatever stupid thing he was going to say next, you let yourself out of the Oval Office, and Happy immediately got up once he saw you. You remained silent, head down, especially assaulted again by the press once outside. Your nerves were frayed. Your edges were cracked. 

And… A deep terrible part of you just felt like crying. Like you’d just been called into the principal's office over you and your friends doing something bad. And now you were in trouble. A lot of trouble. 

But that made you weak. You couldn’t break down over this. Barely anything had happened- yet. 

A headache was coming on strong as you held every part of yourself back. You could not allow yourself to crumble over this. You had to be strong. For them. Because this was only the first stop. You knew that. You could sit at Talbot’s side in front of the world and play the good puppy, but this wouldn’t stop there. Maybe it would be a year from now- two- five- maybe you’d get lucky and get away with ten. 

But it didn’t matter. The world was getting bigger now. And much more dangerous. 

Talbot was right. Your group might as well have been seen as the next nuclear bomb. 

And eventually some treaties were going to have to be written. To keep you from being used. 

                                                  ---

You sat in silence, the cabin as dark as you could make it. One thought kept circling: would you ever get a fucking break? Was life ever going to be fair? Would it ever just stop being like this? Or was this it. This was all you got. This was what you signed up for. This was what you had to keep doing. 

Until it crushed you. Like it was doing now. 

Tony met you on the runway, like he promised, after the jet had landed. He looked like he was ready to go out somewhere but his smile evaporated the second he laid eyes on you. “What’s wrong? What’s going on?” 

You couldn’t even look at him. “I just need to go home.” 

His frown was heavy. “Yeah. Alright…” Opening your door for you and then closing it carefully after you sat down. You slumped in your seat, eyes lost as you stared ahead. Once he got in he started the car and pulled off the tarmac. “Honey… you gotta give me something. What are we dealing with here?” 

He was concerned. For you. Not the team. Not what had happened- but how it had happened, and what it had done to you. 

Your body ached for some sort of catharsis. And that was maybe why watery words bubbled out of you before you could rethink them, “We’re never gonna have a life…” Reaching your hands up as the realization dawned, tears leaking from your eyes. You had to cover them. Try and hide your shame. 

There were worse things and you were worried about… well… 

“What?” It was your sadness that cut through him so suddenly, causing him to hit the brakes, pulling off to the side of the road after. 

Your breathing very suddenly was not under control. “I’m sorry- I just-” 

Parked, he half reached over, hands gentle at your wrists. “Don’t be sorry- just talk to me- what’s going on? What happened?” 

He managed to get one hand away from your face, but the other rubbed at your temple as an incoherent mess escaped you. “We’re stuck in SHIELD’s fever dream- and we’re never gonna stop paying the price for it- we’re never gonna have a life- this is it- this is what it’s always going to be-” Some part of you had been holding out hope. Maybe Ultron would fix this. Maybe it would allow you to be normal. 

But there was no normal. And you’d been ignoring that Tony had been getting frustrated and angry over the lack of progress- because if he wasn’t making progress that meant you really were going to have to accept that this superhero fantasy was going to go on forever. And it was only going to get more and more dangerous until one or both of you died. 

And not in a good way, either. It would be terrible. You were sure of this. Someone would drag you kicking and screaming to a painful death. All because you wanted to save the world. 

Because of this, you weren’t free. You weren’t free to have a life with Tony. To plan. To grow. To do anything but be slave to this and all its facets. All the ways you had to pay for it, all the ways you had to clean up after it-

Tony sat, utterly helpless while you blubbered some of this out to him. A weeping wreck so very quickly. But this had been months in the making, if not years. You’d been fooling yourself, thinking New York had in any way changed things for the better. Or SHIELD going belly-up into the river. Things had only gotten verifiably worse since then. And they’d continue to get sucked into that vortex until the bitter end. And you were realizing, now, it wasn’t just the loss of raising a family together with him. It was the loss of everything with him.

And you were selfish you knew. Because you were crying over the loss of one, or at least a pair of lives. Inconsequential, right? In the grand scheme of things? Billions on this planet. What did one or two matter? You should have been able to put yourself aside for that greater good. It was selfish to be this distraught over finally coming to grips with this. 

This was your life. And it was no life at all. It never could be. You’d been foolish, letting yourself get lulled into lofty, unobtainable dreams of marriage. Of being in love. Of just having a normal life. 

You were not normal. You never had been. You never would be. 

Why did you keep coming back to this? You thought you’d accepted this- that this was your last stop as a person. You’d grieved the loss of an actual future where you weren’t just a weapon to bring peace. Then you’d been fooled into thinking maybe it wouldn’t always be this way. But it would. You needed to just stop lying about it, to stop letting Tony lie to you about it- no matter how good his intentions were. 

You both needed to just wake up and come together on this. There was no future for you like this. You’d love each other, and stand by each other. But this would be the thing that would kill you. 

Something you’d warned Tony about so very long ago. This was the life he had chosen, and you right after him. There would be no rest. There would be no normal. And in the end you would die living this exact life. With almost nothing to show for it. 

But at least… at least you could hope the world would be better off. Because if someone didn’t get something out of your suffering… then there really would be no point at all. 

                                                  ---

Tony was absolutely sure there had never been anything so painful in his entire life than sitting across from the woman he loved while she wept about the loss of her future. Their future. And not just that. Really, it was the loss of freedom. Of choice. Because of a single one they’d stuck to. That they had to. 

She saw no future with him where they were happy. No future that was their own. She seemed to think they merely existed to belong to the people. To some notion of justice. Of protection. And that was it. They had no identity beyond fighting for what was right, and fighting around that to keep up pace with everything else. 

Ellis and some man named Talbot had apparently threatened her- her and the team, in that meeting. And it had scared her enough to retreat. To go back to believing there was nothing in this life for either of them, but knew that they had to remain prisoners to it regardless. They couldn’t just walk away. She was spiraling now, unable to see past any of it. The man in black and what that meant- the woman before her- SHIELD dying, the aliens- everything being stolen- and now on top of it the government was bearing down hard on her. Threatening her because of them.

So that was it. This was it for them. At least, that’s what she seemed to think. And it was killing her. 

Which made it no surprise when he found himself wiping at his own eyes, trying to take a settling breath that hitched in his chest, trying to steady himself so he could be strong for her. She needed someone in her corner. She just needed someone. 

He put a hand at the side of her head, directing her closer in the small space of the car, down until she was holding to him, face buried in his shoulder. No one had the right to do this to her. Not to her. No one had the right to make her feel this way. But it wasn’t really a person, Ellis or Talbot be damned. It was a concept. A notion. 

...how was he supposed to fight against that? 

After he was able to get her to breathe, struggling with her a long few moments, he made up his mind. He let silence sit for a little while before speaking softly. “I need you to take some time off.” And when she started to protest, he threaded his fingers through her hair. Tried to soothe her back off that edge. “You need to take time off. SHIELD and the government- the scepter recon- all of it gets put aside starting now.” 

Her head was shaking and protests were starting. “I can’t just-” 

“Just the rest of the month.” And when she shifted back and looked up at him, that broken light still reflecting in her eyes, he reached up to cup her cheek in his palm. “Honey, I am begging you.” If he had to, then he would. And it seemed like there was no other way she would budge. “You’re losing yourself here. You’re losing hope.” 

She seemed like she might cry again, which was not in any way what he wanted to do to her. Her eyes closed tight. “I’m sorry- I’m overreacting- I’m just-” 

“Don’t be sorry. And you’re not. We’re under a lot of pressure, I get that. So should you.” She was careful with everyone else she loved but herself. She stood up for everyone else but never herself. It broke his heart so completely. She deserved so much more than this. ...and it was his fault she couldn’t get it. He held her face in both her hands and as best he could, he assured her, “It’s okay.” And when she searched his eyes, he leaned in, resting his forehead against hers. “I love you. We’re gonna be okay. We’ll get there.” 

 Reassuring her. The same way she had done for him.

Tony expected her to rebuff him. Maybe to ask how he could possibly know that. But what she did was worse. Because she did the same thing he had, when she’d talked him off a ledge and told him these exact words. He believed her then. And now-

With a lost whimper of a noise she crumbled into him again, holding on to him tight. Maybe, just maybe, believing him. Which might have been worse. 

Because he’d just promised the woman he was desperately, endlessly, hopelessly in love with that he would figure this out for them. That they would, that they could, have a future together. Something safe and sustainable. And she’d just… accepted it. Trusted him. 

So now. Now he had to figure it out. He had to figure all of this out for her. For them. 

And for her? For her he’d do anything. She was lucky he was a genius. 

[a-stitch-in-time-and-space]

Various Feelings About ASIT Part 6: Doctors (and other lovers) Part 2 of 2

What I'm mainly trying to do in this part is reconcile what the book is – a love confession to Bashir – with what is in the text – the opening overtures to his romantic relationship with Parmak.

So I'm going to use a little bit of looking at Parmak as a probable reason why Bashir might've taken awhile to get to Cardassia after reading that novel:

Parmak and Bashir are comparable in the same way I feel Pythas and Palandine are comparable. The latter shared their names with him at Bamarren, helped train some of his later most recognisable (often unhealthily utilised) traits, are too caught up on the system themselves to be good for him and vice versa. The former challenge his ways of thinking, have witnessed parts of his worst self and offered forgiveness without a catch, are incredibly kind and giving, make him do better simply by existing as they do.

There are too many quotes and a half about Garak lamenting the change in his and Bashir's relationship. A couple of them seem to indicate Bashir's own awareness, at least of the fact that they don't communicate as easily as they used to, but one thing the book never gives us (for obvious reasons being this is Garak's pov) is Bashir's reasons for drawing away.

[Excerpt fromt the book: Bashir smiled and accepted the invitation. I led the way back into the shop, and while I coaxed two teas - one red lead and one Earl Grey - from my ancient replicator in the back, the doctor strolled about as if he were genuinely interested in the various sartorial displays. He was clearly ill at ease, and I wondered how the gulf between us had widened to such an extent. I was determined to narrow it.]

I can (and do) hypothesise and headcanon, but I'd like to know if any other novels give us more perspective – perhaps one of Una Mccormack's, but that's awhile down the road for me yet.  In any case, Bashir and Garak drift apart. I wonder whether it looks different from Bashir's pov – does he think it was Garak pulling away because of the Cardassian conflict – they have an argument about it earlier on, in which Bashir unwittingly is rude about their society and Garak lashes out at him – or did he just have some sense of perhaps tension between them post-wire, that he misread as a wish on Garak's part wishing for him not to be around as often. How much has to do with his own PTSD (unexplored on the show and, so far, in subsequent books)... here is where I go into my own territory and think that the person he had the most trouble hiding his emotions from was Garak and maybe it was subconsciously easier to stay away from him, lest he be honest towards someone who wasn't being honest back (or he had no idea how to process his crush, so ran away from it, which, mood).

[”I’m keeping you from your business,” Bashir stood up. “I won’t take up any more of your time.” “I’m pleased you stopped by.” I was about to escort him to the door. “No, you’re not,” he said quietly. “Excuse me?” “Garak, I come from a culture that has perfected the ‘stiff upper lip,’ he explained with the same faint smile. “What does that mean?” It was a genuine question; there was a change in his attitude. “It means that we never complain, never admit to our feelings, never ask for help. It’s just not done,” Bashir explained. “And those people who ‘lack character’ and insist on airing their needs - especially in public - are subject to ridivule... and worse. Does that sound familiar?” “Perhaps,” I replied softly. “But I’m also a doctor, Garak. And I know which group of people suffers the most. I really won’t take up any more of your time.” He extended his hand, which he rarely did, and I took it. “Thank you for the tea.” He turned and went out the door. I stood there for a long moment, deeply upset. I felt trapped within myself, knowing what I had to do to get out but unable even to begin. Yes, Doctor, it does sound familar.]

There's so much of interest to explore in terms of Garak feeling like Bashir abandoned him and then running to another doctor (maybe Bashir thought that Garak had left him in turn – must of stung to think of him with another doctor) – not that I'm calling Parmak a rebound.

[Extract from the book: - be given a new brain. I rather enjoy this peripatetic politicking. It’s something I would never have done on my own. In some respects his is so much like you, Doctor. If I’ve found someone’s opinion insufferably boring, he’ll kindly but sternly lecture me on the value of tolerance.]

They both represent pivotal parts of his healing process: Bashir on Deep Space Nine removes the wire, makes him feel less lonely, quite probably is the main component in his belief in inter-species co-operation, fundamentally changes the way he wishes to live (is the first person outside of the little Circle of Secrecy that knows Tain is his father?), Parmak on Cardassia helps him reconcile with his past, takes the beginnings of political concepts he'd discussed with Bashir and puts them into practise, also literally everything about the fucking Memorial Statues, not to mention that time when Garak fully breaks and he helps him recover, (and Garak tells him freely that Tain is his father).

(also both Bashir and Parmak are horrified by the thought that Tain is Garak's father, which, mood)

Where is the change then? How come Bashir didn't work out and Parmak does? The answer possibly lies in reciprocity – where Garak couldn't offer what Bashir needed in return, he could do that for Parmak. This isn't a judgement, I'd say the problem is that Bashir didn't know what he needed and Garak wasn't open enough to maybe fully be considered someone Bashir could go to (even if both Bashir and Garak might've wished he was), while Parmak is much more grounded in who he is as a person and by the time they meet, so is Garak, because he utilises those lessons he'd learnt from Bashir. Oh the irony.

[Excerpt from book. Parmak asks Garak for advice: “You know, Elim, I’m neither a soldier nor a politician. I’m a doctor.” “I do know that. I also know that we’ve been betrayed by our previous leaders. Our only hope is that men like yourself can offer an alternative.” “But you have the expertise that can... .“Doctor, I have an expertise that comes from survival and compromise. There’s already plenty of that on the other side... and it’s not an alternative that will create a new and lastinf union.” “No, I suppose you’re right,” he conceded.”  “You’re a doctor, yes, and that’s your strength. I’ve learned something about your profession over the past several years. Don’t think like a politician. Think of the planet as a patient barely hanging on to life. Think like a doctor. How would you save this planet?” He considered what I’d said in his careful manner.]

Maybe a good indicator is that Garak never actually directly told Bashir that his first-name was Elim.

And then A Stitch In Time happens and all of those things that no-doubt must've frustrated Bashir to no end that Garak wouldn't share with him are laid bare in their entirety in a way that sounds like he'd love nothing better than to finally pick up where they faltered, with no more lies and secrets... only problem is it sounds like Garak might've found someone else and now it's too late.

[Excerpt. The last lines of the book: It has become my personal totem. I hope that someday you’ll have the opportunity to see it. Nothing would please me more. You’re always welcome, Doctor.]

I would love to ask Andy if I ever meet him if he thinks Bashir would have come to visit after that letter, despite everything that was written subsequently. After all, the last words were an express wish to see him again. Even if just as his friend, I feel like Bashir would've wanted to take him up on that offer...

[artificialqueens]

Teasers a la Google Translate (Bitney, Biangela) - Albatross

AN: Hopping aboard the Google Translate fic challenge and I hate it, lol. Here’s two teasers for upcoming fics.

Bitney

English>Russian>Lithuanian>Sindhi>Esperanto>Korean>Swahili> Fellow students. Her friend was someone to sleep with. He didn’t have to think about Courtney at all, but it was very difficult. Early location signs; Kourtney closed her mouth with her hand to prevent the watermelon. It was very easy to show the same smallpox, but Courtney tried not to call Bianca when she did not smile and buried her face between Courtney’s legs. His hand opened his mouth very strongly, but his noisy co-worker still led him to the closet. It’s very simple. It’s so easy to imagine Courtney slipping when the bunny rabbit licked himself more aggressively. Wake up, have fun, and feel better than ever. Erin comes in and takes a deep breath as Courtney hits the G-spot. He would have held out a hand next to Sheena with his hand, but you can hold Bea while she tries to sit outside while you watch Bea working for her. But what if I change the vote instead? Je! Sex looked like Courtney? Bianca’s mental image created this new scene and the results were positive. Courtney bowed to him and said that his name could be completely destroyed by the other left. Gold hair surrounds her as she eats and jumps up the stairs to stay a little longer … Then the appearance of Courtney’s departure delighted her heart. This is the picture that started. Courtney is tired of trying to maintain a steady pace. Bianca’s skin tightened tightly around her shoulders. Each time the thighs met, it seemed to shout the name of the founder, and finally, my breath continued to move along the edge around the shore. When everything caught her, her eyes were closed. My God, you must see the bank.

*****

Halloween Teaser English>Arabic>Thai>Galacian>Spanish>Punjabi>Zulu>English “No, you’re very frustrated aren’t you?” Tetina was worried, circling the dress. “Too many words, you know?” Courtney held a Halloween party tonight with the help of a roommate. Clothes are very important and Tatiana at first enjoyed the opportunity to wear lovely satanic outfits that would attract anyone’s attention. But now that the party was just a few hours away and Tatiana was wearing a dress she had bought on Amazon for the first time since her arrival, she began to think again. This is much smaller than the picture. The fabric and cut edges treat each curve and circle as the second layer of skin. Maybe I should bring someone else? Her buttocks seemed to hang from the screen. The devil’s horns on his head … the ad shows that he is not even close to him. It looks like a cheap factory has been canceled or at least a bad copy of the bad type. Now fully decorated in front of other friends, Tatiana feels really stupid. His best friend William is in the car tonight, ending his criticism. She couldn’t sleep in the middle of the bed looking at Tatiana. She said sarcastically, “Man, what are you talking about?” Whatever the point of victory, this speech did not dampen Tetina’s senses. “I’m not interested in that idea,” he said. “To be honest, you have a body and legs. No one can stop them from their eyes. You don’t have to worry too much.” Shangela’s smile was heartfelt and reassuring, but Tatiana remained skeptical. You don’t want it to look like you’re trying too hard to get attention. It wasn’t the look everyone liked, he also changed his bandolier and doubted it. “I can’t do it right now … maybe I should find something else, maybe something else …” “How?” It bothered William to laugh. There was a smile on her face as she went to bed repeating, “It’s Halloween night and the party is like … two hours.” Fuck, and Tatiana passed it on. Sadly, Shangela decided to ask for a backup. Clearly, William did not receive much help. She gives Tatiana a break before the party to show off her clothes after the purchase. But now it seems like it would be a mistake to ask Wilm to join. She is not good at emotional support or talking to her friends. There was only one person left in the apartment. Shangela shouted “Bianca!” He shouted and fell into the hall. “Bianca, come on!” Of course, Bianca will be able to score better on the team. When Bianca saw him enter her room and look at the phone she was holding, she replied softly, “What’s going on?” Shangela grabbed the attention of the next friend and asked enthusiastically, “What do you think?” He noticed that Tatiana was uncomfortable under the bed. Bianca looks at one of them, Boram announces, “You’re like the devil, secret garbage or anything else” and returns to the phone he is holding. Wellum’s laughter came out abruptly, as Tatiana’s hopes spread. Shangela was silent in disbelief. I can’t figure out where to start trying to fix this ridiculous comment. Not that Bianca knew that what she was saying was wrong. But he said in a loud voice, “Today, you want to order Thai food … is there anything you need?” Shangela looked at him, asked Biang Kang.

[loverichardarmitage]

Feeling insecure about yourself

Summary: You wait for Richard on his set, when your insecurity get the best of you and you leave the set Walking to your hotelroom where you break down and Richard comforts you, when he gets to you.

Pair: Richard x Reader

Warning: Feels, Fluff, Insecurity, Slight sexual references

At the moment you were visiting your long time boyfriend Richard Armitage on the set of ocean's eight. You were currently spending your time with Sandra Bullock, while you were waiting for Richard to finish his Scene. Sandra was an amazing woman and you liked spending your time with her, for she told you everything you wanted to know and even let you see through her script. The fact that she had a specific scene with Richard did not faze you one bit, even though she was a beatiful woman, you knew that she loved her husband and that Richard loved you and you were not the person to get jealous easily, but sometimes it just slipped through and you could not do anything against it.

Yet you were the proudest girlfriend for he achieved so much in his life and you would not want to have it any other way. You also trusted him and you knew he would not cheat on you but sometimes you felft so self conscious about yourself that thoughts like that came to your mind. Yet you absolutely hated it when a female interviewer touched him in any way because you knew how uncomfortable it made him feel. But when he was with his friends he was different. He was more open and more cuddly. Normally it would not faze you when he was that cuddly, but today was a different day and the fact that he was shooting that specific scene with Anne Heathaway made you feel bad. You did not have anything against kissing scenes that involves him and his co stars but it made you feel like the way he kisses you sometimes and that is unbearable for you, sometimes. But you would not say anything, you loved him and nothing could ever Change that.

He had to shoot a scene with Anne Heathaway. You were a big fan of hers, yet you found yourself comparing yourself to her and it made you feel self conscious about your body. Anne was such a beautiful woman just like any other of the cast, but she made you feel the most weakest and selfconscious you have ever been, even though you two got along just well. Sighing to yourself you turned back to Sandra who gave you a worried glance but you just waved it off and gave her a reassuring smile. She shook her head and grabbed your hand before speaking " Jenna I've known you long enough now and I can see that you are not okay. What is it that is making you feel so down lately?"

You bit your lip before replying softly and with a thin voice " Just my mind playing tricks on me, again." Then you turned around and left to walk to yours and Richard's shared hotel room, which was not far away from the studio they were working in. Sandra ran after you and grabbed your arm, halting you in your step " Stay here, it's dark outside and it is not the safest place here. At least stay for Richard, so I know you are safe and  hopefully does not make Richard release his wrath on me when he hears that I let his love go, and I really like spending my freetime with you, you seem so interested in the things I say, nobody else ever did." She told you and chuckled nervously. Oh yes, you knew how bad his temper can get when he let go of it, so you nodded slowly, giving her a real smile after all Sandra made you smile and feel less bad about youself, you did not want her getting in a fight with Richard, especially not when it was clearly your fault and not hers at all.

It warmed your heart that she seemed to care for you that much, even though did not knew her that long, and the age difference. But if Richard loved you even with the age gap then why not somebody else? Why not make friends with someone you always wanted to be friends with? "Okay, but let's go find some place to sit at" you whispered. She nodded triumphantly and pulled you on your hand back into the place where they were shooting, finding a place to sit at for you two, she sat you down in a chair, where you could see Richard from. Your toughts drifted off as you saw him standing there and you needed to be careful or you probably would stare at him the whole time. Sandra sensing what you were thinking grinned at you, making you blush before teasing you " I think you got there some drool" she pointed to your chin, making you scowl at her, which just made her grin wider.

Richard who had heard what Sandra had said, turned around and shoot you his famous, irresistable lop sided grin and a cheeky wink, making you blush even deeper and hide your face in your hands. Hearing all the laughter around you you bit your lip and tried not to snap at any of them. You did not like to feel so embarrassed in front of anyone and when even Richard laughed you must have had made a complete fool out of yourself. Tears brimmed in the Corner of your eyes, casting your gaze downwards you bid Sandra goodbye, stood up quickly and ran out of the room and the building, making your way to your hotel room, you did not hear the shouts of Richard Sandra and Anne who were trying to get to you, but you just sped up your pace. You were not keen of facing any of them right now.

As you were out of the Building you slowly began to reduce your pace until you were striding down the streets, many thoughts circling your mind. How could you be so stupid? They must think you an utter fool, right now. ' Why do you always must be so stupid and embarrass yourself in front of any body!' you scolded yourself. Richard would probably never take you with him on set again came the realisation. The tears were fully streaming down your face by now and silent sobs racked through your whole body. When you heard footsteps behind you, you began to ran again and you just made it inside the hotel, before that person could grab you. You qickly walked to the elevators and drove upstairs. Halting at your floor you got out of the elevator and went to your room, opening the door you went inside and quickly closed the door behind you, before leaning against the door and sighing quietly.

You quickly slipped out of your shoes and went into the bathroom to let yourself in a war bath. Y ou really needed it after that day. Normally you were very cheerful, but today went everything wrong that possibly could go wrong. Work did not go as planned then when you got to the set you were already so tired you could barely keep your eyes open yet you wanted to wait for Richard, because you had not seen him the whole day and your heart ached to see him before you went to bed. And you wanted to see the girls, because you have grown very fond of them and you hoped they did like you too, but  after todays appearance you doubted that they would want you on set again. Richard probably was furious at you right now. How could you embarrass him like that. Sobbing your broke down and pulled your knees to your chest and buried your head in your hands.

You wished the earth would just swallow you wholly and would never let you out again. Angry, you stood up and punched the bed as hard as you could, you let out an angry scream and ran into the bath, turning off the faucet you shed your clothes off and got into the bath tub. Your bones slowly began to relax as did you, but your insecurity and the anger did not leave you completly. You really hated youself now, but to be honest you were glad to be a Little alone right now and if you were honest with yourself, you did not want to see Richard and Anne getting so close to each other. Yes you liked her and yes you trusted him but you still did not like it. Normally he always kissed you like that and thinking about that made you just feel worse. You had not felt his lips upon yours for a few days now, because every time you woke up he already would be on set and when he came back home you would already be asleep. The tears ran down your face again.

Being deep in thought you did not hear the door to your room open nor the footsteps that lead to the bathroom. Only when you heard somebody coughing you turned around, eyes red and swollen just like your face. Startled you came face to face with Richard. When he saw in what state you were in, his face and eyes softened and he kneeled down in front of the bathing tub, slowly raising his hand and stroking his thumb over your red, tear stained cheek. You looked at him dumbfoundly. You thought he would be furious with you, yet it surprised you clearly that he was so soft with you. He kept moving his fingers over your cheek gently and saying just as gently " My love, what had gotten into you, that you left so quickly? I was so worried. " You could not even look him in the eyes. Then it left you like a waterfall " That whole day had been an absolute mess. I have missed you so much during the past days, not even once had you kissed me. Yet I find you getting all cozy with Anne. I know she is beautiful, even gorgeous but why do you not tell me right away that you have feelings for her."

All that spilled out of and you could not even stop it, nor could Richard as he shot you a look of disbelief. Sighing you got out of the tub and grabbed a towel before wrapping it around your small form and leaving Richard alone in the bathroom. Tears began to fall again as you stopped in front of the mirror that stood in the room. You let the towel slip to the floor. Now you stood  naked in front of the mirror and looked at your own reflection with disgust. Richard stood in the doorway, watching your every move with great sadness. What could you make feel that way about yourself. Richards eyes filled with regret. Yes it was true, you two had not been that close that past few days and he felt great sorrow for that. He loved his work and you knew that and he knew you could cope with it, yet he saw how much sadness and anger you bared, hiding it deep inside you to let Richard live his dream.

At that moment he made a descision. He would not leave you alone. Now you needed him, as your boyfriend, anchor and lover. He took a few steps over to your and moulded his tall frame into your small form, as he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest before he leaned down and kissed your cheek softly. " My love, I do not have any romantical feelings for Anne. She is a good friend, nothing more, nothing less. Yes she may be beautiful but to me you are the most beautiful young woman I ever had layn my eyes upon. To me, you are the only one I will ever want." He whispered softly with his deep voice into your ear, making you shudder gently and tears filled your eyes again and descended down your cheeks. He kissed them all away as they began to subside quickly and you turned around in his hold, whispering quietly " I'm so sorry I have been so nosy" " No my love, you should not apologize to me. I am the one who should apologize. I left you alone when you needed me, but that will change. You know I love my work but you are more important to me and if you want, we can travel together everywhere"

He said smiling, making you look at him in disbelief before you nodded quickly and wrapped your arms around his waist and burying your face in his chest, kissing him gently there before looking back up and saying confidently " Yes I would love to travel with you, and I promise to try to not compare myself with your co stars any more." Chuckling he leaned down and pressed his lips against yours in a passionate, loving kiss. Sighing against his lips, you pressed yourself closer to him, making him laugh softly and pulling away a bit to stroke his thumb over your cheek and saying one last time in his deep baritone " I love you, my love, to me you are the most beautiful and the only woman" before pushing you towards your bed and laying you down gently before hovering over your small frame, giving himself fully to you, making you the happiest girl alive.

@emilypoole815 @fizzyxcustard @everything-the-hobbit

[realityhelixcreates]

Lasabrjotr Chapter 54: Give A Reason

Chapters: 54/? Fandom: Thor (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: Teen And Up Warnings: none Relationships: Loki x Reader (Getting There) Characters: Loki (Marvel), Thor(Marvel) Additional Tags: Post-Endgame: Best Possible Ending (Canon-Divergent), How Do I Love Thee, Let Me Count The Ways. One: That Bangin’ Ass, Two-

Loki explores his feelings.

Loki was over the moon.

“She cares about me, Thor. Me specifically.” He was practically wiggling in smug excitement. “She confessed it to me, herself.”

“So you have said, brother. Several times. In the past hour.” Thor said, leafing through a book about metalurgy. “I am glad for you. This is progress in several ways.”

“Yes. She is coming to see my obvious superiority as a potential consort.”

“Possibly. I meant more that you are becoming someone that a human from her country could care about. That you are progressing, as a person. Look at all of the things you have been doing lately. Caretaking mortals, participating in their justice system, housing them, defending them. You know. Like a benevolent god.”

“I...” Loki paused. “I suppose I've come full circle, haven't I?”

“You're starting to see them as they are. We ignored them for so long, encouraged everyone else to do so as well. We didn't see them as they are, and it's one of Asgards lasting flaws.” Thor said. “We don't see anyone as they are. Look at these humans. Look at everything they have accomplished in their short time. For better and for worse. It's amazing. You're seeing them now, like I do. As people. People worthy of respect, of admiration. Of protection. Of love.”

“I still do not understand them. Do you think there is anything more I can do?”

“Stick with one project at a time.” Thor suggested. “You like to think big, but Earth is bigger still, and it will overwhelm you. Your longhouse project is a hit; stick with it until it is done.”

“I am thinking of asking the general populace for volunteers to help with the building.” Loki said. “I know all of our dedicated builders are tied up with city projects right now, but anyone who has time to spare and an interest in doing so, should be able to do simple things, like hauling soil, or stacking stones. Most of all, I want mingling. I want human and Asgardian to become acclimated to one another. It's going to happen sometime, so it might as well be soon. We should be building our bridges as early as possible.”

“Hm. I'm inclined to agree, though I think there should be some regulations. Einherjar to watch over them-”

“Perhaps a joint human-einherjar force?” Loki suggested. “Humans may never be able to match Asgardians, but they could still benefit from training with us.”

“Hm. You're right. However, humans tend to favor weapons like guns.”

“Yet we have both worked with a man who specialized in the use of a bow, and was far superior to most gunmen.”

“I think worked 'with' is a bit of a stretch on your part, brother.” Thor pointed out.

Loki rolled his eyes. “Yes, well.” He huffed. “All I am saying is that we know humans can learn to be extremely proficient in weapons that aren't guns. I do not believe the Icelandic government would allow us to authorize the use of firearms for non-Asgardian citizens anyway. But they have not disallowed the axes and swords that Trolekaerhalla brought with them, so I am assuming those are still legal.”

“Outside city limits, anyway.”

“Outside Icelandic city limits.”

Thor closed his book. “Oh, damn. I just thought of something.”

“I do not believe you.”

“Ha ha. We are thinking of building a permanent human settlement. On land that has not yet been granted to us.”

“Oh damn!” Loki echoed. “I keep thinking of that area as already granted, rather than 'potentially granted in the future, if expansion warrants it'.” What was 'future' to humans, was 'tomorrow' to them.

“We will have to consult the embassy.”

Loki groaned. The 'embassy' consisted of a cluster of small buildings across the river and to the north, from which a farm was also seasonally run. It was staffed by a rotating roster of minor officials, whose job was to 'oversee' Asgardian building and regulate their impact on the local environment. They were not particularly troublesome, and, except for a near obsessive concern with the health of the fens and the river, they did not bother Asgard with all that many demands. But it was an absolutely galling reminder of their fallen status that the king of the Shining Realm had to ask permission for anything, and from such minor officials.

There was an element of helplessness and subordination involved, and Loki despised it. They were going to need to accrue power quickly, if they were going to create and maintain relevance in this realm.

“I'll get a messenger ready.” He said.

“No, I'll go myself.” Thor offered. “Bring some clout to the conversation. Unless you'd like to go? You could bring your little lady with you, get her some experience in things like this.”

“Perhaps. That reminds me; I should send her father a gift.”

“You are getting a little ahead of yourself, aren't you?” Thor teased. “You haven't even asked for her hand yet.”

“Not like that, you wag!” Loki exclaimed. “It's just that when we first brought _____ here, we did not know that it was going to be permanent. But it is. We have found no cure yet for our co-dependent weakness. In that light, I have essentially taken his daughter from him, and into our household, so I owe him. You know that. Isn't that why you sent all that junk to Dr. Selvig?”

“Erik is not Jane's father, and it wasn't junk!” Thor protested. “It was Asgardian objects that were no longer needed!”

Loki gave him a long look.

“I see your point though. Perhaps you should send a gift.”

“Hm. Her father is a peasant who spends most of his time in a confined space with a cat. What would be suitable for such a man?” Loki pondered.

“No weapons.” Thor said. “No armor. Not only could he not make use of them, but customs would confiscate them immediately.”

“Surely a knife...” Loki began, but Thor shook his head. “Very well. Cloth? A bolt of fine silk, or linen. Wool? Surely we can provide something better than wool.”

“It's not a troth gift, Loki. Send him some cotton, and call it a day. There is no need to overthink this.”

“A careless gift can become an insult.” Loki said. “It may not be a troth gift, but I still want to convey to the man that I place his daughter at a high value, and that I haven't just absconded with her as if she were otherwise worthless. Perhaps I shall go with the linen. Or a heavy cotton. _____ tells me that her Iowa becomes very hot in the summer, and very cold in the winter. He could make use of both.”

“I do not think that anyone who has laid eyes on you lately could believe that you do not value her.” Thor teased. “Though some of the more jealous among them might wonder why she compels you so.”

“That is their loss. If they cannot see her many virtues, it is not up to me to enlighten them, though I might choose to do so anyway.”

“You have a list?”

“She has many virtues.”

“That is something I have been meaning to ask you about.” Thor said. “The nature of your affection for her. Where it springs from.”

“Are you questioning my feelings again?” Loki asked defensively. It was something Thor had been doing a lot these past few years. Loki realized that it was good for him to explore his emotions; a thing he was admittedly terrible at doing for himself. But when someone prodded him about it...

Well, he wasn't happy about it, but with someone guiding him, he could analyze internal issues that he would never have allowed himself to touch on his own.

“It is good for me to love my seidkona.” He said. “I'll be able to open up to her like I need to. This way, you don't need to shoulder the whole burden of my odious emotional instability.”

“It's not that much a burden. And you are being evasive.” Thor said.

“Of course I am.” Loki shot back. “I...I guess I'm just pleased to find that I am still able to feel this way at all. I do not wish to examine it too closely and find that it is somehow false.”

“Oh, I do not doubt it is real, and neither should you. Your feelings are your feelings, no matter what. What I believe we should examine is from whence these feelings have sprung, then we might better know how to proceed. That is, if you want to proceed.”

“Yes, I want to proceed!” Loki said. “Of course I want to proceed! The desire consumes every moment that I do not distract myself with something else.”

“Well, talk to me about it.” Thor prodded. “Do you know why you love her so? Is is guilt?”

“What? No!” Loki scoffed. “Any guilt I feel is completely separate from all this.”

“So this has nothing to do with effectively destroying her life, and taking her from everything that she loves and taking her from everyone that loves her. And that's absolutely not why you shower her with attention and prestige, and want to send a gift to her father. No guilt over what you did there. That's not why you want to build homes for Trolekaerhalla, in leu of helping to rebuild New York. Guilt absolutely does not drive your actions there either. I see.”

“Any guilt I feel is...partially separate from this.” Loki amended, face burning. “But it's not the only reason. I feel like she deserves much more than the world has allotted her, myself included. I see a potential in her that I would never have guessed hid in the depths of humankind.”

“Humans have caused you much trouble in the past.” Thor pointed out. “The Hulk flung you about like a toy, the Captain held his own in battle with you.”

“The Hulk is a special case.” Loki said. “All of your little company are. Or, at least, I used to think so. But she had nothing, you understand? No advantage. She hadn't the hoard of wealth, nor the high education, nor the job with a powerful organization, nor the exposure to scientific innovations that all of your Avengers did. And yet, she is this. If this potential exists in her, the most common of humans, might it be in them all? Fascinating. Horrifying. And so, so intriguing.

But that's not the only reason either. Outside of my feelings regarding her species and magic, she has great virtues of her own. Her mind is hungry, so much so that I fear if I were not by her side, her curiosity would lead her to destruction. She doesn't lack ferocity or courage when they are needed, but she also balances that with such compassion. I find that impressive, with everything she's been through.”

“It doesn't have anything to do with her being the only woman to show you affection in some time?”

Loki's face went even redder. “No...There were a few on Sakkar...but I refused their advances.”

“Really? Why?” Thor remembered the people of Sakkar as being very odd, but not altogether repulsive.

“Lack of trust, and a distinct cultural difference. To them, the fact that they could be exiled or executed at literally any moment led them to a hedonistic, live-in-the-moment lifestyle. Nothing meant anything to them. They didn't truly care about anything, and couldn't be trusted for anything.

But _____ cares. She cares about so much. Things have meaning to her, as they have to me. Maybe none of our troubles would have come about if I just hadn't cared so damn much. But I do. And that care has gathered her up into it now, wrapped like a cloak about her shoulders. I can no longer see myself without her.”

“Yes, you were besotted mere days after meeting her.” Thor pointed out. “Perhaps you were just ready. You are getting to that age where a man wishes to settle down and think of family.”

“I am younger than you!”

“Barely. But...That is another thing to think about. You will need to tell her.”

Loki pressed his lips together tightly, making an irritated sound through his nose. He knew that. He wasn't going to do it, not until he couldn't put it off any longer.

“Have you been looking at yourself? Like Sjofn suggested?”

“Yes, but I still don't see the point. I find it no less repulsive for looking upon it more often.”

Thor shrugged. “Sjofn has always been wise when it comes to these kinds of things. You know.”

“I know. I just don't see it, that's all. I wish I did.”

“Maybe _____ will. Speaking of, do you have any plans?”

“Your party is very soon. I thought I might dance with her.”

“And?”

“And make nice with your Avengers. Or at least try to. I feel Stark shall never be friendly with me, but she might be impressed. I would like to kiss her, should she allow it. The last time was...not ideal. I can do better.”

“She makes you want to do better?”

Loki nodded, and Thor smiled.

“I think that is how it is supposed to work.”

                                                                          ******

You swept the fancy green dress Loki had given you in wide circles around the room. There was going to be a party tonight! People were already arriving: Tony Stark had landed an advanced aircraft right on top of the former site of the militant camp, and he had brought others with him. More had come across the river. They were all unmasked, and causing great excitement in the city. Saldis had been talking about it nonstop.

You were starting to get the impression that she had a special interest in humans.

She helped you dress and did your hair, blabbing about their fashion, and strangeness, and beauty. Perhaps Andsvarr was going to have some competition soon.

You had worn this dress before, but only for Loki. It was still scandalously low-cut, in your opinion, but easily the fanciest thing you'd ever owned. Of course, this was going to be a fancy party, so you had to be dressed your best.

What did one do at a fancy party? Waltz about in a great big ballroom? Eat little appetizers off silver trays? Or did the rich and powerful get completely faced just like everybody else?

You'd probably better warn everyone about the crystal mead.

“These are the most important people of your world. Do you think they would speak with a servant?” Saldis asked anxiously.

“What? Of course!” You said, putting on some of your personal jewelry. It was cheap and fake, but you didn't honestly see how anyone could tell the difference. Besides, your dad had gotten you most of this, for birthdays and Christmases over the years. That was the real treasure, wasn't it? “I mean, they talk to me every week, and I'm a nobody.”

“How is it that you still think that?”

“Habit, I guess.” You shrugged. “I've never felt like I really meant anything before, and it's hard to adjust my thinking. It sorta comes and goes; one moment I feel proud of everything I've done, and the next I feel like a complete impostor.”

“I understand that. They warn us not to fall for the nobles, because we wouldn't know how to live their lives, but I feel like that's a sham so the nobles can keep their sons and daughters as bargaining chips in political marriages. But that shouldn't be a problem anymore.” She added, noticing your disgusted expression. “Allfather Odin started phasing that out before I was born, and it seems like Allfather Thor is going to continue his work.”

“His Highness is in accord.” You said. “He told me so. It still grosses me out though. But if you want to go talk to some Avengers, I don't see why you shouldn't. Besides, aren't you kind of falling for a noble yourself?”

Saldis cleared her throat. “Well. If it works out, yes. But if it doesn't, neither of us are exactly hurting for potential suitors. It's just that we like each other best. Just like you and the prince.”

You sputtered. “What? No, we're not-”

“It's fine, everybody knows.” Saldis said. “I heard the Valkyries gossiping about it, and the general didn't tell them to stop. That's how you know that she knows it's true.”

“Everybody doesn't know anything.” You insisted. “Me and Loki aren't a thing.”

“Which is why he had that dress made for you, and why you moon at him every time you think no one is looking. Someone's always looking.”

“I don't moon...” You said. “Wait what was that about the dress?”

“It's very fine. A courtier's dress, to reflect your position as advisor, that you belong in the court with him. That's quite a statement. If you ask me, he's been making that statement for some time.”

“No way.”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not. The prince has always been hard to read, but the emotion that he does show seems quite genuine.”

“You really think so? Other people think so?” There was no way. But if it was true, if it was true...certain things were falling into place. But there was no way, was there? No way it could work. You couldn't dare to hope.

Could you?