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plant-flwrs · 4 years

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Hi, so i was about to send a request, but my phone went all crazy and i don't know if it got send or not ): so here it goes again I was wondering if i could get a George x slytherin reader after the war, where they're dating but all his family disapproves because she had like this "bad reputation", so he gets sad and angry because this boy is super in love with her, and she is like super reserved so his family don't trust her, but she is actually such a sweetheart with him.

family is complicated // george weasley

masterlist!

a/n: this was so hard writing the weasleys as mean people omg. i love reading fics where everyone is happy at the burrow and molly is an angel so this was like tearing me apart lol. hope you like it!!

summary: The Weasley’s have never liked George’s girlfriend, and one snide remark makes George finally lose it.

also a disclaimer! family turmoil and drama ahead, so if that’s triggering to anyone, don’t read this one! <3

(3.5k)

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The sun was hidden away, tucked behind the dark clouds that littered the sky in London. It wouldn’t have mattered anyways, as the heavy curtains to your flat were drawn closed.

The sheets were in a pool around your ankles and your body shivered tirelessly. George always got warm at night and had a habit of kicking off the blankets in his sleep. You clung onto him, trying to collect some of his warmth that oozed from his shirtless chest.

Your eyes opened, feeling awfully heavy in their sockets. You didn’t want to wake up, you didn’t want to get out of bed, you didn’t want to get ready, and you didn’t want to go to the Burrow.

The Weasleys were nice to everyone but you, it felt like. They welcomed Harry, Hermione, and Angelina with open arms, but you and Fleur were the spousal outcasts. The two of you bonded over it quite often, trying to make jokes of it, but really it bothered you both quite deeply. The only difference between you and the other spouses was the green tie you wore around your neck for seven years. You hardly found that to be reason enough for the whole family to dislike you, but they didn’t.

You turned away from your boyfriend, bringing the blankets up from your ankles and wrapping them tightly around yourself. You pushed your face deeper into the pillow, hoping that if you slept all day you wouldn’t have to do the adult thing of going to your boyfriend’s family house.

George lifted the blankets from his side, moving under them with you. He glanced at the clock on your bedside table, and saw no harm in sleeping a little longer. His warm arms found their place around you, and the two of you fell back asleep with the intentions of avoiding the Weasleys.

“They’re going to be late! I bet she’ll get him into some kind of trouble!” Ginny and the rest of her siblings could hear their mother’s shrieking voice from upstairs.

“They’re still not here?” Ginny turned to face Harry, rolling over in the small bed they shared the previous night.

“ ‘Spose not,” he mumbled bringing two heavy hands to his face and blocking out the sunlight creeping into the room.

“No wonder,” Ginny said, sitting up slowly in bed, “I wouldn’t feel inclined to come if I were her.”

“Well, George loves her,” Harry defended, finding the conversation to be one they had often.

Harry was never one to befriend Slytherins in school, but his maturing age made him able to see past the house’s reputation. He knew you couldn’t be evil if George liked you so much.

“I know he does,” Ginny snapped, “but that doesn’t make her any less,” Ginny trailed off, unable to find the right words for a moment, “weird.”

Harry sighed, feeling awake after the conversation. He brought his feet to the cold wooden floor of Ginny’s childhood room, and placed his glasses on his face. The two went down for breakfast.

“When do you think they’ll grace us with their presence?” Fred teased from his spot next to Angelina at the table.

“Whenever she feels like it,” Mr. Weasley grumbled from the head of the table, his eyes locked on the newspaper in front of him.

Fred groaned, rolling his eyes. He quite liked you. He thought that if his brother liked you, then he should too, and he had no reason to dislike you. Your ‘bad reputation’ that his mother likes to bring up so often, was for the same reason he and George had a ‘bad reputation’. You and George shared a love for mischief, and the Weasleys disapproved.

“When did you tell them to come, mum?” Bill asked from his spot next to Fleur.

Fleur was the one who wanted to know, but she had learned it was better to let Bill do the talking for her with Mrs. Weasley.

“Around supper,” she replied, moving to stand behind Bill and fidget with his long hair. He jerked from his mother’s prying hands.

“Then why are you expecting them to be here now?” Fred asked, ignoring Angelina’s warning graze on his knee.

“Everyone else is!” Mrs. Weasley defended.

“Yeah, but you didn’t tell them to get here when everyone else was,” Fred continued, giving his mother a confused look.

“You eat your breakfast, young man, and stop worrying about what I said or didn’t say,” she yelled, darting back into the kitchen to get another pan full of eggs.

Fred caught Bill’s and Fleur’s eyes from across the table and they all looked annoyed.

You and George finally managed to roll out of bed a little after noon. The two of you stumbled down the cold streets hand in hand, still in your pajamas. You were in search of something to eat for lunch, even though you were both due at the Burrow in a couple of hours. You hated going with an empty stomach, because when you would load your plate up with Molly’s wonderful cooking, she would send you glares. You also hated going on a full stomach, because when you didn’t fill your plate with Molly’s wonderful cooking, she would send you glares. You rather her think you didn’t like her cooking than give her the opportunity to comment on your eating habits. You would watch Ginny shovel serving after serving into her mouth, and all Molly would do is pinch her cheeks and call her adorable.

You had gotten used to the criticisms pretty early on. You and George were an odd pairing, so you didn’t expect an immediate connection to the family. However, you had figured that after five years they may have warmed up to you, but sadly they hadn’t.

George pulled you into a small café by your hand, leading you to a secluded table by the window. The two of you put in your orders, and enjoyed the serenity before having to go to what was now both your least favorite place.

You wore a flattering sweater tucked into some smart pants. Clasping a delicate gold necklace George had given you for your anniversary last year, you called out to him to see if he was ready.

He came out of the bathroom, hands busy with buttoning his shirt. He was nervous, he usually was when he saw his family these days, and his hands had a shake in them.

“Here,” you said soothingly, running your hands over the wrinkles in the shirt and moving his hands away.

You finished buttoning the shirt, and George admired you.

Here you were, comforting him, when it was you his family didn’t like. You were willing to make more of an effort than his family ever did, and he loved you so much for that.

You stepped away from him, and his fingers moved up to brush a stray piece of hair out of your eyes. His rough fingertips grazed the top of your ear as he tucked away the hair. His hand fell down to the necklace you wore, and he twisted it in his fingers,

“I love you,” he whispered, blinking slowly, as if he were trying to remember this moment forever.

George always had the fear that any trip home could be the end for the two of you. He loved you, and he knew you loved him, but he couldn’t blame you if the hatred got too much for you.

“I love you too, Georgie,” you smiled up at him, forcing away the nausea pooling in your gut.

You went to your fireplace, checking the clock on the wall to make sure you weren’t too early and not too late. The both of you erupted in green flames, and soon the delightful smells of a homecooked meal flooded your nose.

“George!” Ron called from his spot on the couch, spotting you two first.

“Hey,” George responded in a voice you knew was trying to sound happy but came out shaky.

You stepped from the fireplace, and Molly rushed from the kitchen with her apron still on.

“My baby!” she wrapped her arms around George, pulling away and cupping his face with her hand.

He smiled down at her, and you recognized the nerves in the smile.

“Hi, Mrs. Weasley,” you said from beside George, waving and smiling shyly at her.

“Hello,” she started, already looking for something about you to be displeased with.

“Y/n! George!” Bill called, entering the house with Fleur trailing behind him.

You knew they liked to escape to the garden when they had to spend any amount of prolonged time at the Burrow, you and George joined them some times.

“Hi!” you said excitedly, not missing Molly’s scowl in the corner of your eyes.

Bill wrapped his long arms around you, hugging you like a brother. You released him and hugged Fleur next. Those would probably be the only Weasley’s that offered you a hug, as per usual.

“Where’s Fred?” George asked once he was released by his father’s arms.

“He and Angelina went upstairs for a nap a few hours ago,” Molly said, rushing back into the kitchen.

“Did you want any help, Mrs. Weasley?” she turned on her heal, gave you a fake smile, and shook her head.

If anyone else had called her Mrs. Weasley, she would have insisted they call her Molly, but not you.

“A nap? Blimey, how old are they?” George joked.

Laughs echoed around the room, and George wrapped an arm around your waist.

The two of you stood in the living room next to Bill and Fleur, talking with Ron, Harry, and Hermione on the couch.

“Fred tells us the shops going well?” Harry said, looking to George.

“Yeah, we’re doing alright,” George replied modestly. You flickered your eyes up at him, admiring him from where you stood tucked into his side. The shop was doing amazing, it was more successful than it had ever been.

“How’s your work, Y/n?” Hermione asked politely, and an awkward haze fell across the room as they all looked at you.

No one usually addressed you at Weasley family gatherings, so you were caught off guard.

“Good,” you choked out, clearing your throat and furrowing your brow, “it’s good.”

“She was just promoted,” George said proudly from beside you, nudging a finger into your side, “that Slytherin ambition of hers.”

“Really? Congratulations,” Harry said, the first and only person to say anything.

Bill and Fleur didn’t say anything because they already knew. The four of you had taken up having dinners at your flat sometimes, finding it better for all of you than the large gatherings at the Burrow.

“George!” Fred bellowed from the staircase.

He hugged his brother, hitting him on the back as they embraced. You smiled politely at Angelina, who nodded her head curtly at you.

“Y/n!” Fred said once he released George, hugging you.

Angelina’s eyes bore into Fred’s back as he did, but he didn’t care.

You smiled brightly at Fred, feeling relieved to have his happiness there. He and George were always the first to stick up for you when it came to Molly.

“Dinner!”

You all gathered around three tables put together in the garden, watching as dishes of food were levitated across the table. You served yourself food, catching Mrs. Weasley watching you with a critical eye from her spot at the head of the table.

Conversation flowed, though you, George, Fleur, and Bill generally kept to yourselves.

Bill sat at the other head of the table, with Fleur to his right and you to his left. George sat next to you, and the four of you talked like it was one of your usual dinners at your flat. It was better this way, less room for conflict.

All you had to do was make it through desert, which was moved into the house. That was it, one last meal and then you and George could say goodnight and be in the safety of your own home.

“Oh, I don’t think you want any of this dear,” Molly said to you, pulling away with a plate of cake in her hands,

“Mum,” George warned, holding his hand out for the plate while the other wrapped around your shoulders protectively.

You were never one to stop George from sticking up for you, which made Mrs. Weasley angrier. She looked to you, expecting you to give up the fight and not want any cake, but you looked right back at her with a blank look.

“She had an awful lot at dinner, George, she must be full.”

“Mum,” George said, louder and more angry.

“Don’t take that tone with your mother,” Mr. Weasley came from behind his wife, placing two comforting hands on her shoulders.

“Don’t speak to my girlfriend like that, and I won’t,” he responded, managing to sound somewhat calm, though a sharpness was in his tone.

“Excuse you?” Mr. Weasley questioned, his face becoming stern.

“George, let it go-” Ginny started from where she sat with Harry, the first one to take notice of the argument developing.

“No!” George said harshly to Ginny, whipping his head to look at her.

“What’s wrong?” Fred asked from behind you, shoveling cake into his mouth.

“Mum and dad are being rude to Y/n,” George started, looking accusingly at his parents, “for what? The millionth time?”

Mrs. Weasley gasped, putting down the cake on the counter next to her.

“George!” she exclaimed, prepared to make excusing defenses in her honor.

“It’s true mum,” Fred said from behind his brother, voice muffled by the cake in his mouth, “you’ve been, and usually are, quite rude to Y/n. And Fleur.”

You and Fleur made eye contact, both of your eyes widening as you realized tonight was the night where everything went to shit. No more passive aggressive comments, no more pretending everything was fine. After this, your invitation to the Burrow might be permanently revoked.

“He’s right, mum,” Bill’s cool voice said from beside Fleur, and everyone’s gaze shot to him, “you have it out for Y/n and Fleur.”

You stepped back, and George followed you, his arm still around you. It was like a triangle in the room, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley at the edge of the kitchen, Bill and Fleur by the fireplace, and you, George, and Fred edging nearer the staircase.

“I don’t know what you talking about,” Molly defended, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Yes you do,” George said, narrowing his eyes at his parents.

“It’s late,” Mr. Weasley said, “maybe you lot should go home now.”

George scoffed from beside you, unwrapping his arm from your shoulder and stepping forward.

“Okay, Fleur, Y/n, why don’t you two go back to our flat,” George said in a soothing voice, “and we’ll talk this out, like a family.”

You fought the proud smile that wanted to spread across your face, and nodded your head. Fred guided you to the fireplace with a hand on your back, and winked at you as you and Fleur erupted in green flames once again.

“Well, this is not going to end well,” you mumbled to Fleur once you got home, putting a kettle on the stove, preparing enough water for George and Bill if they eventually came back too.

The yelling coming from the Burrow was unlike anything the small village had ever heard. Shouts of anger drifted from the windows, and the intensity of the argument could be felt for miles.

“You have no right to treat them the way you do!” Bill shouted at his parents, and also casted an accusing glance at Ginny, Ron, Hermione, and Angelina. Harry had sunk into the couch, the only person still sitting as everyone else sprang to their feet.

“She’s not right for him, and Fleur’s not right for you!” Molly screamed back.

“You don’t get to decide that! I love her, Bill loves Fleur. What’s different about them? You love Hermione, you love Angelina, you love Harry. Why should Y/n and Fleur have to get the shit end of your behavior!” George yelled, waving his hands frantically.

“Y/n doesn’t even try with us!” Ginny interrupted, stepping closer to George, “She just talks to you and Fleur!”

“Because none of you ever gave her a chance! She tried so hard the first time I brought her here, and you all made her leave crying!”

Ron and Harry felt a pang of guilt at the thought of the remarks they had made about Slytherins the first time George took you to the Burrow.

“I don’t trust her,” Molly said, her voice stern but quiet.

“I frankly don’t care, mum. I love her. If you’re going to make me choose, I’ll choose her. Every time. I love her,” George said, his voice lowered and shaky.

“Me too, I’ll choose Fleur,” Bill spoke up, moving his wand from his pocket to prepare to apparate.

“Boys,” Arthur warned, stepping forwards and trying to soothe the situation, “don’t upset your mother.”

“Let them go! They’ve made their choices!” Molly pouted, moving to sit, defeated, at the table.

“Fine. Send me an owl if you ever come to your senses,” George said, moving towards the fireplace and picking up a handful of floo powder.

“Fleur and I have given you enough chances, don’t send us an owl. Goodbye,” Bill said finitely, apparating before anyone could say anything.

George hesitated in the fireplace, meeting everyone’s guilty looking expression. No one spoke up, and he nodded towards Fred, saying goodbye. He was back home in seconds.

You and Fleur turned to the men who had both just appeared in your living room. Bill had tears running down his face, and Fleur went to him immediately. Fleur looked to you and you pointed down the hall towards you and George’s bedroom, allowing them a place to have some privacy. George fell onto the couch next to you, and you went to the kitchen to bring him a cup of tea.

“What happened?” you spoke in a soft tone,

George retold everything, and you felt your throat closing as tears threatened your eyes.

“Oh, George,” you mumbled, taking his tea from his hands and placing it on the coffee table You held him, the both of you feeling exhausted. His upper body leaned into your lap, and you held his shoulders, soothing bits of his hair off his face.

You could hear the muffled voices of Bill and Fleur from your bedroom.

Suddenly, five people apparated into your living room. George sat up, and you grasped his hand as you looked at Harry, Ginny, Hermione, Ron, and Fred all standing awkwardly in your living room.

“Nice place,” Ron said suddenly, craning his neck to look around the room.

Neither you or George responded and Hermione nudged Ron with her elbow.

“Right, sorry,” he mumbled, his lips going into a thin line.

“We wanted to say something,” Fred said, breaking apart from the group and coming to sit with you and George on the couch.

He turned around, looking at the group.

“We’re sorry,” Harry said first, looking at you, “I should have never said those things about Slytherins, it was stupid and so was I.”

You swallowed hard, eyes downcast at the floor.

“So am I. I actually think you’re quite cool,” Ron said, sounding just as awkward as you remembered him to be in school.

“I never meant to make you feel uncomfortable. I’m sorry I stood back and let you get treated that way,” Hermione said next, and you met her sorrowful gaze. You nodded at her, returning your eyes to the floor.

Harry nudged Ginny, who reluctantly spoke, “I’m sorry too. If George loves you, then so do I.”

You smiled at the floor, nerves twisting in your stomach like they did when you first went to the Burrow.

“You guys were idiots,” George said sternly from besides you.

Your shoulders shook, and George lifted your chin with his fingers. He met your eyes, afraid you were crying, but was happy to see you laughing.

You looked at the group, chuckling senselessly.

“Thank you,” you said, “it’s a shame you’ll have to do that whole bit again for Bill and Fleur, though.”

Everyone laughed, and the group hadn’t realized Bill and Fleur weren’t there anymore.

“Did they leave already?” Fred asked from beside you.

“No, there in our room for some privacy,” you answered, pointing a finger down the hall.

“Ah,” Fred said, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Not like that,” George reached behind you and hit the back of Fred’s head.

You stood, going to the kitchen and retrieving all the mugs you had in your cabinets.

“Need some help?” Ginny asked from behind you, Hermione by her side.

“Sure,” you smiled at them, and Ginny and Hermione moved into the kitchen.

They helped you carry out the hot cups of tea, placing them on the table. Bill and Fleur had emerged from the room, and were sat on the couch. You sat on the other side of Fleur, catching George’s eyes from where he sat on an armchair across from you.

He looked happy, finally being able to sit with his family and you in the same room without nerves plaguing his every thought.

#george #weasley #george weasley #george weasley fic #george weasley fanfiction #george weasley imagine #george weasley x y/n #george weasley x reader #george weasley x slytherin!reader #george weasley x you #harry potter

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littlespoonevan · 3 years

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it's deeply unrealistic, but a silly hc i have for 911 is that there's one bakery everyone uses for all the elaborate firefam cakes, and the employees of that bakery know all about the 118's business and are like really invested in whatever happens next. they're very :( when they have to make injury-related cakes, even if they know there was a full recovery. + with my buddie-glasses on i'd like to think they've been rooting for buck and eddie to get together somehow (they keep hinting that they can do wedding cakes for a deep discount lol)

lmao it seems like my blog is the place for unrealistic wants tonight so you messaged the right person!!!!

no but listen. i love this so much. hen is the main cake person, right, like the one who organises them all so they know her best. but sometimes other people have to pick up the cakes for her so they slowly get to put faces to names with the rest of the 118. and maybe eddie had picked up the cake for buck's surprise party in 3x01 so they Know he and buck are bffs. and then maybe eddie starts using the bakery for chris' birthday cakes so they learn even more bc it's always "and then buck is gonna come over" etc etc.

and tHEN eddie gets shot and they're horrified obviously but they also get a phonecall from buck asking if they can make a cake for eddie's welcome home party and when he comes in to get it with christopher they obviously express their sympathies over what happened to eddie but buck just smiles softly and is like "it's gonna be good to have him home." and looks so parental with the way he keeps a hand on christopher's shoulder and ruffles his hair and lets him pick out a special cupcake of his own and they're just like, oh. oh.

buck and eddie aren't just bffs. they're a family.

they obviously make some comment about it to hen the next time she's getting a cake and she's like, "don't even start. they're still oblivious. do you wanna get in on the betting pool? we think they'll for sure figure it out this year"

two years later they make buck and eddie's wedding cake

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aftertheskyy · 3 years

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The knights knowing about Merthur

(A little based off Cyrano de Bergerac) (also thank you @junemo10 because you my dear, are brilliant)

Give me a world where Gwaine figures out that Merlin likes Arthur and immediately tells Percival, who tells Lancelot. Lancelot is responsible enough to keep it a secret.

Meanwhile, Leon picks up that Arthur likes Merlin. And Elyan and Mordred catch on, too.

Except Merlin, Gwaine, and company don’t realize that Arthur likes Merlin and is teamed up with Leon.

“MERLIN IT WAS A PAT ON THE SHOULDER CALM DOWN.”

And Arthur and Leon don’t realize that Merlin likes Arthur and that he and Gwaine are doing the same thing.

“If you want to read into it, I suppose refilling your water cup at the dinner table could be romantic. Since that’s his fucking job.”

Once, after a council meeting, Gwaine nudged Percival, who nudged Lance, and the three of them left the room to give Merlin and Arthur some time together. Unknowing of Gwaine’s plan, Leon quickly notices that some knights were leaving. Thinking that it might also be good to leave so Merlin and Arthur could be alone together, he nudges Elyan and Mordred to do the same.

And this goes on for awhile until Gwaine and Leon are both done because they know that Merlin and Arthur both like each other, but they can’t convince them. And they still don’t know that the other side has a thing going on.

Merlin, running into Gwaine’s chambers: Is ‘horseplay’ a form of flirting? Gwaine:

Arthur: His ARMS, Leon. How did he get so buff?

Gwaine: He literally keeps track of your smiles Merlin: Yeah, but I think he does that with everyone.

Merlin, intentionally leaving roses in Arthur’s room: Arthur, later that night, walking into Leon’s room and shaking him awake: I NEED ANSWERS

Until eventually, Leon is so fed up with Arthur that he tells him to just talk to Merlin and ask him out that night.

Arthur wants to, but is absolutely terrified that he’ll mess up or say something wrong.

So he asks Leon to sit in a nearby bush and deliver him lines, which he’ll then relay to Merlin.

Reluctantly, Leon agrees.

So when Merlin prepares to meet Arthur that night, he knows something is up and asks Gwaine to come with him for backup. They also plan for Gwaine to hide somewhere and whisper lines to Merlin in response to whatever Arthur says.

They meet out behind the castle and it’s working out great.

Until Gwaine and Leon run into each other in the bushes.

“What are you doing here?” “Leon! What a surprise. I’m just. You know. Doing my trimming.” “Trimming?” “Lots of trimming, lots of gardening. Nighttime is the best time to do it, too.” *whispers to Merlin* “Say you would love to. You’re free tomorrow.” “Who’s free tomorrow?” “Hm? Oh, the bush! You know, I like to. Set them up. Talk to them. Make dates.” “...okay.” *whispers to Arthur* “Say you’ll bring lunch!”

And it’s still going alright in the midst of all of this, neither Leon nor Gwaine realizing what the other one is doing and try to convince each other to head up to the castle so they don’t get caught.

Gwaine, in the bushes: I’ll see you tomorrow. I do my best trimming by myself. Leon, also in the bushes: That’s alright. How about I go escort you back up to the castle? Arthur, not in the bushes to Merlin: How about I go escort you back up to the castle? Gwaine: Nah, it’s really okay. Merlin to Arthur: It’s really okay. Leon: No, I insist! Arthur: I insist! Gwaine: I’m alright Leon, I’ll see you tomorrow at practice! Merlin: I’m alright Leon, I’ll see you tomorrow at practice!

And this goes on for some time-- Merlin and Arthur repeating Leon and Gwaine’s argument until they both storm off together, leaving Merlin and Arthur very confused and very frustrated that neither of them were able to convey their feelings.

Leon, however is a smart man. He’s in bed that night, thinking about the events in the bushes before he figures it out.

He goes to Gwaine the next day, who promptly tells Percy, who tells Lancelot, and the cycle repeats.

And soon, all the knights of the round table are trying to get Merlin and Arthur together.

On more than one occasion, Gwaine will “trip,” sendng Merlin flying into Arthur.

Lancelot and Elyan have intense discussion about who’s the top.

It’s also Lancelot who coins the term “Merthur.”

Percival starts a betting pool, and they all have claims on when they’ll finally get together.

(Leon wins 2 months afterwards.)

#bbc merlin #merlin bbc #merlin headcanons #merthur #merlin x arthur #merthur headcanon #merlin emrys #merlin #arthur pendragon #knights of the round table #knights of camelot #sir leon #sir lancelot #sir gwaine #sir percival #sir elyan

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tripleaxeldiaz · 3 years

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like it’s a little secret, like it’s all he has to give

for @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels <3

read on ao3

He didn’t mean for this to happen.

Well, no. He wanted it to happen, had been planning to make it happen with a lot more wooing and sweeping off of feet to get them to a perfect moment where he could tell Buck exactly how much he loves him and needs him in his life.

So he did want it to happen, of course. He just didn’t expect it to happen like it did — after a night out with the team, in the dim light of his living room, during a tipsy game of Truth or Dare like they were in high school again. Buck had said, “Dare”, and the three beers and two shots swimming in Eddie’s brain said, “I dare you to kiss me.”

And he did.

And one kiss turned into two, turned into making out on Eddie’s couch, turned into stumbling blindly toward the bedroom, turned into fingertips burning trails up backs, whispered confessions into necks, and muffled moans of yes and more and please and Eddie.

So it happened. It’s still happening.

That isn’t the problem.

The problem is that it happened six months ago and they still haven’t told anyone.

It’s not that they don’t trust their friends or that they aren’t serious about each other. In fact, they’re probably too serious about each other, about making this the thing that sticks. The morning after their first night together, they talked for hours about their past failed relationships and insecurities, laying every, ugly part out for each other to see.

“I just want to be enough,” Eddie said, throat as raw as his insides felt.

Buck’s hand slid up his back to scratch through his hair. “You’re more than enough for me. And I’d like to stick around and prove that to you, as long as you’ll let me.”

“Forever, ideally.”

“Forever it is.”

“I’m gonna fuck this up.”

Buck shrugged. “So will I. Maybe we give ourselves some time — fuck things up quietly before we let other people know?”

Eddie kissed Buck again, softly, soundly, relief surging through him because Buck gets it and wants to make this work and, this way, he feels like they may actually have a chance.

So that was that. Nothing really changed — Buck was still at the Diaz house more often than not, but now sleepovers meant Buck was in bed with Eddie instead of on the couch (except for the half hour before Chris woke up when Buck snuck out to the living room). They were still a dynamic duo on calls, they just also had each other after calls now too, especially bad ones. They were able to get to know each other as boyfriends instead of just best friends, figure out what they wanted and needed from a relationship, and smooth out the bumps they hit on their own, without any outside influence.

Now, they’re in a good spot. The best spot. And six months is a long time to keep quiet about something that makes Eddie so happy he could explode. But—

“They’re gonna be mad,” he says, head pillowed in Buck’s lap, absently picking at the label of his empty beer bottle. Buck hums, fingers combing through Eddie’s hair, the TV softly playing some reality show about a yacht crew.

“You don’t think they’ll be happy for us too?”

“They probably have a betting pool going on us. Then they’ll be mad and gloating.”

Buck’s hand stills on his head. “Eddie, if you don’t want to—”

Eddie scrambles up to sitting, taking both of Buck’s hands in his because he’s stopping that train of thought right now. “I do want to. I really do. I’m just—”

“Nervous?”

Eddie nods, absently placing a kiss inside Buck’s wrist as he gathers his thoughts. “I trust you. More than anything. And I trust us. I just don’t trust anything else, not yet. We’ve been in our own little world for a while, I just need to get used to that not being the case anymore.”

Buck’s quiet for a minute before he leans forward, kissing Eddie’s forehead. “I don’t really trust anything else either. I’m happy to wait and follow your lead. As long as you know you’re stuck with me.”

Eddie kisses him quickly before laying back down, Buck’s hand automatically threading into his hair again. “You’re stuck with me, too. Even when cute, injured bikers try to steal me away—”

He feels a sharp tug on his hair. “I knew you did that on purpose!”

Buck’s jealous streak is a mile wide, Eddie’s known that since the day they met. So what if he’s exploited it a little while they’ve been sneaking around? How could he have known for sure that a little extra flirting on a call would get him blown within an inch of his life in a storage closet as soon as they got back to the station? He’d surely expected it, but…

Whatever. Sue him. His boyfriend’s hot when he’s territorial, and he’s only a man.

~~~~~~~~~~

Eddie should have known the universe would start fucking with them almost immediately.

The team has never been shy about trying to set both of them up — there’s always a friend of a friend or a second cousin or a neighbor that would be perfect for, as Hen so lovingly puts it, “our hot and lonely coworkers”. It’s only gotten worse in the past month or so, when a team trivia night turned into a team-and-significant-others trivia night, “forcing” Buck and Eddie to pair up to even things out. Ever since, he’s been cornered almost every day by Hen and/or Chim, each with a handful of people that would love to take Eddie out to dinner, and he knows they do the same to Buck. He’s pretty sure they have a shared spreadsheet about it.

“Come on Eddie, Nick is great! He’s tall, he owns a gym, his dog is cute—”

“Chim,” Eddie cuts him off, pulling his head out of the fridge to face Chimney and Hen seated at the island. He could end it now, just tell them I don’t want to go out with your new personal trainer because I already have a boyfriend, but it’s the middle of shift and everyone is still lingering from lunch and...it’s too much right now. Over Chim’s shoulder, he can see Buck looking at him from the couch, probably thinking the same thing (because they do that a little too often). Buck just raises his eyebrows and shrugs, saying I’m following your lead. Eddie falls a little bit more in love with him.

He focuses back on Hen and Chim. “I appreciate you guys worrying about me in your own weird way, but I’m fine. Plus, I have a thing and Chris’ school Thursday night anyway.”

He does not have a thing at Chris’ school, and he feels bad using his kid like this, but drastic times call for drastic measures.

Hen holds up her hands as Chim deflates just a little. “Fine fine,” she says. “We know you’re busy.” She looks at Chim, and they have a quick conversation with their eyebrows before he gets up and slowly walks toward Buck.

“So, Buck, my dear pseudo brother-in-law. How’s your Thursday—”

Buck doesn’t even look up from his book. “No. Maddie and I are having a wine night, and we’re gonna talk shit about you the entire time.”

Chim squawks at that, and Eddie does a bad job of turning his laugh into a cough. It does get them to back off for the rest of the week, though Eddie resigns himself to this vicious cycle of theirs until he can finally shake the feeling that everything he and Buck have been building will dissolve through his fingertips as soon as they let anyone else in.

It’s vicious but predictable. Easy to follow, easy to get ahead of. It gives Eddie a little room to breathe while he sorts his head out.

Naturally, that’s when Abuela decides to get involved.

Eddie’s never been able to refuse her anything — that’s how he ended up at her house on his day off in the first place, fixing a broken dryer and tightening cabinets and anything else she happens to remember she needs while he’s here. He really doesn’t mind, and he’s happy to spend any time with her that he can, but she’s been...prying. All day. As casually as she can, but he can tell she’s fishing for something.

“Edmundo,” she says as they sit down for lunch. “You’re telling me you can’t even remember the last time you went on a date?”

Of course he can — he and Buck haven’t been able to go on many “normal” dates since they got together, but they did manage to coordinate a weekend in Ojai a few weeks back where all they did was eat, lounge by the pool, and have sex in their much-too-fancy-for-them hotel room.

That counts as a couple of dates, right?

He shrugs instead. “I’ve been busy. Between work and Chris, I’ve just got a lot on my plate. I don’t really have time for dating.” And I don’t think my boyfriend would be too happy about it, he thinks.

“Of course,” she says. She keeps eating like that’s the end of that, but he knows there’s something else. When she finishes, she pushes her plate aside and looks at him dead on, with that There’s no way you’re getting out of this look in her eyes. “You know, if you did want to get out there again, my friend Diana has a granddaughter around your age that just moved to LA and wants to meet some people.”

There it is.

“Abuela, I really don’t think—”

“It doesn’t have to be a date, it can just be dinner! The two of you getting to know each other. She’s sweet, she’s beautiful, and she’s a teacher, so she’s great with kids. At the very least, she could be a good friend.” She reaches across the table and grabs his hand in both of hers. “You work too hard, Edmundo. You deserve to do something nice for yourself, and that can be as easy as going out to a nice restaurant with a pretty girl for one night.”

He should tell her. He should tell her everything, even though Buck’s not here, even though he still has a stupid voice in his head telling him that as soon as their bubble pops, the likelihood of everything going belly up will skyrocket. He doesn’t want to lead this poor girl on, but Abuela is also looking at him all sad and hopeful, because she does want him to be happy, and—

“Fine. One dinner.”

Abuela cheers, actually cheers, and hugs him tightly before getting her phone. She calls Diana to set everything up themselves, rather than giving Eddie the girl’s — Chelsea’s — number. By the time he leaves, they’re set for 8pm next Friday at an Italian place downtown, and they each have a description of what the other will be wearing. “Like a real blind date,” Abuela says, and Eddie tries not to actually kick himself for falling into this trap.

He needs to get out of this. Abuela wouldn’t give him her number (“so your first meeting will be as magical as possible”), so he’ll just have to tell her right from the start on Friday. He feels bad, but hopefully she’s as nice as he’s been told and she takes it okay. And should he tell Buck? Probably, but is it even an issue if he’s not actually going through with the date? Buck’s working an overnight on Friday, so he won’t even be around when he’s supposed to be out. He could smooth it all over himself and then really sit down and get his shit together to figure out how they’re going to tell everyone, so no more fake dates happen ever again.

He’s got this. It’s not his best idea ever, but it’ll have to do. Everything will be totally fine.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Eds? You home?”

Shit.

Eddie scrambles to shut his bedroom door, tripping over himself in the process and landing flat on his back. That’s how Buck finds him, and his stomach drops as he watches Buck’s face switch between worry and confusion as he takes in Eddie’s button down and slacks.

“Uh, hey,” he says. Buck offers a hand to help him up. “Shouldn’t you be at work?”

“I’m on my way, just needed to grab my phone charger,” Buck says as he pulls Eddie up, checking him out again like he’s confirming that his brain isn’t playing tricks on him. “You’re awfully dressed up for your night off.”

Eddie sighs heavily through his nose. This is exactly what he was trying to avoid, and if he had left 10 minutes earlier like he meant to it would have been fine. But now Buck’s here, and he refuses to lie to him. He’s already been lying by omission enough this week.

“Abuela kinda set me up for dinner with her friend’s granddaughter,” he says quickly, panicking when Buck’s eyes go wide and his cheeks go pale. “But,” he moves closer, placing both hands firmly on Buck’s shoulders, taking it as a good sign that he doesn’t pull away, “I’m just going long enough to tell her that I’m very taken and this whole thing was a mistake. I promise, nothing was ever going to happen.” Buck does pull away then, and Eddie’s hands fall heavily back to his sides. “Buck, please—”

“I know,” he says quietly. “I know you wouldn’t do that to me. But Eds, I told you I’d follow your lead when it came to telling people about us, and if that meant fake dating other people that’s cool, I just wish you talked to me about it first. We’ve got to communicate and stuff, we’re on the same team here.”

“You’re right,” Eddie says. He slowly reaches for Buck’s hands, relieved again when he lets him. “I should have told you. It wasn’t supposed to be a big deal, and I didn’t want you to worry or think things were bad with us, because they’re not. But still. I’m sorry.” Buck doesn’t move, just stares at the floor. Eddie squeezes his hands. “Are we good?”

Buck finally looks up, and Eddie can’t get a read on his emotions like he usually can. But he squeezes his hands back and gives him a small smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “We’re good. But I should get going.” He slips out of Eddie’s hands and out the front door without another word.

There was no yelling or accusations or anything bad, really, but Eddie still feels gutted, like every fear he had about messing up is starting to manifest like he knew they would. He should go after Buck, tell him how much he loves him, how much he trusts him, but he’s 20 minutes late now, and when he pictures Chelsea standing all by herself in a crowded restaurant looking for him, he feels a whole different wave of guilt crash inside him.

He’s going to fix this, all of this. He has to. And he’s got a 30 minute drive to think of a new plan.

~~~~~~~~~~

The drive ends up being closer to an hour, and all Eddie does is convince himself that the next time Buck sees him, he’s going to realize that Eddie’s not good enough for him and break up with him on the spot.

The restaurant is loud and crowded, lit mainly by the low candles placed on each table. Eddie’s eyes scan the room until he spots her at the bar — emerald dress and gold heels, just like Diana had told him. He slides into the empty seat next to her, awkwardly waving to get her attention. “Chelsea?”

She looks at him with a warm smile. “Edmundo, right?”

“Eddie’s fine.” He steals himself, figures ripping the band-aid right off is probably the best thing to do. “Look, I’m really sorry—”

“That’s not a great way to start a date.”

Guilt curls tighter in his stomach and up his arms. “This has been a huge misunderstanding. I’m kind of— I’m already in a relationship, and we haven’t told anyone, and my abuela was just trying to help, and she knows I can’t say no to her, and now everything is falling apart.” He feels even worse dumping all this on a woman he’s known for three minutes, but his brain seems to be doing its own thing at the moment, he’s just along for the ride.

She looks at him for a minute, before waving the bartender over. “Well, you’re here, and you sound like you’re about to lose your mind. Have one drink with me, and tell me everything.”

So he orders a Jack on the rocks and spills his guts — tells her about Buck, about why they kept everything under wraps, his plans to fix everything, how he’s so fucking scared that once everyone knows and their little fantasy world is gone, Buck will realize that he can do better, that he deserves better, and Eddie will have to put himself back together somehow. He’s not sure exactly how long he talks, but Chelsea listens intently to every word, and Eddie actually feels better when he’s done.

She finishes the last of her gin and tonic and looks him right in the eye. “I know we just met, but can I be real with you?”

Eddie nods as he knocks back his own drink.

“Your plans suck.”

He laughs and almost shoots whiskey out of his nose. “Yeah, I think I’m starting to figure that out too.”

“Look — you love your boyfriend, right?” she asks as she hands him a napkin.

“Of course. More than anything.”

“And he loves you.”

He thinks about the way Buck looks at him, no matter where they are, like he's the only person worth looking at. How it took a little while, but now he actually feels worthy of a gaze like that. “Yeah, he does.”

She shrugs. “Then it sounds like you have nothing to worry about. You have each other — everything and everyone else is just background noise.”

It’s such a simple thing, something Eddie’s known for months now, but hearing it come from someone else gives his mind that final shove that makes everything click into place and finally stick. They do have each other, he and Buck are a team, on and off the clock. That’s not going to change, if anything because they’re both too stubborn and in too deep to let it change.

“I know you’re already a teacher, but you should seriously consider becoming a therapist if you ever switch careers.”

“Believe me, this is nothing compared to the middle school problems I deal with on a daily basis.”

He shudders at the very idea of dealing with that many 13 year olds. “I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, but thanks.” Slumping back in his chair, he scrubs a hand over his face. “I don’t even know how to start fixing this.”

Chelsea hums, face scrunched as she thinks. “You said he’s at work right? With all your friends too?” Eddie nods. “Sounds like as good a time as any to tell them. And remind Buck that you're with him one hundred percent.”

Eddie’s never been one for big, romantic gestures, but she’s right, and this is for Buck. He’ll do pretty much anything for Buck.

He stands, takes some cash out of his wallet for their drinks and places it on the bar. “Thank you Chelsea, seriously. This was...weird, and not a good first impression of me, but you’re a lifesaver.”

She smiles that warm smile again, and it feels real, no trace of pity or awkwardness. “No problem, I’m happy to help. Maybe we can get coffee sometime, as friends? I didn’t get a chance to dive into my own relationship woes.”

“Deal,” he says, laughing as he hands her his phone to actually get her number. They hug goodbye, and he all but sprints out the door and back to his truck, mind already racing trying to figure out what the hell he’s going to do once he gets to the firehouse.

If he’s honest, this “date” really couldn’t have gone any better. He hopes the rest of his night turns out just as positive, too.

~~~~~~~~~~

The team’s in between calls when Eddie finally arrives, which is great but also does not give him a lot of time to prepare himself for whatever comes next. Rationally, he knows everything will be fine — the team will be thrilled for them, Buck will be thrilled — but there’s still that nagging voice telling him that Chelsea was wrong and that everything’s going to blow up in his face.

He shoves that voice as far away as he can and walks into the station.

There’s no plan this time beyond “find Buck”, which he does pretty quickly once he gets up to the loft. Everyone else is up here too, it seems, but he sees Buck first, curled up on the couch and watching Hen and Chim play Super Smash Bros. He has that same blank look he had on his face when he left Eddie’s earlier, and Eddie hates it. But that’s exactly what he came here to fix.

Buck double takes when he notices him at the top of the stairs, slowly unfurling himself to stand. “What are you doing here?”

A thousand thoughts fly through his head, trying to coalesce into some sweeping romantic speech that would reassure Buck of all the things Eddie’s sure he’s doubting right now. But nothing feels right, nothing even begins to scratch the surface of what Eddie’s feeling, has been feeling for the past months. Everything is fleeting and empty, pale in comparison to the technicolor love he feels every time Buck so much as looks in his direction.

Words aren’t working, but Eddie really isn’t a man of words anyway — he is, however, and man of action.

“I’m communicating,” he says, taking three long strides across the loft to Buck, grabbing his face in both of his hands, and kissing him hard. He tastes like smoke and peppermint and something fundamentally Buck that Eddie’s addicted to, and he feels a smile against his lips as Buck kisses him back in earnest. He’s not sure if it’s been seconds or years when they finally pull away from each other, but they’re both breathless and Buck is glowing and Eddie doesn’t care about anything else.

“I love you,” he says, hands still on Buck’s cheeks. “And I’m sorry. I’m always on your team, as long as you’ll let me be there.”

Buck’s smile somehow gets even bigger. “Forever, ideally.”

Eddie’s laugh bubbles out of him as he leans back in, but stops when he hears a throat clearing somewhere to his right. He looks, and everyone — everyone, including people who were definitely downstairs when he got here — is staring at them with varying degrees of shock and excitement on their faces. Ripping the band-aid off works in his favor again.

“So,” Hen says slowly from the couch. “This is new.”

Eddie shrugs as he grabs Buck’s hand. “Not really. Unless six months old is new, I guess.”

“Six months old?”

“Closer to seven, actually,” Buck says.

There’s a clatter as Chim drops his controller and stands, arms up over his head. “That means I win!”

“Whoa, hold on, you do not—”

The loft erupts as everyone swarms Hen, talking technicalities and logistics of what was apparently a very elaborate betting pool. Buck hides his face in Eddie’s shoulder as he laughs.

“Do you think they’re actually happy for us?” Eddie asks. “Or mad that we screwed up their winnings?”

Buck looks up, resting his chin on Eddie’s shoulder. “Probably both. But I’m the real winner here.”

“And a huge cheeseball,” Eddie says.

“Better get used to it, because you’re not getting rid of me,” Buck says, winding his arms around Eddie’s waist and kissing him again.

“Forever, right?” Eddie asks as they break apart, foreheads resting together. All he sees are Buck’s eyes, sparkling blue in the light of the loft and so full of happiness — happiness because of Eddie — that he wants to drown in them.

“Yeah. Forever. No turning back now.”

Eddie likes the sound of that.

#buddie #buddie fic #evan buckley #eddie diaz #911 fic #911 fox #9-1-1 #happy season 4 everyone!!!#can't wait to see these idiots again in 7ish hours #ficcery

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bitsandbobsofwriting · 3 years

Text

The aftermath of Merlin snapping, and yelling at Arthur in the middle of the forest;

Arthur pushes for change, the gang takes bets on when Merthur will happen, and someone, somewhere, is grumpy.

Part 2 of Merlin’s Angry Outburst.

Part 1 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Once Arthur has a first draft of the repeal, the first people he brings in on it (with Merlin’s approval, of course) are the 5 knights, Gwen, Gaius, and Morgana.

(Morgana, who later that evening comes back to Arthur's chamber in tears (Merlin is also there) to reveal her magic, and thank him for not being Uther.)

All of them enthusiastically agree, after only a little conversation.

Elyan and Leon are the most... dubious, but only because of the practical factor, they don't disagree with the actual repeal.

After months of the gang working in secret, they reveal their best draft to the council. At least half the council are new members that Arthur appointed, the rest are left over from Uther’s time.

They argue back and forth for a while, half vs half. A few of the older members, who were around before the purge, slowly start changing their minds.

In the end, it takes them maybe a month to get a majority, and Arthur overrules the remaining opposition. He is King after all, technically, he doesn’t even have to have a council.

Days after the agreement is reached, Arthur goes out personally to collect a few specific Druids, who had been waiting just outside the border for the go ahead.

It takes maybe another month to go through all the laws thoroughly, changing and editing and altering what needs to be altered. With the help of Arthur's close advisors on the political aspects, and the help of the Druids, Merlin, and Gaius, on the magical aspects (what should be allowed freely, what should be monitored, and what should remain fully banned).

The city celebrates when the announcement is made, they all loved the new King anyway, and had been overjoyed with the drop in executions, and deliberate ignoring of small instances of magic.

After a feast to celebrate the new found freedom among the people, the gang gathers once more, in private, and Merlin tells a shortened version of the story he'd told Arthur all those months ago.

None of them are that surprised (Gaius, Morgana, and Lancelot already knew, of course).

If they hadn't suspected Merlin of being a sorcerer before this whole thing started (Leon, Gwaine, and Gwen definitely suspected) , then they had certainly begun to in the last few months. They cheer when Merlin finishes telling them "just how often I've saved your oblivious arses" .

They cheer even louder when Arthur announces that he would be made court sorcerer, and it would be made official in a ceremony before the week ended.

There are no cheers when Morgana stands.

Curious eyes land on her, probably due to how terrified she looks, but the small encouraging nods and little smiles she gets from her brother (her Brother), Merlin, and Gwen, give her the strength she needs to tell everyone of her magic as well.

They see she is frightened, they imagine how difficult it must have been, being at first Uther’s ward, and then his daughter. They smile gently, and she receives hugs a plenty. Once all the congratulations are out of the way, she sits back down next to Gwen, still shaky and full of adrenaline, but happy.

She spends the remainder of the group’s quiet celebrations with her hand gripped in Gwen's under the table.

(Read this how you want, I personally envision it as the start of something)

So the days draw on, Merlin is announced Court Sorcerer, Arthur hires another manservant and gives Merlin a large set of chambers in the same hallways as Arthur's, complete with all the books on magic Arthur can find, and several of the magical artefacts that had previously been kept locked away (Merlin and Arthur are the only ones who are able to gain access to the room, something magicky I guess).

(No one mentions that that corridor is supposed to be for royalty only. Leon figures they're bound to realise that they're in love with each other any day now, and then Merlin will practically be royalty anyway so... might as well cut out the middle bit of having to shuffle chambers again later on).

The kingdom is prospering, and for months after the initial announcement, and implementations of the new laws, sorcerers and nobles from all over Albion, visit Camelot, to give congratulations to the King.

They give gifts and provide knowledge.

The Druids, however, are a slightly different story.

The ones who had been helping with the paperwork, had been... odd(?) around Merlin. But they respected his wish to keep all of that under wraps, or at least until it was announced publicly.

Arthur and Gaius know the whole Emrys story. Lancelot and Morgana know bits of it... but other than that... as far as anyone is concerned, the newly promoted Court Sorcerer is just another wizard.

The new Druids entering the kingdom are paying brief respects to the Forever King (I mean... at this point, he's still only King of Camelot... which is what he was before the magic ban repeal), before staring in reverence at the Court Sorcerer stood by his side.

They respect his wishes to keep the worshipping and gift giving to a minimum, though they still come to him for requests of miracles and ask him to perform druid ceremonies (blessings and name-givings and weddings and funerals (though they prefer to call them celebrations of life, rather than commiserations of death) and such).

Merlin can only brush off so many displays of such awe before the rest of The Gang demands to know what’s up, at which point he has to come clean about the whole... “Most Powerful Warlock To Ever Walk The Earth” thing.

Much to Merlin’s chagrin (and everyone else's amusement) the Druids still insist on calling him Emrys. The stubborn ones sometimes even go for "My Lord Emrys", which gets them a scowl from Merlin (and barely concealed laughter from everyone else).

Maybe... later on... when Morgana is more comfortable with her magic, after a few months practicing with Merlin (with a supportive Gwen Always at her side) , she is announced as the Court Seer.

Merlin had never had much luck with prophetic visions, but once Morgana’s fear died down, once she learned to let it flow, and breathe through it, the visions come easier, and kinder.

She stops seeing only visions of doom, and worst case scenarios, instead she has dreams of the many paths the future may take.

She does not panic when a path seems grim and dark, for she has a King and a Warlock and Gwen, by her side. Always. And they work through the future together.

So the ban has been repealed officially for around 6 months.

Arthur is a couple months away from completing his second year as King. And he and Merlin are still beating around the bush.

The betting pool for when they’ll finally get together has been growing bigger and bigger. Practically the whole castle is in on it now, with Gwen and Morgana as the ring leaders. Whoever wins... will be very lucky.

(It's Leon in the end, he pays attention, and he know what his boys are like. But he's a noble and has no need for the money, he pays for a few rounds of drinks and donates the rest to one of children's homes in the lower town).

But the war comes first.

Camelot has been prospering, and has many supporters throughout Albion, but one of the kingdoms, it doesn't matter which, you decide, does NOT like this.

Scouts and small patrols have been needling Camelot’s borders for months now, and Arthur and his Council (and Inner Council) have been making quiet preparations. They know that some sort of... something, is coming soon.

Especially when Morgana begins to dream of battles and blood and lightening.

They prepare for, and expect, a full scale war, but they hope for some negotiations and a peace treaty with the opposition.

Their hopes are dashed, when a messenger is escorted into the throne room, wearing The Opposition’s colours, with a letter.

Said letter is an angry rebuttal of everything Camelot stands for, full of accusations of abandoning tradition, and spitting in the face of great leaders, of which this soft boy-king should NOT be counted as.

At the end, there was an official declaration of war.

The messenger boy was obviously scared to death, and once Arthur read the P.S, which invited Arthur to torture and/or execute him to the whatever extent he wants, he understood why. Without any hesitation, he offers the boy a job in the stables, a new wardrobe of clothes, and a servant’s bed in the castle.

After the official council meeting on the matter, setting up war committees, laying out contingency plans, organising the distribution of emergency evacuation plans, and discussing potential aid that could be requested from allies, Arthur pulls the gang together, for their own meeting.

“We knew this was coming, and there is no need to panic yet. Our outer borders are well patrolled, and we’re still getting up to date reports. The city walls hold strong, but I want to send out patrols to warn the villages of what’s coming. Start closer to the border, and work our way in. Leon?”

“My Lord, I have teams prepared for exactly that already, I just need to give the word and they’ll go.”

“Good. Morgana, I need you to try and keep focusing your visions, if we have even a small idea of how they might try to initiate the first battle, it’ll be a huge advantage.”

“Me and Merlin have been practising some new techniques to control where and when I can see, we’ll write everything down, and ask the Druids if they’ve seen anything as well.”

Arthur holds in a smile at the confidence in her voice. He is unendingly proud of how far his sister had come, and made a mental note to tell her that when all this was over.

“Brilliant, keep me in the loop. Gwen, when we’re done here, go and let the forgery know, the Royal Household will pay them extra to push out as much long range ammunition as they can. Arrows and crossbow bolts, we need as many as they can produce.” Gwen nods, and Arthur finally looks towards Merlin:

“And Merlin, I need you to be ready. Don’t wear yourself out too much in the next few weeks, I need you in good condition, if we’re to win this with minimal casualties-”

He glances over at Morgana before he continues:

“If the two of you could also ask the Druids if they have any volunteer healers. Make sure they know they aren’t obligated to come, but any help in the infirmaries would be greatly appreciated.” Morgana nods once more, as does Merlin, before he speaks:

“There’s a camp a couple hours ride outside the city at the moment, we’ll head out at first light-” He pauses and closes his eyes for a second, tilting his head, before looking to Morgana:

“They’re expecting us.”

Arthur addresses the room again:

“Right. I think that’s all for now, anyone have anything to add?”

Gaius responds after a moment:

“My Lord, if I could make a request for a few servants to help me set up supplies for the infirmary? Extensive preparations will need to be made to ensure that I have all I’ll need. Preferably people with rough herbal knowledge, if at all possible.”

Arthur nods straight away, responding:

“Yes, of course, I’ll ask the Housekeeper and the Steward who they can spare this evening, and they’ll be ready for you in the morning. Anything else?” At the silence in the room, Arthur tells everyone to get to work.

Leon marches straight down to the training grounds (Lancelot, Gwaine, Percival, and Elyan following him) to ring the summoning bell and inform the knights of the developments, and their tasks.

Gwen heads straight to the forgery (her and Elyan still oversee work there, but they have employees (and a few trainees) to run it) to give the Kings order.

Gaius shuffles out, and makes his way back to his quarters, already making mental lists of ingredients needed, and work to be done.

Arthur, Morgana, and Merlin are left, the royal siblings thinking to themselves, and Merlin thinking to someone else. Arthur contemplates that the whole mental link thing he had going on with the Druids was extremely useful.

Both his and Morgana’s thoughts were interrupted by Merlin huffing, and clenching his fists as he opens his eyes, obviously unhappy with whatever was said:

“Merlin?” From Morgana has the Court Sorcerer looking up from scowling at the table. He replies after wiping the frown off his face:

“Oh, it’s fine. They just made a... stupid suggestion is all. Don’t worry about it.”

“Stupid? Doesn’t sound like the Druids. What was it?”

Merlin looks mildly uncomfortable at that, and replies slowly:

“It... doesn’t matter. I’ll tell you another time. It’s late, you should practice some meditation and head to sleep, no potions tonight. And remember to keep some parchment and a quill by your bed, so you can scribble down anything you see-”

Merlin stands abruptly and heads towards the door:

“-I��m going to check the wards on the outer wall, and push a little more energy into the wells. I’ll see you both bright an early.” With that, Merlin heads out the room swiftly.

Arthur looks to his sister questioningly, but she shrugs as she responds:

“Who knows. “I’ll tell you later” means he doesn’t want you to know, OR he’s hoping I’ll forget because he doesn’t want either of us to know. He’s right though, I should meditate for a while-”

Morgana stands at this:

“- hopefully I’ll see you before we head off, if not, I suppose it’ll be dinner in the evening. Good night, brother.” Morgana leaves the room gracefully, heading in the direction of her chambers.

Arthur thinks for only a moment, before rushing off, catching up with Merlin as he readied his horse, preparing for the journey to the outer walls:

“I’ll come with you. I find I quite enjoy watching you do magic, and to be perfectly honest, I could do with some fresh air to help me think.”

Arthur pretends to ignore the slight blush that dusts Merlin’s cheeks, and readies his own horse. The two of them ride out of the stables and make the journey down the cobbled roads in comfortable silence, side by side.

They take their time on the journey, and the 15 minutes of companionable silence is finally broken by Arthur, who looks at Merlin curiously, as he says:

“So what did they suggest?”

Merlin looks up sharply at that, broken from his deep train of thought as he dumbly replies “What?”

“The Druids. What was the stupid suggestion?” Merlin’s eyes widen at that, and he blushes once more as he looks determinedly forward:

“Oh. That. I told you, it doesn’t-”

“Merlin...”

“Oh fine! They suggested that I... that I forge a mental link with you. Like the one I have with them.” The sorcerer purses his lips at that, and continues to avoid Arthur’s gaze:

“You can do that? Well... would it be such a bad idea? I mean we aren’t going to be able to meet and discuss things as often as I’d like through this whole ordeal. AND you’re basically the Kingdom’s powerhouse, I’m sort of relying on your magical know-how here. Surely it wouldn’t be a bad thing? For us to be able to converse across the battle fields?”

Arthur, in an effort to not be hurt, reminds himself that he doesn’t know all that much about magic, and it very well could be a stupid suggestion, instead of one that Merlin is just personally opposed to.

Merlin, in response, looks to Arthur in great shock, before sighing and looking down to his horses mane:

“It.... is possible. And fairly easy, technically. But it would be painful, AND permanent. I wouldn’t be able to undo it after we won. And a temporary connection takes far too much energy to maintain, even for a short time. I just figured you wouldn’t want me in your head for the rest of our lives.” He tries to inject a little humour into his words, but it falls flat, and he just seems sad.

Arthur pretends he doesn’t notice however, and responds quickly:

“How painful are we talking? I mean I’ve been hurt pretty badly before. And... how exactly does it work? Would we be able to read each other’s mind constantly, without the other knowing? Or what?”

Merlin raises his eyebrows in shock at that, and his answer comes out slowly as he looks at Arthur:

“Like... a really bad headache? Imagine the hardest you’ve ever been hit, without passing out. It would last for a few minutes after the connection is initially forged, but would fade slowly over the next day or so. And no. Once the connection is established we wouldn’t be in each other’s head all the time, we would just be able to sort of... project our voices to one another. Other thoughts would be safe, even if you were thinking about me, I wouldn’t hear it unless you were thinking to me... if that makes sense.”

By the end of his explanation, he’s looking nervously at the King, who is deep in thought:

“Hmm. Ok. I... only if you agree but... it might not be a bad idea. Even after the war is over. There have definitely been times where I’ve needed your opinion on something but you’ve been elsewhere, or we’ve been in the presence of someone else. Of course we’ve been fine so far, if you don’t want to, but-”

Merlin interrupts him, speaking quickly:

“I’m fine with it. I agree, it would be useful. So... I can bring what we need back from the camp tomorrow?”

Arthur nods firmly:

“Yes. The sooner the better, we can do it tomorrow evening, if that’s enough time for you?” Merlin once again looks shocked at this, as Arthur stares at him:

“Oh! Yeah, Yes. That’s fine. Like I said, it’s not particularly difficult, and I can ask Gaius to prepare us something for the pain during the day. Are you... are you sure? It is Permanent.”

Arthur rolls his eyes and huffs:

“Yes, you said that already Merlin. Are you sure?”

Merlin nodded his head decidedly, and spoke confidently:

“Yes. You’re right, it’s not a bad idea. Come on, if we hurry, we’ll make it to the walls, and then to the main well, and then back to the castle, before dark.”

The pair of them hurry their horses, and after another 10 minutes of comfortable silence, they finally reach the City Gates.

The guards give a quick bow, and The King and The Court Sorcerer jump off their horses before handing the reigns to one of the Gate stablehands.

Arthur (and the guards) watch in barely concealed wonder as Merlin presses his hands against the rock of the wall, and closes his eyes.

The golden glow can still be seen from below his eyelids, and he hums slightly as he frowns in concentration, seeming to push into the wall.

Arthur sees a short of... sheen, ripple across the rock, and extend into the sky. Merlin steps back and nods, admiring his handy work:

“They’re holding strong, I’ve extended the height as well. Kilgharrah and Aithusa should be the only ones able to get over it without alerting me now, from the air at least-”

Merlin heads to retake his horse, Arthur following him, before he continues:

“Though I still want to check the tunnels again at some point in the next few days.”

“Of course. Relax Merlin, it’s barely begun, and the borders still hold strong. We’ve plenty of time before things kick off in any way.” He makes sure to speak quietly. A public announcement hasn’t been made yet, and it would be bad if rumours started spreading before The King had time to put together a proper disclosure.

Merlin nods distractedly, and urges his horse to go faster as he heads towards the main well, in the town square. It’s late, not long until sunset, so there shouldn’t be many, if any, people there. Arthur speaks again:

“Why are we visiting the well? I wasn’t aware of any problems?”

“There aren’t any, but once the announcement is made, and once the outer villages are told what’s happening, we’ll have hundreds, probably thousands, of people flock to the city for safety. I just want to make sure we’re prepared for such an influx, and boost our water levels a little.”

Arthur nods at his response, but doesn’t say anything. He chooses instead to admire the man Merlin had become. He held himself differently, more strong, confident in who he was. Just like he had back when he was still a manservant, he served Arthur, and his people, above and beyond his job description. Merlin took upon himself, not only the politics he was supposed to oversee, but the personal safety of both the King, and every Camelot citizen, and he did it all with an alarming amount of grace.

Arthur sometimes catches himself thinking that it was almost as if Merlin was built to be a king. He may not like the spotlight, but he was a protector, and leader, unlike anything Arthur had ever seen before.

“I don’t think I ever thanked you, Merlin. It feels like years ago now, that you yelled at me in a forest.” He says it with a grin, but Merlin flinches. He continues before The Sorcerer interrupts him though:

“Really Merlin. Thank you. You were right, I would’ve got there in the end, but it wasn’t fair for people to suffer in the mean time, and you took the fall in their place. You’re a hero to your people... and to me. You should be proud of your accomplishments, I know I am.”

Arthur resists the urge to duck his head as Merlin looks at him in bewilderment, a definite flush on his cheeks as he replies:

“I... thank you, Arthur. I always had faith in you-” Merlin begins to grin before he continues:

“-and besides, someone had to knock you down a peg. Perhaps you should hire someone to take you into the forest and yell at you every once in a while.”

Arthur laughs at that, and Merlin tries to push down the blush as Arthur responds:

“Now Merlin, why on earth would I hire someone for such a job, when I already have you?”

Merlin chuckles as he answers:

“Yeah, and don’t you forget it, My Lord. Hold the horses, I’ll just be a minute.” With that, Arthur realises they’ve made it to the well, and dismounts as Merlin has, holding both of the horses reigns as he watches Merlin approach the well.

The Sorcerer crouches down, and once again closes his eyes in concentration as he presses his hands into the stone of the well. The glow is a little less bright this time, but Arthur admires it nonetheless.

Merlin finishes quickly, and gathers his horse from Arthur once more, nodding towards the castle.

Arthur follows as Merlin hurries towards the looming building. He wasn’t sure why he was in such a rush, but he only begins questions it when Merlin hurriedly hands the horses of to a stablehand, and continues to run up the castle steps.

Arthur can only just keep up with Merlin, not having the breath to ask him what’s wrong, before Merlin suddenly comes to a stop, catching his breath for a moment to go through a door leading to the highest balcony on the West of the castle:

“Merlin... what.... what are you-”

Merlin wordlessly interrupts The King as he points to the skyline, the sun only a few minutes away from touching the horizon.

There’s not a cloud in sight, and the sky is painted in oranges and pinks in front of them, bleeding into deep purples and blues behind the castle.

Merlin finally mutters, not looking away from the sunset:

“Call me a girl all you want Arthur, but nothing compares to this. It’s beautiful, I come to watch it whenever I’ve got the time.”

Arthur had only glanced briefly at the sunset before looking back at Merlin in wonder, a fond smile on his face (not that Merlin would notice).

He stares at the side of Merlin’s face, the orange sky making the gold in his eyes look even brighter, and the glare of the fading sun making his hair shine. A gentle breeze has Merlin shiver slightly, and Arthur’s smile widens as he responds, so quietly he’s not even sure if Merlin hears him:

“Hmm. Beautiful.” He doesn’t look away.

THIS IS COMPLETED! All 5 parts have been posted:)

If y’all want my thoughts on anything specific let me know✌️

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flameohotwife · 3 years

Note

kataang 19 for the ask fluff T_T

19. "You know, I think my parents would be proud if I brought you home."

This *also* turned super long, and a little sad in parts though I still think (hope) it's adequately fluffy. I am apparently incapable of ficlets at this point. I'm sorry! Read here or on ao3. Rated G. 3k words.

Katara was freezing. She had only been gone from the Southern Water Tribe for a year and already she had forgotten how cold it was there. They had decided to take a quick trip to Katara’s home to officially tell her father they were together after finalizing the Harmony Restoration Movement in Ba Sing Se, and were quickly approaching the South Pole on Appa. She wrapped her parka more tightly around her, shivering.

“Aang, don’t worry,” Katara comforted from the saddle. Even from this distance she could see his nervous fidgeting. He gave Appa instructions and climbed back to join her and Sokka and Suki. Toph had just recently found her first metalbending student, and was not about to leave Yu Dao to go to “a block of ice I can’t see or bend on.” So the two couples journeyed southward, with a lot of talk of “oogies” from Sokka, a lot of snippy comments about the thinness of tent walls from Katara, and a lot of unsure glances from Aang and Suki.

“Yeah, Aang,” Sokka chimed in as the airbender settled in next to his girlfriend. His girlfriend! It still felt strange to call her that. It seemed too informal for all that she meant to him, but anything more would sound ridiculous coming out of a thirteen-year-old’s mouth. “Don’t worry about the tribe. They already love you, remember? The kids are just going to want a bunch of rides down Appa’s tail again.”

“Oh! They haven’t gotten to see him fly, yet!” Katara added excitedly.

“Plus, you’re the Avatar,” Suki said, rolling her eyes. “You stopped the hundred-year war! If that doesn’t endear you to everyone, I don’t know what will.” Suki rubbed her arms over the green parka Katara had made her, looking down uncomfortably.

“You helped, too, Suki,” Katara reasoned, leaning over to place a hand on her friend’s arm. “And Dad already knows you’re together and definitely approves. You helped break him out of prison!”

Suki smiled back at her in thanks while Sokka wrapped an arm around his girlfriend proudly. “The truth is,” he started, “Katara and I couldn’t have picked better people to pair off with, and the Southern Water Tribe has been starved for happiness for a long time, now. Neither of you have anything to worry about. They’ll be proud to know you. I bet there’ll even be a feast!” He rubbed his belly with his free hand.

“But, I let all those warriors get captured… on the Day of Black Sun,” Aang said. He had kept his guilt over that day to himself for so long, but Katara knew. She knew it had hung heavy on his heart since the moment she found him crying on Appa, and she knew that he needed to clear that pain away.

“Aang, look at me,” she said, taking his face in her hands. “The Fire Nation knew we were coming that day, but you couldn’t have known that. None of us did. We trust you as the Avatar and we trust you as Aang—that hasn’t changed. Warriors are led into danger all the time. That’s what they train for. Nobody blames you.”

Aang took a deep, clarifying breath. He tried to remember what Guru Pathik had told him about accepting the bad things that have happened and forgiving himself. He had to keep the pools of his chakras flowing, and while this guilt hadn’t accumulated to the point of blocking his water chakra, he knew it could if he didn’t keep it in check. He released his breath, feeling much warmer and more confident than he had a moment ago, and smiled at Katara.

“Thank you, Katara.” The way he looked at her caused her breath to catch; she still wasn’t used to the pure, unadulterated devotion in his eyes. Her heart swelled with it, and she went in for a hug.

She expected Sokka to call out “Oogies!” but he just sat back with his girlfriend and rolled his eyes. Her brother was much more used to these displays of affection than she gave him credit for, anyway. She had hugged and touched and even kissed Aang on the cheek so many times throughout their journey to end the war, and he hadn’t batted an eye. Kissing seemed to be what brought the cries of protest out, but even those seemed half-hearted the more he was forced to witness it.

Katara felt that telltale swoop in her stomach as Appa started his descent, and separated from Aang, grinning widely. They were here! She could hardly contain her excitement, and Aang fed off of it. He would do anything to make her happy. He jumped back to Appa’s head to steer him towards the center of the village.

The children who had been outside playing all gathered together when they saw the large shape of Appa in the sky. Some of them even recognized him—shouts of “It’s the sky bison! It’s Aang! It’s the Avatar!” could be heard as the group approached. The ensuing ruckus drew adults out of their huts as well. Katara noticed there were more snow huts than tents, now, probably thanks to Pakku and the benders he’d brought from the North when he sought out her grandmother, who was just joining the throng of people. She saw her father’s face among the crowd, as well, and her heart soared.

She and Sokka were leaning over the edge of the saddle, waving to everyone and sporting wide, toothy grins when they finally landed. As soon as Appa’s feet touched the snow they both jumped down, rushing to greet their family. Aang and Suki hung back a moment, unsure of their place, until Hakoda pulled back from his children to open his arms to them, smiling.

“It’s so good to see you Aang, Suki,” he said, embracing them all in a group hug. His voice was warm and strong and he hoped it was welcoming, too. Whatever his feelings about his kids growing up and moving on, he wanted their partners to feel safe and loved and cared for here.

When they all pulled back—some a little teary eyed from the reunion—they saw Kanna and Pakku making their way over. Gran Gran was smiling in a way Katara wasn’t sure she had ever seen before. She looked so happy. So at peace. She had lived her entire life in the war and had been the one to tell Katara (and Sokka, when he would listen) the stories about the Avatar when they were younger. Katara supposed this all must be like a dream come true for her as well. She hugged each member of the group in turn.

“It’s good to see you again, young airbender,” she said to Aang, before turning to Suki and the others. “And it’s wonderful to meet you, Suki. Pakku tells me you’re quite the warrior, from what he could tell while you all were camped outside Ba Sing Se. I’m so proud of all of you for stopping this war.”

They seemed to remember the rest of the village was watching them, and Hakoda cleared his throat. The kids stopped playing on Appa’s tail to listen to their Chief.

“Everyone! Sokka and Katara are home and they’ve brought guests!” he started. His voice boomed powerfully across the ice. “I’d like you to meet Suki of the Kyoshi Warriors, and of course you all have met Avatar Aang and his bison already.” There was some applause and squeals from the children, and Aang blushed and waved. “I think this calls for a celebration. Let’s feast in the new council lodge tonight!”

“I told you,” Sokka whispered to Aang. Aang chuckled in return as the crowd cheered once more before returning to their business. Hakoda invited them all into his hut and they sat down in front of the fire with some tea, along with Gran Gran and Pakku.

“So, Dad, there’s actually a reason we came down here,” Katara opened once they were all settled on cushions around the low, circular table. She was sitting between Aang and Suki, and her father was directly across from her, flanked by Sokka and Gran Gran. Pakku sipped his tea observantly between Aang and Kanna. “Aang and I…” She grabbed his hand under the table. No matter how confident she was in their relationship, she’d never had to announce a new relationship to her family before. She felt sure she’d never have to, again. “We’re together, now.”

Hakoda smiled. Kanna beamed. Pakku looked like he had accidentally swallowed the bitter leaves of his tea, but Katara ignored him; he always looked that way.

Hakoda was the first to speak. “I figured this would happen eventually,” he said, laughing when both Aang and Katara looked somewhat shocked. “I’ve seen the way you two look at each other. And the way Katara was so protective of you, Aang, when you were in a coma...and her heartbreak when you left? I knew there was more than just friendship going on, even if Katara was too hard-headed to admit it.”

“Hey!” Katara protested.

“He’s not wrong,” Sokka spoke up. “You were the one who kept putting it off. Even after Aang kissed you at the Invasion…”

“You knew about that?!” Aang asked, flabbergasted.

“Toph told me,” he shrugged. “The subs were made of metal… she could feel it.” Sokka shuddered.

Both Aang and Katara were as red as tomato-carrots at this point, but Kanna actually laughed.

“Do you remember what I told you when you left the South Pole?” she asked, speaking to her grandchildren.

“Yeah, yeah, something about it being our destiny to help Aang, I think,” Sokka answered.

“You said…” Katara gasped, eyes wide. “You said our ‘destinies are intertwined with his.’” She looked at Aang, smiling. “I thought it was just about ending the war, but…”

“I also called him your boyfriend, that day, if you’ll remember,” Sokka pointed out. “You denied it then, but face it, Katara. You were already smitten from the day we met Aang.”

“Yeah,” she admitted. “I was.” The blush was even higher on her cheeks, now. Aang looked as though someone had just granted him his biggest wishes: a mixture of surprise and glee covered his face as he looked at her. He squeezed her hand under the table, not completely sure she was still real; that this wasn’t a dream. Katara had really liked him for as long as he’d liked her?

“It was the same for me and Suki,” Sokka continued on. “The moment she beat me...again... in that dojo on Kyoshi Island, I knew.”

“Awww, Sokka,” Suki cooed.

“I mean, any girl who can take down a Water Tribe warrior is girlfriend material, am I right?”

Everyone at the table exchanged glances before simultaneously rolling their eyes and laughing. It was so good to be around family again, Katara thought. But what was even better was that she still felt at home and comfortable—maybe even moreso—with Aang there by her side. She could see him at future family gatherings, see him as an adult, proudly holding their child at the Solstice Festival in the South, comfortably talking with everyone from the children to the elders. It filled her with warmth, and she pressed her shoulder into his as the conversation went on well into the afternoon.

That evening, after the feast, there was dancing. It was different from the dancing they had done before, in the Fire Nation and the Earth Kingdom. Katara and Sokka, along with the rest of the tribe spent much of the evening laughing and teaching Aang and Suki to dance in the Water Tribe way, readjusting their form, feeling the heavy beat of the drums; the qilaut.

At one point Aang and Katara stumbled outside for some air, clutching their stomachs which were beginning to ache from so much merriment. They sat back in a snowbank, arms around each other, watching the stars twinkling in silent chorus above them, taking comfort in each other’s presence.

“You know,” Aang said after a time, “I think my parents would be proud if I brought you home. Would’ve been proud, I guess. Gyatso, too. We could have celebrated and eaten fruit pies and sang and danced at the temples...” Katara looked up at him, expecting to see the grief and sadness etched in his face that was so often there when he spoke of his people, but he looked...wistful. Like he was perhaps picturing such a reunion, and her heart ached for all that he had lost. She had never even heard him mention his parents before. “Being here, around your family and your tribe… it’s been so wonderful, Katara.”

She wrapped her arms tighter around his waist, pulling him ever closer. She kept her sapphire eyes focused on the light flickering out from the lodge behind him, feeling like perhaps this next thought was too much, but she wanted to open it up to him. To be there for him in the same way he’s been there for her for so long. “We could visit the Air Temples,” she suggested, quietly. “I know the other Air Nomads are gone… and it might be… sadder. A lot less celebratory. But… I’d like to visit your home again now that the war’s over. I’d like to learn your dances. Learn about your people.”

They turned to each other then, both their eyes sparkling in the starlight. “I’d like that,” Aang whispered as a tear escaped him with a choked sob.

“Hey, Sweetie,” Katara comforted, reaching up to gently stroke his cheek. She realized that in the few months since the end of the war—probably actually since she’d broken him out of the iceberg—he hadn’t had the chance to really be. To reflect. To grieve. “It’s okay to be sad, you know? To miss them. You’re not alone though. I’m here. I’ll always be here.”

Aang clung to her then, letting his feelings flow. They listened to the sound of the drums inside, and she rocked him, whispering how strong he was, how amazing it was that he’d found a way to end the war that was still true to himself; to his people. How proud they would be. How proud she was.

Eventually, he lifted his head from her shoulder to kiss her slowly, tentatively. He was still mostly letting her take the lead in their physical relationship, but he couldn’t think of any other way to thank her then. No words seemed sufficient. His hesitance melted away the moment she moved her lips against his, though. His hands gripped her waist as best he could in their sitting position before moving to thread into her hair. He could feel his heart starting to beat just a little too fast. He felt lightheaded, but in a good way. He pulled back for a breath, and they both giggled. Kissing was still new, but something they both clearly enjoyed finally being able to do together.

“You called me ‘Sweetie,’” he said, realizing. She’d never called him anything other than Aang before. His heart fluttered.

“Is that okay? Sorry, I didn’t even realize…” Katara was pulling at her hair and looking anywhere but at Aang until he stopped her with another kiss, though it was much quicker this time.

“I loved it, Sweetie,” he teased back, but somehow it felt like the most natural thing in the world to call her.

“My mom used to call me that,” she admitted, shyly. “I don’t know why it just came out when I was talking to you…”

“Did I ever tell you what the guru told me about love?” Aang asked. Katara shook her head, confused. “He told me that ‘love is a form of energy,’ and that the airbenders’ love for me hasn’t left this world, but was reborn in new love.” He looked pointedly at her. “Our love.”

Katara took in a sharp breath. She felt at once shocked, humbled, and overflowing with pure, confident love. Sokka certainly wouldn’t believe it, but it made so much sense to her. The instant connection she had felt… the fierce need to protect him… her intense love for him that was as big as an entire nation. She couldn’t help but smile widely.

“Maybe...” Aang started. “Maybe your mom’s love for you was reborn, too.” It seemed like such an outrageous thing to say, but at the same time, like the most obvious thing in the world. The look in her eyes told him all he needed to know. She believed it, too. “I love you, Katara.”

“I love you too, Aang. So much.” She leaned in to kiss him again, feeling like nothing could quite top this feeling. They’d said ‘I love you’ so many times in so many ways; in small gestures, in touches, in roundabout ways, even before they’d been together. But this… this seemed much bigger.

Finally, they stood to return to the celebration. Surely people had noticed their absence by now, though they were thankfully still young enough to avoid any terribly embarrassing rumors. As they walked back to the hall, hand in hand, they shared a look before opening the door.

“Ready, Sweetie?” Aang asked, eyes shining with pure joy.

“Ready, Sweetie,” Katara responded confidently. She squeezed his hand before pulling him inside with her, already moving to the beat of the drums again. Their hearts were so full. Their lost loved ones were never truly gone from this world, and they would cherish that fact for the rest of their lives together. Even in their grief they were connected, and by their love they were healed. It was beautiful.

#kataang #kataangtag #fluff prompts #vanillabutspicy #asks #the guru episode #katara #aang #kataang fanfiction #sweeties #meet the family

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mcustorm · 3 years

Text

In Defense of a Black Cyclops

In case my username didn’t make it clear, the single most anticipated visual project for me is the MCU’s interpretation of the X-Men, which hasn’t even been announced yet [officially]. And ladies and gents, I have found your Cyclops:

Good ol’ Alfred Enoch, who we all know from Harry Potter and How to Get Away With Murder. If you’re not familiar with HTGAWM, know that his character goes from the de facto leader of the ragtag (murderers) and most cherished protege of Viola Davis’ Professor X to taking more of a grimdark turn after his girlfriend’s death. Sound at least somewhat familiar?

Enoch also embodies the physicality of the character well, seeing as to how he’s “slim”, 6′4(!!), black, and notoriously lanky. Wait, one of these isn’t like the others.

In general I hate fancasting. Everyone generally picks from the same pool of about 30 actors (Peeps, neither Taron nor Daniel is a good Wolverine choice. Argue with your mother!), and most all of it is based on physicality, except when it absolutely should be (like say, choosing a ~5′10 dark-skinned black woman for Storm).

And I think there’s some malarkey afoot. I think there needs to be some serious consideration on part of fancasters and actual casting agents alike to rethink race when it comes to the [white] X-Men, especially since they’re the X-Men of all teams. So I’ll make the case for a black Cyclops:

1. There is no quota on Black X-Men: There’s a bug in your ear that’s been whispering lies to you for years, it says something to the effect of “We need a black person on the team for diversity. How bout Storm?” And you’ve gotten complacent. Storm does not have to be the only black person on your X-Men roster.

2. The X-Men represent diversity: Iceman is gay, Cyclops and Prof. X are disabled (sorta), there are plenty of women, oh and everybody except Storm is white. Of the A-List X-Men, there is only *one* POC character. I’d argue that an MCU X-Men needs to champion diversity like never before.

3. The X-Men represent minority struggle while being mostly white: There’s a cognitive dissonance in the metaphor that has always been there, and for the most part, nobody cares. To appeal to the white readers of the 60′s, the X-Men were all initially white. That way, the message of the mutants could be related to the audience with a familiar face. We don’t need to approach the problem that way in 202?

4. Just because that’s the way it’s always been, doesn’t mean that’s the way it should be: The first line of defense. Sorry, that will never be a good justification for literally any idea. It’s time for some more critical thinking.

5. We don’t all want to be Bishop: So say you’re white and you have a kid who for his birthday having a costume party. You’ve bought some X-Men costumes and you want each kid to pick one. 9 white kids and one black kid show up to your house. As the kids deliberate who gets what costume, be it Cyke or Wolvie or whatever, you yell at everybody to “STOP!”, point to the one black kid and tell him “You’re gonna be Bishop. That’s it, end of story!”

We don’t all want to be Bishop. The black child could have the best Cyclops interpretation within him, but you’ll never know if you don’t let him try. And that’s no different from the Black actors of Hollywood. There’s no reason why all of the black talent should *have* to compete for the role of Bishop or Storm, which I’ve discussed, while Joe Schmo can walk up and audition for literally anybody he wants.

Jharrel Jerome is 23 and has an Emmy to his name. He needs to be in the MCU in some capacity, period. Stephan James is another. How bout Damson Idris. Ashton Sanders. But no, no, let’s fancast Dacre Montgomery or Ansel or Joe Keery again as [Human Torch, Wolverine, Iceman, Angel, I’ve literally seen it all.]

6. Nobody wants to see the B-team if it comes down to it. The next line of defense from your racebending naysayers after “That’s the way it’s always been!” is “Well, what about Psylocke, Bishop, Forge and Jubilee?” who are otherwise known as B-tier X-Men. The problem is, we’ve got limited time and limited spots.

So since the X-Men is all about wonky metaphors that make half sense, let me give you another: Let’s say somebody approaches you and says “Hey buddy, I got two free concert tickets for ya! You can either see Michael Jackson Sings the Blues, or you can go see Justin Timberlake. Free of charge!”

Now, are you used to MJ singing the blues? No! Do you have a problem with going to see Justin Timberlake? No, he’s fine on a Wednesday! He had that one little diddy we liked that one time. We’d love to see him eventually! But are you gonna say, “fuck that, I’m going to see MJ Sings the Blues” regardless? Hell yes, because that’s still Michael Jackson. He’s gonna give the same amazing performance he always does, it’s just gonna be the blues. And speaking of blues...

7. Black is not Blue, Brown is not Blue: Raise your hand if you’ve ever heard this one: “I don’t care if you’re black, white, purple, or green, I’m going to treat you all the same!” I will not say all have this intention, but some fancasters have noticed that the racial diversity is kinda low within the A-List X-Men, so they oh-so-generously give the following roles to a black or brown person: Iceman, Nightcrawler, Beast.

Notice the pattern? It’s a microaggression, and it’s bullshit. What these fancasters are implicitly telling you is that, yes the actors will be black or brown, but when the action starts we can ignore that. They’ll be blue by then. In other words, you in fact do care if they’re purple or green. Nobody will cry foul if Dev Patel gets to play Nightcrawler (because that’s a common one I see), but should Anna Diop be Starfire or Michael B. Jordan be Human Torch, I bet there’d be backlash. Oh wait. If that’s you, please stop acting like you actually value diversity. You don’t want to see black or brown skin, period. Unless of course, it’s Storm (refer to point #1).

But wait, there’s more! When brown characters get whitewashed in these movies, it’s crickets! So eventually it’s revealed implicitly that proclaimers of point #4 only care about it one way.

8. Professor X should not be black if you’re not willing to change anyone else: The next line of defense is that some people say the professor should be black, if anybody HAS to be racebent. Something something MLK Jr., Civil Rights or some shit. Number one, I’m not reducing Professor X to being a magical negro for 9 white people (and Storm!) who for all intents and purposes get to have all the action. Number 2, the Professor X/MLK/Magneto/Malcolm X comparison is an oversimplifying disservice to ALL FOUR of those people. I hate that line whenever I see it, please watch a documentary my friends.

9. The Candidates for Racebending: For me, the A-List X-Men are Cyclops, Jean Grey, Iceman, Angel, Beast, Wolverine, Storm, Gambit, Rogue, Colossus, Nightcrawler, and Kitty Pryde. Now, who should be exempt from the racebending? Storm, she’s our designated minority. Gambit, he’s Cajun and they’re white (generally speaking, that’s a fun bit of research). Wolverine, Colossus, and Nightcrawler, because their nationality/ethnicity was the whole point of the Giant-Size premise in the first place. Angel, because his character embodies a privileged white male. Beast and Iceman, I don’t care one way or another (Point #7).

That leaves Cyclops, Rogue, Jean Grey, and Kitty Pryde. Now Jean Grey is a redhead, and we all know that every time a redhead is racebent people sharpen their pitchforks (Mary Jane, Wally West, Iris West), so I will cede the ground on Jean if only so that my ginger friends can get their rep. Kitty Pryde is Jewish, but Jews of color exist. Rogue is from the South. And Cyclops is, well, just Cyclops. That makes those three characters good options for more diversity. But allow me to make the case for Cyclops, specifically.

10. It’s not just diversity for diversity’s sake: If you had to pick who the main character of the X-Men is supposed to be, most would say Cyclops. And so in a series that highlights racial discrimination in society, it makes sense that our main character be black. While changing Cyclops’ skin color should not change who he is as a character, it *should* recontextualize it. Now, as an eventual increasingly radical leader of the X-Men, Cyclops would evoke real life figures such as Colin Kaepernick or, shall I say, Martin Luther King, Jr.

Not that most X-Men fans and writers truly think about what it means to be black anyways. Storm’s minority status is almost always put through the lens of her being a mutant and not her being a black woman. In other words, you can’t argue that making a character black will fundamentally change his or her character when you haven’t even analyzed the racial context of the black character(s) you already have. Another concept that the MCU X-Men should tackle: intersectionality.

11. Representation matters: I have to say it: Chadwick Boseman’s Black Panther hit different. And now he is tragically gone. At the end of the day, the MCU moving forward is down its most prominent black male superhero. Which has implications beyond just the movies themselves.

The women are in good hands. Shuri, Okoye, and Nakia are badasses in Wakanda, Valkyrie is ruling Asgard, Storm is almost assuredly on the way, RiRi Williams has already been cast, and Monica Rambeau is here and she’s not even at her most glorious yet. That doesn’t even include variable Δ, or the number of characters who can and will be racebent. And I’ll note again that to me, Gamora doesn’t count, because she’s green (#7 really pisses me off because it’s so blatant. I hate it). Of course from a behind the camera perspective we love black women getting work.

The men are a completely different story. Imma just go out and say it, I can’t stand Falcon and War Machine [in the MCU] because they’re not characters, they’re just two of a slew of MCU minority sidekicks who have essentially been at the beck and call of Captain America and Iron Man, respectively. You cannot tell Falcon’s story without mentioning Cap. The reverse is not true. There’s a whole essay that could be and have been written on “Minorities in the MCU, pre-Black Panther”. Remember, there’s a reason BP made so much noise in the first place.

So excluding those two we have, let’s see, M’Baku, Blade, and Fury who aren’t exactly the most superheroic superheroes, Eli Bradley is proooobably coming, I doubt Miles Morales is coming (because he’s just Peter Parker in the MCU), Luke Cage(?) Bishop(??), Sunspot(???), Blue Marvel(????). Not only are they not A-List, I would not put money on any of them being in the MCU any time soon.

Cyclops is thee Captain America of the X-Men. He’s the frontman. He’s the poster boy. He’s the “boy scout”, which in other words means he’s the hero, if there has to be one. It would mean a lot right now, and specifically *right now*, if he were to be black. The MCU needs it. It NEEDS it.

12. The X-Men is the Summers Story: I’ll even make the case that if just one character needs to racebent, then it should be Cyclops, because that of course implies that other related characters need to be black because half of the X-Men universe is in fact a part of the Summers family.

So now Cable is black. Corsair is black. Havok is black. And one of the most central stories in the X-Men mythos, the Summers family drama, is now a black family drama set in space or the future or where the fuck ever. The concept is boundary pushing. When white families have drama in the media, it gets to be Game of Thrones or Star Wars, while when black families have drama in the media, it has to be black people arguing in a kitchen or living room about their various earthly traumas (I’m @’ing you, Mr. Perry). I mean, that’s all fine and good often times, but I want my black family drama in space, dammit.

And again, this is the X-Men, the series that’s all about *minorities* and their struggle, so again, why not?

Oh, and I’ll even throw out a Havok fancast for you: How bout Jharrel Jerome?

#cyclops #scott summers #the mutants #monica rambeau #X-men #xmen #marvel #MCU #fancast #jharrel would actually be a better sunspot #but you get the point #my man would have OPTIONS

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markleesthighs · 3 years

Note

Can you make a part 2 for “Forbidden Moonlight”? I’d like to see some gun fighting, some car chasing, some actual mafia jaemin action with the “I would die and I would kill for you!” kinda spirit? I mean the one who requested it has great theme ideas, it is definitely chef’s kiss and I don’t think it should be left off in just 1 part. We gotta know what the ambassador offered to jaemin.

-i'm on a break, so i finally got a chance to write it! I Sorry requests have been taking long, haven't gotten a chance to write in a while. I hope you all enjoy!

read part 1 here

You missed school for the rest of the day. You didn't even have a chance to explain your situation to Jaemin, feeling guilty. In your limo ride home your dad kept scolding and yelling to you about Jaemin. He went on and on about how stupid you were. To be fair, you had no idea Jaemin was associated with the mafia as well as your dad so you brushed off his comments. When you arrived home you didn't bother to talk to your parents as you stormed up to your room.

"There you are, m/n."

"JAE-"

Jaemin rushed to shut your mouth with his hand.

"How did you know where I was?"

"I have a tracker on your phone." "You psycho."

"But you love this psycho."

"What are you doing here?"

"I thought since you've had a pretty shitty day that you'd want to come with me to a drag racing competition."

"Jaemin, you know I'd love to but my parents-"

"God, have you never snuck out before? Just do the thing in the movies where you use pillows to make it seem like you're in bed sleeping."

"Fine."

You piled up your pillows and covered them with a blanket and added a wig to really sell it.

"Let's go."

Jaemin climbed down the lattice below your window that had vines growing on it. You rolled your eyes figuring that's how he got up here. You also saw the busted circuit breaker box, showing how Jaemin got past your tight security. Jaemin jumped over your gate and helped you up and over for your escape. He pulled you onto his motorcycle and you both rode off to the underground drag race arena.

When you arrived it was everything you imagined. Intimidating guys and girls left and right. The security stopped you (clearly since you didn't fit in with your preppy outfit) but Jaemin reassuring the guard saying you were with him. You were expecting Jaemin to be one of the top betters or backers behind a driver but Jaemin started to get changed into a racer uniform. Part of you was worried and Jaemin could tell.

"Don't worry baby, I've done this a dozen times."

You still pouted.

"And yes, I've won every time, and I'll win again for you."

He pecked your lips.

"You better."

He chuckled at your comment as he got into his car. You were standing among his mafia members will visibly worried.

"On your mark racers!"

You heard the loudest rumbling you've heard come out of a car, covering your ears.

"Get set!"

The smell of burnt rubber came towards your nose and the cars became even louder.

"Go!"

The cars sped off with a huge cloud of smoke blowing behind them causing you to cough.

"First time?"

A very tall handsome guy looked down at you that looked like he could tear you to pieces in a second. You nodded in response.

"You must be m/n. Jaemin's talked a lot about you, I'm Johnny one of his members in his...company."

"I know he's in the mafia business, you know?"

"Oh, well at least he told you the truth."

Your conversation was interrupted by the sound of the cars approaching you heard all the screams and cheers as you saw Jaemin's car approaching. But you also saw the other one not too far behind. It was intense watching the cars quickly approach the finish line, your heart was beating rapidly with adrenaline. Jaemin was leading before the other car caught up and they kept going back and forth it was causing you to have anxiety. But at the last second, you saw Jaemin pull ahead and crossed the finish line. You and the other members screamed loud cheering and hooting. Jaemin got out of his car and you ran up and hugged him.

"I was so worried."

"Aw, my baby was scared? What did I tell you I'm a professional."

You saw people exchanging money and people cashing out after betting on Jaemin, you assumed everyone bets on Jaemin. Suddenly gunshots were fired and you heard cop sirens getting closer.

"Fuck, which one of you called the cops?!"

Jaemin grabbed your hand along with the other members following you to the back alley where their motorcycles were. A few gunshots were fired in your direction and Jaemin blocked you from the shots. You saw a bullet hit Jaemin.

"Fuck!" "Jaemin! Are you alright?!"

"I'm fine, m/n, if it came down to it, I would die for you."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"Can you two lovebirds quit it for one second!?" Mark yelled.

You hopped onto Jaemin's motorcycle as he sped up getting ready to leave. Johnny and others were yelling at him to go ahead and that they'll hold the cops off. Jaemin thanked them and you two sped off into the streets and onto the highway back to his house. Luckily, you both arrived safely at the house with Jaemin's guards being attentive. You sat silently in his living room awaiting the other members who were slowly trickling into the mansion. You saw the maids rushing to give Jaemin a first aid kit before he brushed them off saying he could do it himself. Jaemin was struggling to reach the bullet on the back of his shoulder and he was cutely trying to reach to remove it. You giggled telling him you could remove it for him.

"Are you sure m/n?"

"Yeah, I'm studying to become a doctor so don't worry. "

Jaemin stared as you remove the bullet from his shoulder as he hissed you apologized kissing his cheek. He looked at you stare at his shoulder with such care as you delicately dabbed his wound with rubbing alcohol. As he thought about it he never had someone who cared for him this much, most of them wanted him for sex, money, or reputation. You'd always ask him if something hurt and warn him about you stitching up his wound for him. You wrapped his arm up and you looked up at him to make sure he was ok and Jaemin looked at you with pure love in his eyes. He smiled at you and softly kissed your lips.

"God I love you."

You laughed "I love you too, Jaemin."

He kissed you passionately, leading your kissing to become faster and deeper. As Jaemin was about to take off his shirt, one of his members interrupted the two of you.

Jaemin groaned screaming "What the fuck is it now?! Can't you see I'm busy?!"

"It's Mr. y/l/n."

Jaemin immediately froze, got off of you, and basically commanded that you stay where you were. But you weren't about to miss a showdown between Jaemin and your father, so you followed shortly after. You eavesdropped around the corner of the entrance where your dad and his associates stood along with Jaemin and his associates.

"I know you have him. I want my son back. I don't need someone like you to ruin his future."

"Funny, because last time I believe you offered me a lifetime get out of jail free cards, airway travels, and millions of cash whenever I asked."

"You know that wasn't the deal Jaemin, I told you to leave my son alone for those offers, but you don't seem to hold up your end of the bargain."

"What can I say? Despite you being a complete dickhead, your son is quite a lovely darling."

"Well, would your 'lovely darling' like to see this?"

Your father pulled up a video on a laptop his associates were holding, it was Jaemin and his buds in a club, but you can clearly hear what they were saying.

"Jaemin, I heard you 'found the one' you lucky piece of shit," Johnny spoke.

"Yeah, he's been treating him to everything, it's funny how those lovebirds act around each other," Taeyong added.

"There's no way Na Jaemin found someone to 'settle with', boss you're basically a god, you can get whoever the hell you want." Jaehyun drunkenly spoke.

"I can't believe you got lucky with m/n, he's basically the ideal leverage we need to take this gang to the next level," Lucas said.

Your heart stopped, leverage? What the hell was going on? Jaemin was still silent at this point.

Ten then jumped in "There's no fucking way you're actually in love with m/n right? He's not even that good-looking."

"Fuck yeah, the only thing good about him is his daddy" Haechan responded.

"Don't worry guys you know the only reason I'm keeping m/n is so I can milk out m/n's daddy of his money like a cash cow," Jaemin spoke.

You felt the tears starting to pool up in your eyes as they silently fell down your cheek. Is this what Jaemin really thought about you? What the fuck? So all of this was a joke? You were just fucking money to him? You hated yourself for thinking Jaemin actually loved you. Your dad was right, you didn't need a liar and manipulator like him in your life.

After Jaemin's words were played your father's laptop closed.

"What's wrong, Jaemin? Why so silent?"

"You can't do this."

"Who's going to stop me, think about it, it's my word against yours."

"Blackmail is a fucking cheap way to get what you want."

"How else did you think I got to this position? Beating those who get in my way. Now got get my son, get him for me, or else I'll send this to him to watch for eternity."

"...Yes, Mr. y/l/n."

"Oh and for the future Jaemin, do not think about seeing m/n ever again. You know the consequences."

"...Yeah yeah."

You quickly scurried back to the couch and wiped your tears off your face. You pretended to lie down and be asleep. Jaemin shook you to wake you up.

"Hey, baby?"

"Jaemin? What's up?"

"You...you have to go..."

"W-why?" You said trying not to break in front of him. You gazed into his eyes, is this really someone who didn't love you? You can't trust anyone anymore.

"Your dad is a ruthless man, and he has leverage on me, it's something that will change the way you look at me forever. To spare you the pain, I have to let you go now."

"J-Jaemin...fuck you."

You got up immediately but Jaemin grabbed your wrist.

"m/n...just know that I still love you, I sw-"

"You're just a fucking liar, I hope milking my dad's cash cow was worth losing the person who loved you most."

Jaemin realized you heard everything and was stunned. He watched you walk over to your father who embraced you in his arms with fake responses saying how he was so worried and other bullshit like that. Jaemin ran out to the front in hopes of you turning back. He wanted you to turn back, he doesn't want to lose the love of his life. He didn't want your dad's money, he wanted you.

"m/n! Please! I'm so sorry!" Jaemin was crying pleading on his knees.

He looked up at you, the full moon was behind you, beaming through your beautiful hair, reflecting off your soft smooth skin, just like the first night he met you. But this image was different. The moon shined on your tears and the streaks that fell down your cheek. He saw you with endless tears as each drop sparkled like a crystal in the light. You looked down at him and slapped his face.

"Fuck you Na Jaemin, I hope this was worth it."

You hopped into your car with the moonlight shining through your window as you took one last glance at Jaemin. He was broken and defeated. No wish on the moon could save him now.

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fanficimagery · 3 years

Text

Surprise! It’s a Girl.

Imagine finding out you're not who you've been led to believe you are. You're not Y/N Y/L/N; you're Y/N Potter. But one particular wizard was against you reuniting with your little brother when you found out just who he was. In the end, you're determined to see him even if it means fighting in a war where a Dark Lord would see your brother dead.

Words: 7.2K Warnings: This is a very brief Marvel/HP crossover and some characters who've died in HP will not be dead in this. I'm a sucker for a few wizards that didn't make it to the see the end of the war. Luckily for me, I can make that happen ;) So with that said, let's just jump right into it. You might be confused, but you'll learn what's happened when Reader explains it to Harry and friends.

Also timelines? What are those? Lol.

Sitting atop the roof of the Sanctum Sanctorum, you're in the middle of meditating when someone clears their throat in order to get your attention. Everyone knows better than to interrupt meditation time unless it's an emergency, so instead of getting angry you crack open an eye to see what's going on.

The Sorcerer Supreme stands before you, his cloak of levitation clasped around his neck and expression carefully guarded as he stares down at you. "I believe it's time."

Those four words are enough to freeze the air in your lungs and bring chaos to your previously emptied mind. On the outside, however, you keep your composure as you slowly stand. "Are you sure?"

"I am." He nods. "I was keeping an eye on things overseas and extremely powerful wards went up not too long ago. However," he adds, "they're in the process of being torn down by the man who wishes the last of your family dead."

You shakily inhale and tersely nod. "I have to go then."

"You do. Go get changed and then meet me back up here. I have a parting gift for you."

Fleeing the rooftop and back inside the Sanctum, you rush towards your room and throw apologies over your shoulders when you accidentally run into people. Then when you get to your room you immediately start to disrobe and pull on the outfit that's been laid out on your bed. The spandex leather pants are easy to maneuver around in, but the red bustier vest that laces up the front is a little off-putting. You are, however, grateful for the red leather coat that goes over it and the fingerless gloves that make you feel less naked. You zip up black knee-high boots and then rush back towards the rooftop where the Sorcerer Supreme of Earth is still awaiting you.

"You'll be going in blind, Miss Potter. You must remember that." You gulp and nod, and mentally urge the Sorcerer Supreme to hurry up and get his warning speech done and over with. "You'll have to be careful when deciding who's friend and who's foe, and be extremely careful that those fighting for your brother don't mistake you for the enemy."

"I know. From what I've read about Deatheaters, they'll most likely be the most deranged looking of the bunch. Also they were dumb enough to let themselves be branded so it shouldn't be too hard to figure out who's who."

"Very well." The Sorcerer Supreme, whose hands had been clasped over his abdomen, puts his right hand forward and then turns it over. "I believe you'll need this. You've earned it." In his palm is what every sorcerer in training calls a Sling Ring- a two finger ring which can open portals to anywhere in the world.

You gasp, but slowly reach forward and grab the bronzed piece of jewelry. Slipping it over your left index and middle fingers, you smile at it before looking back up at the man who had taken you under his wing at the tender age of sixteen. "Thank you, Sorcerer Supreme."

Faintly smiling at you, he says, "I took you in during your rebellious phase and made you into a proper young witch. I believe you can call me Stephen, Miss Potter."

"Then it's Y/N. None of this Miss Potter business anymore." You both chuckle at one another, but then the seriousness of the situation you're about to walk into sinks in. Your smiles both fall and then you're looking towards a spot on the roof where it's empty.

"I got it this time," Stephen says. Raising his left hand and then outstretching his right to trace a circular pattern mid-air, you watch as a portal sparks to life and grows bigger and bigger until it's big enough for a person to fit through. Instead of seeing the New York skyline through the portal, you see a darkened courtyard with various witches and wizards torn between looking at you and looking at something in the sky. "Be safe. Let me know when it's over."

"Yes, sir." You step through the portal, raising your hands when a couple of wands are pointed in your direction. Glancing over your shoulder lets you know the portal has now been closed and you inhale slowly to gather you wits.

"Who are you?" A rather severe looking woman asks, her Scottish accent making you faintly grin. The shorter, redheaded woman at her side narrows her eyes.

"My name is Y/N Potter." And that- that gives them pause and causes their eyes to widen. "My story is a long one- one I'll gladly explain after this war is over. All you need to know right now is that I fight for Harry. I fight for my little brother."

"It's a trick!" The redhead shrilly remarks. "It has to be. We are Harry's only family."

You shake your head. "Lady, I swear upon my magic that I'm telling the truth. I was taken and then forbidden from contacting my brother by Albus Dumbledore when I found out who I was. I was learning to manifest my magic without a wand when I heard of his death, but by the time I tracked down Harry he had gone on the run."

"Albus would never-"

"Molly," the other woman cuts her off, her wand slowly lowering, "she looks like Lily."

Still in denial, Molly shakes her head. "No, Minerva. It can't be."

"We can talk all night, ma'am, but I rather help you defeat this threat. After we win this war, I'll answer anything and everything you have for me. You can take my memories, you can pour Veritaserum down my throat. I am who I say I am. I am the eldest child of Lily and James Potter."

The redhead continues to stare you down before her own wand starts to lower. She huffs. "Very well. But if I see you harm one person from the Light, I will hex you."

Your lips twitch. "Fair enough." The brief reprieve, however, is short lived. There's a thundering explosion, followed by eerie silence, and then what looks like blue ash falling down upon your heads.

Minerva gulps. "The wards have fallen. Prepare for battle."

Rolling your shoulders, you step so your feet are shoulder's width apart. "Ma'am, I've been preparing a while for this." Your hands glow red and both women's eyes widen at the sight.

Thundering footsteps has you turning towards a bridge being protected by what appears to be stone statues, and the appearance of giants rushing ahead of hollering witches and wizards churn your stomach. Some of those witches and wizards seem to jump into the air, their bodies twisting into balls of smoke as they fly overhead. So concentrating on them since they appear to be flying towards the school, you alternately flick your hands upward, aiming red orbs at each deatheater you can to stun them out of the sky.

Then when there appears to be too many to hit at once, you allow your magic to pool in your hands before raising your arms, throwing up a red net of magic and capturing several deatheaters at once before slamming them towards the ground.

"Filius!" Minerva screams.

Looking towards where the distraught witch is staring, you watch as a small wizard tries to outrun a giant swinging around a quidditch loop as a weapon. Eyes widening, you reach out with your glowing left hand and envelop the small wizard with your magic, slowly pulling back your left arm while erecting a shield with your right hand behind the wizard's back to protect him from ricocheting spells and debris.

The wizard yelps as you bring him in a little too quickly, but you manage to carefully set him down. He wobbles on his feet and stares up at you in wonder. "T-Thank you."

You grin down at him. "No problem." Then looking at Minerva, you ask, "Where do you want me?"

But Minerva is looking at you in awe herself, so it's Molly who says, "Inside. Protect the children."

"I'll do my best."

More deatheaters take flight overhead, and when you hear glass shatter and screaming children all bets are off. Your hands glow even redder and you briefly raise your hands before thrusting them downward, projecting your magic towards the ground so it'd propel you into flight. You make your entrance through a shattered window, using your magic to soften your landing before stunning deatheaters left and right. Though the second you see a deatheater cast the killing curse at kids younger than you, you switch up tactics and don't bother feeling any remorse when your spells make precise gashes that leave the deatheaters gasping for breath before collapsing in a pool of their own blood.

Other curses you fling around wrap chains around deatheaters, cause thousands of tiny nicks, or fling them into the nearest hard surface to knock them unconscious. Or worse, but you don't really care at the moment. And if you don't have an enemy of your own to fight, you're erecting shields to protect the students from being cursed themselves.

Majority of the kids, however, seem to know what they're doing so you run around the castle to see where aid is needed.

You come across two wizards who are fighting back to back, the shorter and darker haired wizard laughing and trying to reminisce with the taller and sandy brown haired wizard as the deatheaters start to outnumber them. You don't think before throwing a large red orb at a group of three deatheaters, knocking them unconscious as they're flung a good ten feet away. Then gathering enough magic for another orb, you fling it towards the other group of five deatheaters. When they fall, the two wizards stare at you in surprise.

You meet their gazes head on, something about the man with three scars running diagonally across his face almost familiar to you. But now is not the time to wonder about all that, so you merely grin. "You're welcome. In case you haven't noticed, there's a war going on. Try to keep up, yeah?" Then without another word, you take off and leave the two wizards staring after you and wondering why you yourself were so achingly familiar to them.

Dodging curses and flinging random spells of your own at unsuspecting deatheaters, you come upon another set of wizards being outnumbered by deatheaters yet again. Only these two could pass for brothers and one is cracking a joke about the deatheater he's dueling while the other one is hilariously proud of him for finally unknotting his wand.

There's a split second of distraction on their part, but that split second is all one angry deatheater needs.

"BOMBARDA!"

"Watch out!" You manage to throw up a red barrier behind the two laughing wizards' backs just in the nick of time.

You catch the exploding wall from crumbling on them, but at the cost of suddenly putting yourself under a magical strain that has you barely being able to hold the wall of debris at bay. You're struggling, hoping the two wizards collect themselves fast enough to have the smarts to move out of the way, only to end up distracted and take some sort of hex to your right side. The searing heat makes you scream out, your concentration breaking and the wall dropping. Thankfully, the two wizards you had saved jump back into action to dispatch the deatheaters before checking on you.

"That was a bloody close call," the taller redhead muses. "We owe you one, love."

You smile through the pain, your left hand reaching across your stomach to hold the wound on your right side. "Don't mention it."

The second redhead stares curiously at you. "How did you do that? I've never seen magic performed like that without a wand."

"Aw come on, Perce!" The previous redhead chuckles, slinging an arm around this so-called Perce's shoulders. "Turn that brain of yours off for mo'. A pretty bird just saved our arses." You smile sheepishly, mentally cursing yourself for blushing. The talkative redhead wiggles his eyebrows and you huff in amusement at him. "I'm Fred Weasley, by the way. And this is one of my older brothers Percy."

"Y/N. Y/N Potter." Both wizards freeze, their expressions falling and you hesitantly grin. "Yep. I'm exactly one of those Potters that you're thinking about."

Percy blinks first. "Impossible. The Potters only had one child."

"Surprise," you muse. "It's a girl!" When neither wizard reacts, you exhale tiredly. "I only found out I was a Potter when I was sixteen. I tried to get in contact with Harry, but I was prevented from doing so. However, I'm here now and I don't plan to let the same dark wizard who killed my parents and ruin my life now kill my little brother. We have loads to catch up on and I'll be damned if I let some arsehole off Harry before I have the chance to meet him."

Fred appears as if he's going to say something, but an eerie ringing fills your ears. Your hands fly up to hold your ears as if that'll stop the noise, but when you stumble back into a wall and glance up you see that Percy and Fred are affected as well if their grimaces and terrified expressions are anything to go by.

"You have fought valiantly, but in vain." The hissing voice that enters your mind makes gooseflesh break out up and down your arms, your eyes widening in horror when you realize who it is. "I do not wish this. Every drop of magical blood spilled is a terrible waste. I therefore command my forces to retreat. In their absence, dispose of your dead with dignity." You choke back a sob, not used to having someone violate your mind as such. "Harry Potter, I now speak directly to you." But that- that catches your attention and forces you to pay attention. "On this night, you have allowed your friends to die for you rather than face me yourself. There is no greater dishonor. Join me in the Forbidden Forest and confront your fate. If you do not do this, I shall kill every last man, woman, and child who tries to conceal you from me."

When your mind is completely silent once more, you lower your hands and stare at the two wizards before you. "Please tell me Harry isn't dumb enough to confront this psycho." Fred and Percy stay quiet, but they share a nervous glance at one another. You curse. "I need to find him."

"Everyone will be gathering in the Great Hall," Percy says. "We'll take you there and have you looked at."

He gestures to your side and when you glance down you can see a rather sleek looking stain running down your thigh. "Oh."

Your knees seem to give then, but Fred is quick to catch you. "There, there," he chuckles. "I know I'm handsome, but you can't swoon until you've met my twin."

You shakily smile. "You mean there's two of you? How does your mum survive?"

Fred laughs as Percy shakes his head. "By loads of threats and hexes. Now come on, we need to regroup."

Fred and Percy manage to maneuver your arms around the back of their necks as they help you walk now that you're starting to feel the effects of blood loss. There are many dead witches and wizards, and it hurts your heart to see so many young faces among them. The others are bloodied and beaten, but all are doing their best to help their peers.

When you walk into the Great Hall, it's an even worse sight. Bodies are being dragged in and laid out to be checked over, and kids are breaking down over everything that's happened. Fred and Percy continue to lead you towards a specific spot, and it takes you a moment to realize that the wizards are leading you towards a clearly distraught Molly. She's checking over a young redheaded girl before moving onto the next redhead, and it's Fred's nearly identical twin that spots you three first. The relief on his face is heartbreaking and you politely extricate yourself as the family rush over to reunite.

"Hey, mum," Fred says after everyone's been checked over by their fussing mother. "Y/N found us and took a hex while saving our bums. I think she needs a healing spell. Or three."

"A blood replenishing potion would be nice," you mumble before drowsily dropping onto a bench.

Molly rushes over to you while Fred and Percy obviously fill in the others, and the redheaded girl's eyes widen after hearing something they say before she rushes to help her mum. She quickly introduces herself as Ginny and you smile as best as you can while Molly waves her wand up and down you.

"I need your coat and shirt off, dearie."

You grimace and open your jacket so she can see your top underneath. "I'm afraid I'll have to get naked for that, ma'am."

Molly purses her lips before glancing at her daughter. "Ginny, transfigure Y/N a shirt please." She then turns to the men of her family. "Boys, I'm going to need you all to give us some room."

Your heart warms as Molly conjures a privacy curtain and gestures for you to step behind it. You do and then proceed to strip out of your jacket. When you struggle with your top, Ginny vanishes it with a sheepish smile and averts her gaze as she quickly hands you a shirt. You put it on, but then Molly is there at your side to lift it to see the gash on your right side. She tuts.

"I'll be right back. I'll have to go see if Madam Pomfrey has any potions for this."

"Wait," you tell her. "Just a blood replenisher will do. I can take care of this." She opens her mouth to retort, but you let your hand glow in front of her. "Different, remember? I can close the wound myself."

Ginny stares in awe as you hold your shirt up with one hand, your other hand hovering above your wound as your fingers dance in an intricate pattern so your magic closes the gash. Once done, you nod at Molly and she huffs in amusement before turning. Then with a flick of her wand, the privacy curtain vanishes and she scuttles off to go see about that potion. Ginny guides you to a bench, but just as you take a seat there's two wizards stumbling towards you. They're the first set of men you saved, one with shaggy dark hair and the other with sandy brown hair, and they're staring at you in clear disbelief.

"Lily?"

You frown just as all the Weasley's freeze. "I'm sorry?"

The dark haired wizard blinks, shaking his head clear. "I'm sorry, love. You just reminded me of-"

"Cub?"

Your gaze darts to the sandy haired wizard now, his shorter companion shaking his head. "Come on, Moony. I think we hit our heads a little too hard."

Cub. Moony. The nicknames strike a chord within you, but you're not exactly sure why. Your brow furrows as you try to pinpoint a dream- or was it a memory?- and between one blink and the next it hits you. "Paddy." You utter in awe as you eye the dark haired wizard, watching as he gapes at you. Slowly standing, you then look at the other wizard. "Uncle Moony. I- I remember you. I think. Toy broom. Broken vase. Accidental.. fire?"

The one you had called Paddy snorts and Moony exhales in disbelief. "H-how?"

"Dumbledore," you immediately answer. "But.. I dreamt that, didn't I? You- I'd have been too little to remember anything."

"No, Cub. You didn't." Moony steps forward and gently touches your face in awe. "Sirius and James, your dad, thought it was a good idea to get you a toy broom. You flew into a vase, broke it, and let loose some accidental magic when your mum started shrieking at them."

"That was a mighty big fire. Remus almost soiled his trousers."

Sirius and Remus. Yes, that sounded awfully familiar.

The tears come without warning and you fling yourself at them, content to find yourself sandwiched between the two wizards. They're more shocked than anything, so after a moment the Weasley's step forward.

"So she really is Harry's sister?" Fred asks. Sirius and Remus nod. "Blimey. We now have two Potters to keep an eye on."

"Sorry to interrupt, gentlemen," an older red headed wizard steps forward, someone you assume to be the Weasley father, "but how did you not know Miss Potter was still alive?"

"Dumbledore," they both say.

"I was obviously thrown into Azkaban," Sirius says. "None of my questions were answered when I asked about the children."

"We didn't even ask to see the bodies," Remus mumbles. "We just took Dumbledore's word for it. And since Harry was too small to remember, we never brought up the memory of Y/N since no one would have known of her." You take turns hugging each wizard, lingering a little longer with Remus. When he pulls out of the big, he smiles down at you. "You look like your mum."

"And you," you reach up to gently trace one of his scars, "got old." Sirius guffaws and when you finally turn around, it feels as if all the wind is sucked out of your lungs.

"You're here." Harry says as stands before you, covered in blood, sweat and dirt.

Everyone seems to hold their breath, taking a step back as you and Harry stare at one another. You blink. "You know who I am?"

He numbly nods. "Only from Snape's memories. He wanted me to know what he knew before he died. He was not happy with Dumbledore's decision after he found out you were alive and sent to America." He pauses just to stare and you sheepishly smile, then the two of you are lunging for one another. Arms wrapped around each other, you bite back a whimper when your side twinges with phantom pains. Seconds tick by and then you hear him ask, "Walk with me?"

You nod, afraid to speak and your voice crack with emotion. Side by side, you follow Harry just outside the Great Hall where a witch and wizard stare in surprise but keep their distance. Your brother quickly informs you that they're his best friends Ron and Hermione.

"It took me a long while, Harry, but I finally caught up with you," you say as he finally stops.

He huffs a quiet laugh. "You did." He then turns so he's standing right in front of you, his hands reaching for yours and holding on gently. "I'm just sorry it has to be so short lived."

Your expression falters at his words. "What?" He lets you go, stepping back with a mumbled apology. "No." Immediately you know what he plans to do and you stumble forward to attempt to catch him. "No, you're not turning yourself over."

"I have to."

"No. I'll- I'll go with you!" You start to cry again, chest aching. You just found your little brother; you can't lose him so soon.

Harry smiles sadly, a lone tear falling down his cheek. "I'm sorry. Ron and Hermione will watch over you until I get back."

"Please don't." Harry backpedals quickly now, giving you his back so he can take his leave. You try to follow, but your vision swims and the room seems to tilt. You collapse, blinking rapidly to clear your vision. "No. No, Harry." You cry some more, reaching out for your brother. "Please don't leave me."

Harry's steps falter but he pushes on and the moment he disappears from view you scream out in anguish. There seems to be a pressure on your chest, but that pressure seems to lessen as you scream. You're barely coherent enough to see a faint wisp of red shoot out from you in every direction, and are conscious long enough to hear someone mutter bloody hell before passing out.

- - - - - - - - - -

You jolt awake, but you're not sure what's woken you. As you blink up at the ceiling, you realize it's eerily quiet. So letting your head lull to the side, you blink against the brightness of the room and realize you're alone. You're alone with the dead.

Sitting up with a groan, you glance around to see that everyone is gone. But there are voices.. and laughter? Instantly, an uncomfortable feeling settles in the pit of your stomach.

Shakily standing, you walk as fast as you can towards the entrance to the Great Hall and swallow down the bile trying to creep it's way up your throat. You stumble out the front enterance, shoving passed the small gathered crowd. Someone's giving a speech and across the courtyard there is a sea of black and- and you're going to be sick. The bald, gray skinned man must be who attempted to end the Potter line so long ago. Voldemort.

"Y/N. Y/N, wait!"

With the sea of deatheaters, just off to the side of them, there seems to be a half giant carrying a body. A body which is wearing suspiciously familiar clothing. Hands catch you by the arms, holding you back when you realize who it is the half giant is carrying, and your knees buckle. You whimper, but the voices on either side of you attempt to soothe you. When you chance a glance at them, you realize it's Fred and George.

Voldemort asks for the Light to pledge their loyalty to him, but only a single wizard stumbles forward. Neville Longbottom, he says his name is, and even as the deatheaters make fun of him the boy manages to give a heartwarming speech about none of their friends or family dying in vain. But as the hurt and sadness ebbs away, rage takes its place.

You can feel a pressure in your chest forming again and the hands on you fall away with hisses of pain. It seems as if you have tunnel vision as you stumble forward, Neville's speech falling on deaf ears. You can hear whispers of awe all around, but you only have eyes for Voldemort as his manic smile slowly starts to fall upon seeing you. Neville pulls free a sword from a crumpled hat, but still you stumble forward.

Your wrists are slowly rotating now and you sneer as Voldemort's followers seem to stare at you with trepidation. "You took everything from me," you grit out.

Voldemort starts to smile upon hearing the pain in your voice. "My dear, I don't even know who you are."

"You will." Debris from the half demolished castle starts to gather all around you as if being pulled by a magnet, forming two large balls of concrete on either side of you. Then with a deep breath, you feel the ground beneath your feet vanish as everyone around you gasps in surprise. "You were always going to die by the hands of a Potter. It's just too bad it couldn't have been my brother who ended you."

"Potter," Voldemort hisses angrily.

"In the flesh."

You slowly raise your hands, the balls of debris rising higher, but before you can catapult them Harry is dropping from the half-giant's arms. You feel your magic waver at the sudden relief that washes over you, but then Harry's firing a spell at a giant snake and Voldemort is firing back at him. There's cheering and then before the deatheaters can start fleeing, you fling the balls of debris at them one after the other.

You fall back to your feet, erecting shields to cover the backs of the witches and wizards rushing back into the castle. Then once back into the school all bets are off and all your hexes turn deadly. But your rage clouds your ability to multitask and you don't see the deatheater creeping up on you in time. Chains wrap around your throat, wrapping tighter and tighter as your fingers claw to pull it off. There's crazed laughter somewhere behind you and you don't even have the opportunity to see who was responsible before the chains loosen and they are being pulled off.

"There, there, cub. You're alright now." As you're pulled to your feet, relief floods you at the sight of Remus. "It's going to be okay." You're quick to hug him, crying softly as the side of your face presses against his chest.

A battle cry pulls your and Remus' attention towards it, and you watch as Neville beheads the large snake you had seen Harry firing spells at earlier. It seems to go quiet inside the castle after that, the deatheaters lowering their wands in shock. A moment later a cheer erupts from outside and the remaining deatheaters inside hiss as they clutch at their inner arms before fleeing altogether. Luckily, some are detained before they can go anywhere.

"Did we- did we just win?"

"Yeah, cub. I think we just did."

"Remus!" The two of you turn towards the joyous shout and you quickly step back when a woman throws herself into his arms. You smile at the reunion, heart aching at the relief and joy in your uncle's features as he hugs the woman tightly before sharing a chaste kiss with her.

Afterwards, he pulls back and turns towards you. The woman follows his gaze and she smiles kindly. "Tonks, I want to introduce you to the Potters eldest child." She gasps. "My goddaughter Y/N. Y/N, this is my wife Tonks."

You smile sheepishly. "Hullo."

"Another Potter," she breathes in awe. "Wicked."

You watch as her mousy brown hair turns a vibrant pink and you laugh as you gesture to it. "I think that's pretty wicked."

"You think so?" She muses. "Our son has the same ability and he's only a day old."

"Your son?" Your now widened eyes dart to Remus. "You have a son and you're still here?! Go!"

"Y/N.."

"No. Don't," you say. "I'm home, Moony. For good. Go to your son while I go find my brother. I'm not going anywhere."

"Okay." He steps forward to hug you. "I'll see you soon."

"Yes you will."

After Remus lets go, his wife Tonks steps in and hugs you as well. Surprised, you laugh and return the brief embrace. "See you soon, kid. Can't wait to get to know you."

"You as well," you say.

As the couple takes their leave, all you can do is look around at the demolished school and the witches and wizards as some of them have a meltdown. You spot a couple of the Weasleys celebrating the win as Molly looks on with a smile she's quick to smother when her sons point it out. Then heading for the entrance, your shoulders sag in relief when you spot Sirius coming in.

"Paddy!" Your shout garners his attention and you quickly make a beeline for him. "Have you seen Harry?"

"Yeah, pup. He's out on the bridge."

"Thanks." You quickly lean up and kiss his cheek. "We'll catch up later."

Making your way outside, your heart aches at seeing the ruins of what was clearly a magnificent school. You spot the bridge Sirius spoke of and spy your brother tossing something across the open air, only to fall down and be lost forever. His friends Ron and Hermione spot you first, the two of them offering you smiles as you approach.

Harry turns and smiles upon seeing you- a smile which you return, but then your expression goes lax as you slap at his arms one hit after the other. "If-" Hit. "You-" Hit. "Ever do that again.."

"Blimey, she really is a Potter."

"Ron, shush!"

"Hey. Hey!" Harry is quick to defend himself, catching you by the wrist so you stop hitting him. "I'm okay. It's over."

Your chest is heaving, your breathing stuttering as a sob threatens to break free. Tears silently fall before the fight drains out of you and you throw your arms around your little brother's neck. "I just found you, you dunghole. You're not allowed to die first."

Harry chuckles. "I'll do my best." As he pulls out of the hug, his hands remain on your biceps as he grins. "Did you know your eyes glow when you're angry?"

You frown, but before you can answer his friend Hermione is speaking up. "About that.. how is it your magic manifests like that without a wand? Earlier when Harry left to meet Voldemort, you fell to your knees in grief and there was- well it was like-"

"An explosion," Ron says. "Made me and 'Mione stumble some. We had to carry you back into the Great Hall where Remus and Sirius nearly lost it."

You cringe. "Sorry about that. I, uh, I actually used to have a wand until the MACUSA snapped it."

"They what!?" Harry asks incredulously.

"Yeah. School-aged Americans are quite savage," you huff. When the other three don't crack even the smallest of grins, you sigh and explain. "I got picked on quite a lot, but it was never anything that caused harm. Just some stupid pranks that embarrassed me," you say. "When I was sixteen, the pranks turned harmful. Two students caught me in a duel and when one of their hexes sliced my cheek I thought nothing of it. It wasn't until the sight of my blood made them proud and then duel even harder did my magic lash out when I was failing to protect myself. I.. I killed someone." Hermione gasps, but no one dares to say a word. "It was an accident and the Professors knew it because they'd witnessed countless attacks on me, but the government gives no second chances. So my wand was snapped and I was kicked out of the magical community over there."

"But that's preposterous!" Hermione nearly screeches. "You were a child!"

"I was a witch who killed a fellow witch." You shrug. "Apparently the American government is not very forgiving." Harry reaches for your hand then, squeezing it to show his support in you.

"So what happened?" Ron wonders. "You had to have some form of schooling to be so in control of your magic now."

"I ended up in a muggle orphanage after feigning amnesia. I spent months without casting and well.. my magic had to go somewhere," you tell him. "I had a few outbursts and my outbursts were picked up on by the Sorcerer Supreme."

Hermione seems to perk up at that. "I've never heard of that term before."

"You wouldn't have." Smiling fondly, you continue to tell them about the man who changed your life. "All around the world there are sorcerers, but instead of using a wand they master what they call a Sling Ring." You pause just long enough to flash them the ring before summoning a basic shield on both hands. "There's a hidden community of sorcerers in every country, but only one Sorcerer Supreme. He happened to find me when the outbursts kept happening and showed me a different way to manifest my magic before showing me how to master theirs."

"Wicked," Ron breathes in awe.

"Did you- did you ever look for me?" Harry wonders. His small voice makes your heart ache.

"I did." You smile sadly. "Not at first because of Albus' manipulations, but when I found out I was a Potter and had a baby brother out there, the Sorcerer Supreme tracked you down. Albus refused to reunite us and the Sorcerer Supreme did not want to start a war with the Wizarding community."

"But Dumbledore died some time ago." Ron frowns. "Why didn't you try then?"

"I did," here you huff out a brief laugh, "but some rebellious little shits decided to flee and jumpstart a war." All three blush at your words and you reach up to ruffle Harry's hair. "But what matters most is that I'm here now and no one is keeping the Potter heirs separated any longer."

The following couple of weeks proved to be both mentally and physically draining. Besides all the funerals, you lost count of how many times you told your story and felt sick to your stomach when a few would not take Remus or Sirius' words that you were who you said you were. The main thing some could not understand was why Lily would hide her first pregnancy, but it was your godfather and Sirius who told everyone that it was James' dad who made the decision to hide the pregnancy and then even longer after you were born since you were the first female Potter in quite some time. Apparently you were such a well kept secret that not even Dumbledore knew of your existence until he had sent you off and told those who knew you that you had died that fateful night in Godric's Hollow.

Sadly, it was only after a blood test done by a trusted Healer at St. Mungos did everyone finally believe. It was a relief to not be questioned, but then came the daunting task of fixing up Godric's Hollow so it wasn't such a terrible shrine to the worst night of your and Harry's life, and then reopening Potter Manor. But until the real work began, all you wanted to do was spend time with your brother and thankfully Sirius had room for the two of you to stay with him.

Waking up one morning, you frown when you hear a little bit of a racket. It doesn't appear to be a worrisome sounding racket when you stick your head out the bedroom door, so you take the time to freshen yourself up in the bathroom and make sure you're decent for whatever company is downstairs.

Tiptoeing downstairs, you hold your breath as you pass the covered portrait of Sirius' mum less you wake the old hag up and have her screeching for hours. Then pushing the swinging door open, you smile at the sight of Molly Weasley at the stove and her twin sons chatting back and forth with Sirius.

You spot your brother several seats down from them and enter the kitchen to sit down next to him. He smiles when he sees you and you nudge his arm when you're finally seated. "What's going on?"

"Molly wanted to make us breakfast and to make sure Sirius was taking care of us properly. Your boyfriends tagged along and were being too nosy for her liking."

You huff a laugh. "Not my boyfriends."

"At least not yet."

You roll your eyes, grinning at your brother before nudging him again. The twins had taken a shine to you and it's something everyone found quite hilarious. Their flirtatious behavior was nothing serious, but you were grateful that they accepted you so quickly.

Plates full of scrambled eggs, hash browns, sausages, bacon and grilled tomatoes are floated over, followed by a jar of marmalade and a pitcher of orange juice. Molly then brings over a stack of buttered toast and happily pats you and Harry on the shoulders. "Alright, my dears. Dig in. Boys!" She then calls. "To the floo. Let Sirius, Harry, and Y/N eat in peace."

"But mum-" Fred whines.

"-we haven't seen Y/N in ages," George finishes.

Sirius grins as you scoff. "First off, you boys haven't even said hello to me since I walked into the kitchen. And second it's only been three days."

"And that is a terrible mistake on our part," Fred says as he scoots down the bench you're seated on, slinging his arm around your shoulders and smooching you loudly on the cheek. "Hello, love."

"Fred Weasley!" Molly whacks her son upside the head and Harry snorts out the orange juice he'd been sipping. "You leave Miss Potter alone and get going. You too, George."

Sirius laughs as the boys pout but do as they're told. You wink and blow George a kiss who proceeds to pretend he catches it and then pockets it. Laughing, you shake your head in amusement before looking up at their mum. "Thank you, Mrs. Weasley, for the delicious looking breakfast. I didn't know how much longer I could pretend that Kreacher's breakfast was good."

Molly beams, but before she could reply Sirius is huffing. "That dreary old bat just needs to be put out of his misery."

"Oh Sirius, be nice. I'm sure he's not all that bad," Molly admonishes him. You, Harry, and Sirius all snort and she tuts at all three of you, but you and Harry are the only two to grin apologetically at her. "Well if that's all, I shall be going. I'll see you three for dinner."

"No, no. This'll be all for today, Molly," Sirius assures her. "The kids are going to start reclaiming what is rightfully theirs today. We'll most likely swing by Tom's tonight."

"Well alright." Molly pats you and Harry on the shoulder one last time. "I wish you two the best."

After Molly whisks her sons back home, the three of you left at the table enjoy the breakfast she had cooked up. Halfway through Remus shows up and plops down on the opposite side of you, stealing food from your plate as he makes small talk with Sirius in between bites.

Once the food is gone and Sirius has summoned Kreacher to clear the table, all the attention is on you and Harry.

"So what's the plan, cub? Are you really going to demolish Godric's Hollow and rebuild?"

"Yes," you answer Remus. "I don't know about everyone else, but I believe it's a disgrace to mum and dad's memory that the home they were murdered in was left as is as some sort of memorial. It's sick," you say. "If they wanted to memorialize it, then a picture should have been taken to be put in a history book or a plaque be put up.

"Do you plan to live there?" Harry asks. "Because I can't see myself making a home where my earliest memory is of mum screaming as Voldemort threatened her."

"Oh Harry." Under the table you reach for your brother's hand, squeezing it in comfort. "I'm sorry you have to live with that. But yes, I'll take Godric's Hollow. Potter Manor is always passed to the male heir anyway, so you don't have to worry about it."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. I don't remember anything from that night, and even though I know mum and dad died there I believe in making happy memories where they once lived. I think they'd like that."

He smiles. "Me too."

"Aww! Would you look at that," Sirius coos. "Seeing the two of you together, James and Lily would be proud."

"'Course they would," you muse, releasing Harry's hand and then slinging your arm around the back of his neck to bring him in closer while touching your temple to his. "We're adorable."

"Humble too," Remus huffs, pinching your cheek. He laughs when you swat at him. "So are you two ready? It's going to be quite the tiring day."

You and Harry glance at one another, sobering up some and nodding. "Let's get to it."

#harry potter imagine #hp imagine #hp gen fic x reader #harry potter #minerva mcgonagall #molly weasley #fred weasley #percy weasley #remus lupin #sirius black #stephen strange #marvel #doctor strange

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obeymeluv · 4 years

Text

The Bros Visit the Human World

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

You bring the bros to the human world for a little get-away and they develop some interesting habits.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Lucifer

He’s the restless one that doesn’t sleep well. It takes a night or two to get comfortable and sleep normally.

Lucifer will probably be the first one up. Not only out of habit, but you’re in the human world so he’ll see the sun again

Being away from Diavolo and the responsibilities actually makes him seem like a stranger. Everyone forgets who he is outside of that because he’s so dedicated.

If you’re around a lot of nature, he’ll just casually stroll around. Almost like he’s forgotten what grass, trees, and flowers look like. He loves to spend time in the sun and just breathe the air.

Have pets? He’s partial to cats and well-behaved dogs.

Surprisingly, he’ll be the type to chase birds off of anything half-wounded or put birds back into their nests

At some point you’ll find him on the roof, wings out and sunning

Take him to livestock stores or somewhere like Tractor Supply Co. and he’ll be super tempted to smuggle a baby chick out in his pocket.

Loathes most human TV. Can’t bring himself to be interested until you bust out bible-history related documentaries. If he finds one he’ll take control of the TV, watch it all, and rip it to pieces.

Kind of develops a complex about it. “What would these humans know?! They’ve only been around for, what, forty years? Try five thousand!”

Take him by the coffee shops or smoothie shops to try decadent treats! He secretly likes them!

Mammon

Sleeps easier than Lucifer but has a tough time because the noises are different

If you have an open field or bigger back yard, his favorite thing to do is stand there and watch birds come to him. It surprises him that he can summon more than crows

Boy will definitely throw on a sunhat (or some cool glasses) and ask you what you feed birds around your place. Stands out in your yard throwing bird seed like the birds are starving and he’s got a million bags.

The type to fight squirrels and chase them out of your yard or away from feeders because “It’s not FOR you!”

If you live somewhere more laid-back he’ll feel very restless. He’s drawn to bigger, busier places.

IMMEDIATELY asks you about restaurants and things to do (”What’cha got? What’s good? Anything fun around here?”)

Gets super frustrated by shows like Storage Wars but it eerily good at appraising the value of stuff at a glance. Often guesses the real value of the objects

Show him Antique Roadshow. He’ll LOSE. HIS. SHIT.

He’ll ask to go by places like pawn shops and jewelers to just look at the different things humans trade or want to save up for. Can probably get discounts on the stuff.

Bring this guy when shopping for jewelry. He has an innate gift for appraising and can see flaws. He knows when you’re being played.

Want to be a little mean? Get those chocolate treasure chest coins and give one to Beel first. Mammon might just have a heart attack.

Definitely goes on a rant about how making chocolate money is wrong. (”Why make a currency you can’t spend?!”)

Make the visit special by getting some type of matching jewelry--earrings, rings, necklaces--and he’ll wear it around.

Take him by pet stores where they’ll let the birds out of cages, he’ll make kissy noises and love on all of them. Will definitely try to smuggle one out.

He’ll spend whole days in parks when he realizes you can park it on a bench and feed birds. Birds that don’t always get food!

Don’t show him water fountains. He doesn’t get the concept of people tossing coins in and will definitely try to take them by posing as a cleaner or something

Taking him by a museum is a 50/50 gamble. He’s genuinely interested in the displays and setup but might try to steal something

Do you have a way to watch The Road to El Dorado? Show it to Mammon. He’ll love it.

Leviathan

Unless you live by some cute cafes, comic book stores, or video game retailers he probably won’t do much on his visit

Do you have a pool? He changed his mind. Might gripe about the chlorine messing with his skin though.

If you only have access to a community pool he refuses to do anything with it

Take him to the beach if you live near one. He’ll ALWAYS go for ocean water!

Because the Devildom is the Devildom, I bet they don’t have Ghibli movies. Maybe they have knock-offs, or they’re considered rare because they’re human world related, but have a Ghibli marathon with him! He’ll love it! It won’t be Ruri-chan levels of love, but he’ll stan and want to buy some stuff

Can you make boba tea at home or swing by a coffee shop that makes a close substitute? Take him! He’ll like it! Levi may complain about it not being authentic but he’ll secretly appreciate it

He likes savory food and junk food so take him by a dollar store and get some cheap chips and sodas. It’ll be interesting to try. Maybe he can make a Deviltube video about trying human food!

Levi also strikes me as someone who would like nachos, so maybe grab him some nachos!

Do they know about the Doritos and Mountain Dew thing in the Devildom? He might want those. (”Look, I’m like the human gamers!”)

Levi runs a little colder than his brothers (by Devildom standards) so take him around to feel on blankets and maybe get one to take back to the Devildom.

Satan

Has a great love for books (obviously) and a great disdain for Devildom bookstores that charge an arm and a leg for human finds. TAKE HIM BY BOOKSTORES AND LET HIM LIVE IN HIS NATURAL ENVIRONMENT!

The type to bring an extra suitcase just for books

Is actually quite a homebody because he has no connections in the human world (besides you), so he’s fine to sit and read his new finds.

Do you have books at home? What are your favorites? He’ll read them, too, while he’s here

Show him some kind of crime channel or crime YouTuber and he’s 100% obsessed. Binges them like Netflix

Will wave you over and demand you sit, tangling your legs together as you lean back and speculate on who the murder is and what happens since most of those TV episodes are an hour long

Loves anything psychological-based. Wants to understand why people do things and how they work. Show things like Criminal Minds and Mind Games. He’ll be SUPER interested.

Do you have cats? You’ll see Satan whispering them and holding them against his shoulder. He’s in love and might be planning to steal your cat.

Taking him by animal shelters makes him a little sad but he’ll be glad to play with all the cats at one time.

Don’t tell him that, to most humans, Lucifer and Satan are the same figure in the Bible. He just might lose his shit.

Does your town have history/mystery tours? Take him! It’s a two-in-one and he loves it! History and culture, mystery and crime!

Show Satan Cinderella. He’ll get the BIGGEST laugh out of the cat being called Lucifer.

Asmodeus

Like Mammon, will ask you about aesthetic places and things to do

In a rare moment of not hating Mammon, the two will gossip at the jewelry stores and be really critical. Mammon stops Asmo from making bad purchases

Show him around some makeup stores! He’d LOVE to see human products!

If you take him by ANY store with clothes, he will look, pick, feel, analyze, and try things on for the hell of it. It will be an all-day thing

Human fashion takes off more than he expected on the Devilgram, so he’ll buy a few things.

When he realizes makeup stores give free makeovers, he’ll use that to his advantage. Especially by charming people

Goes on a small kick of charming people to get what he wants because Lucifer only ever told him he couldn’t do it to YOU. It’s a new level of fawning and attention and he eats it up

If he sees a cute Starbucks drink on TV, he wants it.

If you show him Pinterest or Instagram, he’s glued to a device and saving things.

By the time everyone goes back to the Devildom he has a tiny notebook full of ideas and details--ways to recreate it in the Devildom

Gets several modeling offers and you (or one of the bros) has to pull him away, It’s not happening.

Unexpectedly into unboxing videos and calligraphy. Lives for pretty hand writing and is fascinated by bullet journaling even though he’s too lazy to maintain one

Show him soap operas/dramas and celebrity entertainment channels. He won’t know what to believe.

If he sees shows like Jerry Springer, Maury, Jeremy Kyle, or Judge Judy he live-streams them like ‘can you believe what crazy things happen in the human world?!’

Beelzebub

The dollar store is his heaven! ALL THIS FOOD FOR A DOLLAR?!

I personally think that human food is less calorically dense so he’ll need to eat a lot. Take him by fast food places that have cheap dollar menus or five dollar deals

If you go to a restaurant with a ‘finish in ‘x’ amount of a minutes and it’s free!’ do it. He’ll set a record

Beel learns about all you can eat buffets and gives you puppy eyes until you take him to one. At least you’ll get your money’s worth!

Don’t take him by a real grocery store. He’ll bankrupt you. Or eat all the free samples.

He’s interested in cooking shows but if he watches them you’ll have to clean up a lot of drool, give him something to eat while he’s watching, or stop him from absently grabbing the closest thing and trying to eat it

Is super into renovation shows and technical shows where people work with their hands. It’s like sports of the mind.

Not as interested in watching American football because he’ll critique it too much. Any other sport, he’ll find it interesting and want to know how it works.

Show him old Olympic footage. He’s surprised at the variety of sports and will watch the whole thing

Will also enjoy Ghibli movies. How do they make food look like that?!

This boy is a Disney princess in a demon body. If he sees any critters while he’s out and about (ANY), he’ll want to try and feed it or pet it

Bugs are drawn to him. He especially likes caterpillars and butterflies.

Beel likes to hunt for ladybugs.

Likes to “donate” to ant hills and watch them work,

Likes to watch nature documentaries about different animals

If you take him to the zoo, he’ll marvel at the different animals. Wants to wrestle a tiger and the bigger animals to see if he’ll win. It looks “fun.”

Belphegor

When he hears about mattress stores, that’s his thing. That’s what he wants you to do together. Belphie will literally lay on as many mattresses as possible and judge them

He may not have a hard time sleeping as long as he has his favorite pillow, but, for kicks, show him ASMR. Beel’s not the only one who drools!

Will definitely fall asleep outside in the sun. Any place is a good place for a nap, and to look up and see clouds is special

Spend a night outside under the human sky. It’s constellations and things he only ever gets to see in the star room

Will watch just about anything on TV. He’ll say he doesn’t have a preference but he likes those happy, soft movies that have gentle endings where everything turns out okay. Actually cries a little.

If he learns what Snorlax is from Pokemon, he’ll want one. A big Snorlax plushy to cuddle and sleep on/with!

If he hears the word “demon” uttered on TV he’s instantly hooked. What stupid thing do these humans think? THAT’S their version of a demon?!

Can you take him to see real cows? He’d really like that.

The type to make flower chains in the grass because he’s bored. Gives his first one to Beel and falls asleep before he can make another one.

Loves milkshakes unironically. Will slink out of bed and come along on any errands/brother outings if he can get one out of you.

#Obey me!#Lucifer x Reader #Mammon x Reader #Levi x reader #Leviathan x Reader #Satan x Reader #Asmodeus x reader #Beelzebub x Reader #Belphegor x Reader

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shireness-says · 3 years

Text

The Set-Up Scam

Summary: They’ve always been friends first and foremost - Emma and Killian, Killian and Emma - until suddenly, they’re something a little more too. But with a $600 betting pool on the line about when they’ll actually get together - well, maybe there’s incentive to keep the good news a secret. ~5.5k. Rated T for language. Also on Ao3.

~~~~~

A/N: Merry Christmas, @nevertothethird! I was delighted to be your pair for @cssecretsanta2020. It’s been wonderful chatting with you, and I look forward to a full stalking. ;)

You said you liked secret dating, friends to lovers, and characters being forced to work together - so I, like a fool, tried to include all three. I hope you like the result!

Special thanks, as always, to my beta, @snidgetsafan - the greatest treasure under any tree.

Tagging: @ohmightydevviepuu, @welllpthisishappening, @thisonesatellite, @let-it-raines, @kmomof4, @scientificapricot, @thejollyroger-writer, @superchocovian, @teamhook, @optomisticgirl, @winterbaby89, @searchingwardrobes, @katie-dub, @snowbellewells, @spartanguard, @phiralovesloki, @profdanglaisstuff

Enjoy - and let me know what you think!

~~~~~

They’re friends, first and foremost. Best friends, really - Killian and Emma, Emma and Killian. Partners in crime and two peas in a pod and every other cliché there is (and Killian would definitely know all of them). It’s been that way since the very beginning, when Killian let her peek at his attendance quiz answers in that awful intro to astronomy class in college. Their relationship had grown from there: late nights in the library and each others’ dorm rooms, studying or watching movies or chatting, all the way through graduation and eventually grad school. They get each other in a way that usually doesn’t happen for Emma, both coming from rough backgrounds and determined to make the world a better place because of it. Hell, they even work together now at Misthaven County Middle School - Killian as an English teacher, and Emma as a guidance counselor.

And all that time, it’s been strictly platonic.

It’s not like Emma hasn’t looked. He’s an objectively good looking man, and smart and sweet and funny. But he’d been in some “it’s complicated” situation with a grad student when they’d met, and then Emma was in that weird period where she and Graham gave it a shot, and by the time they were both available… well, by that time, they’d been Emma and Killian. Killian and Emma. A collective, a pair, absolutely entwined every way but romantically. He’d become her person, and it wasn’t worth risking that. There was no guarantee a romantic relationship would work out, anyways - or that Killian felt the attraction too.

The thing, though, is that they’re Emma and Killian. Killian and Emma. Always together, always in each other’s stories, two birds of a feather. People constantly think that they’re together - or should be.

Emma doesn’t really mind, most of the time. She and Killian usually think it’s pretty funny, trading stories back and forth on his or her couch. Where it gets annoying is when each and every one of their friends are determined they should be dating. It’s been years of meaningful looks and hints about “so why aren’t you seeing anyone, Emma?” - but the last straw is the stupid, stupid bet.

“I just don’ unnerstand why you and Killian aren’t a couple!” slurs Mary Margaret, assistant principal and friend, at her yearly end-of-summer bash. “You’re ovviously in loooooooooove.”

“Sure we are, Mary Margaret,” Emma placates.

“But why haven’t you yet?” she demands. “You made me lose the pool!”

That draws Emma up short. “I’m sorry, what?”

The little pixie-haired brunette frowns. “Don’t you know? We’ve had a betting pool going for ages about when you’d get together this year. I thought for sure it’d be the Fourth of July.”

It’s a good guess, actually - Ruby throws a famously boozy bash every year at her grandmother’s diner, conveniently situated right below the inn. It’d make sense for them to get drunk and take things upstairs - except for the fact that none of this is rooted in sense in any way, shape, or form.

“That obviously didn’t happen,” Mary Margaret frowns sorrowfully, staring down into her plastic cup full of god-knows-what. It doesn’t last long, though, as she perks right back up. “But they let me make a new guess! I’ve got my money on the Friday after your birthday.”

“How much money are we talking here?” Emma can’t help but ask. It’s like a compulsion, one she doesn’t like or understand.

“Five hundred and fifty dollars.” At least that’s what she thinks Mary Margaret says; the slurring gets particularly bad on the f-sounds. It’s an astounding sum. Truly stupid.

Kind of tempting.

“And everyone bet that it would happen this year?” she makes sure to clarify.

“Yup!” Mary Margaret pops the p-sound and then giggles to herself about the noise.

“Then I’m putting fifty dollars on it not happening this year. That Killian and I won’t get together.”

———

She means it at the time, too. Because yeah, there’s sometimes that niggling little what if?, but they’ve known each other for eight years. Emma and Killian. Killian and Emma. It’s not going to happen - honestly she’s not even sure she would want it to.

Until.

It’s not the Friday after her birthday, when they’re all going to hit the bar, but it’s the night before her birthday - a Tuesday. Killian comes over to grade vocab quizzes and eat greasy pizza, and stays to drink beer and watch stupid baking shows with her on the couch. Honestly, in so many ways, it’s a night like any other: two friends, just enjoying each other’s company.

Until.

Maybe it’s the beers. Maybe something’s been building for longer than she ever thought. Maybe it’s just that they’re both feeling good and, well, it is her birthday. But Killian kisses her - or she kisses Killian - they kiss each other and it’s like something slots into place. Like of course this was going to happen - they were just waiting for the perfect moment. It makes sense, in a way that Emma hasn’t let herself think about; he’s the person she trusts most, the best man she knows, probably the most important person in her life. Her best friend - and, probably, something more.

“That was…” he gasps, some indeterminable amount of time later. Somehow, he’s wound up on top of her on the couch - not that she’s complaining.

“Only the beginning,” Emma completes, smirking in a way she definitely picked up from him.

Now that this has started, she has no intention of stopping.

———

“Ok, don’t kill me - or, like, run away immediately - but I need a favor. A huge one,” Emma says much later, both of them naked and sated beneath her sheets.

Killian laughs beside her, peering up from the pillows with a smile. “After that, darling, I’m predisposed to give you just about anything you want.”

“And I’ll give it to you again,” she quips back, mostly to make him keep laughing. It works. “But seriously. Did you know that everyone’s got a bet going on us?”

That pops his head up. “I’m sorry, a bet? I… What? Who?”

“Seems like pretty much everyone. Ruby, Mary Margaret, David, Robin, Belle… I could go on and on. A six hundred dollar pool on when we get together.”

“Typical,” Killian mutters - though Emma catches a fond note in his tone. “Who’s the lucky winner, then?”

“Ok, this is where the favor comes in.” Hopefully this isn’t a breaking point for him; Emma would hate to have this taste of them, only to have it ripped away from her. “See, Mary Margaret told me about this when she got trashed at the back to school party, and I’d had a few too and was all hopped up on righteous fury or whatever, and I kind of… put fifty dollars in the pot that we wouldn’t get together this year at all.”

Killian stares at her for a moment, and Emma’s frankly scared that he’s going to get out of bed and go - but instead, he bursts into a near-hysterical cackle. “So you want to keep this a secret until the new year, so you can win the pot?”

Emma grins, knowing she must look like the cat that ate the canary (or however that weird-ass saying goes - again, English is Killian’s thing). “Exactly. We could spend it on a weekend getaway or something.”

“I’m in, then. Under the radar.”

“It’s just two months and change,” Emma says. “It’ll speed by. How hard can it be?”

———

Turns out - their friends are determined to make it as hard as possible. Even if they don’t know it.

Things are fine, at first. In fact, nothing really changes: Emma and Killian still show up at each others’ doors most nights, and Killian comes to hang out and grade papers in her office during his free periods most days. It’s just that their evenings are now filled with kisses and touches, and those afternoons in her office with all kinds of promises of things to come. It’s thrilling, in a way, to put on the front of normality for everyone else while only they know the truth. It’s nice, too, to be able to get their feet underneath them in this relationship without so many prying eyes watching them figure it all out.

Just because they don’t know, though, doesn’t mean their friends stop trying. There’s a bet on the line, after all, and their friends have never exactly been ones to step back and let things naturally run their course. Not for those busybodies; not with six hundred dollars and Emma and Killian’s supposed happiness on the line.

(The fact that they’re right - that the two of them really are happiest together - is irrelevant.)

David, of all people, is the first to start meddling.

“Do you guys want to get dinner?” he asks out of the blue one day - calls Emma up on her phone and everything. “You and Killian and me and Mary Margaret, I mean.”

Emma’s antenna raises immediately. “What, like a double date? C’mon, David —”

“No! No,” he says hastily - a little too hastily, Emma thinks. “No, a cousin of mine - Kris, you’ve met him - he’s opening up his own restaurant. Some place with Scandinavian food, I guess?”

“That’s actually a thing?”

“I guess. I don’t know, he studied abroad in Norway in college. Anyways, he could use a little business, support or whatever, so Mary Margaret and I figured we’d bring some extra people along. You know, help him out. And maybe Scandinavian food is good after all.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

The line sits silent for a moment, before David breaks. “So… you in?”

And as much as Emma suspects this is all some elaborate set-up - well, it’s supposed to be to help someone else. David’s cousin, who she has in fact met and is really a good guy. And so she reluctantly agrees. “Yeah, I’m in. One of us will have to check with Killian if he’s available —”

“What, he’s not right there with you?”

(He is, his lips kiss-swollen and pulled into a delicious smirk, but that’s not the point and none of David’s business.)

“ — but yeah, I’m down.”

In the week between the call and the dinner, Emma actually finds herself starting to look forward to it. Yeah, it won’t be a real date - not with David and Mary Margaret there - but it’s still a chance to wear a pretty dress that’ll make Killian’s eyes bug a little. She’ll have to pick something he’ll have fun taking off of her later, once they’ve pretended to go back to their own homes.

Emma’s just pulling into the parking lot, however, when her phone rings, David’s name popping up on the screen.

“We’re not going to make it tonight,” he says without preamble, followed by the most fake-ass cough Emma’s ever heard in her life. “We’re sick.”

“Yeah, sick off your own lies,” Emma mutters. “Alright, well, I guess we’ll go another time —”

“Oh no, I insist you guys still have dinner. You and Killian deserve to have a night off!”

“David, c’mon, don’t play dumb —”

He ignores her. “Besides, you’ll be doing me - and Kris - a huge favor. I already told him to charge whatever you guys get to me. Splurge a little, have dessert and a bottle of wine. It’s all on me.”

Killian climbs out of his own car as David pleads his case, cocking his head in confusion at the no doubt frustrated look on Emma’s face. He looks like he wants to kiss it better; Emma wishes he could actually do so.

“Fine,” she caves. “If you’re sure. But I’m running up the bill.”

“You say that like it’s a surprise.”

Emma takes particular glee in ending the call. She should have seen this coming. “Looks like David has come down with a possibly fatal cough, so he and Mary Margaret aren’t coming tonight,” she tells Killian, rolling her eyes. No need to resist that particular urge.

He snorts. “Ah, liar-itis. I thought he might be coming down with a case.”

“Complicated by meddler’s cough. Don’t forget that.”

“Of course not.” He dips down to capture her lips in a gentle, lingering kiss - another urge they don’t have to resist with none of their friends around to see it. “You look lovely tonight, Swan.”

She smirks back. “I know.”

“Of course you do,” he laughs. “I’m sure you wore that just to torment me through dinner. Now, shall we?”

“We shall.” Emma slips her hand through his offered arm. “Dinner’s on David, by the way.”

“I’d expect nothing less.”

———

“So, how was dinner?” David asks the next day, his cough mysteriously cleared up.

“Good,” Emma replies, knowing exactly what he’s digging for. “Your cousin’s got a good lingonberry cheesecake. Don’t worry, Killian and I totally ran up the bill. Kris has been well supported. You’re welcome.”

“And?” he demands.

Emma makes sure to play up her confusion. “And… what? It was a great dinner, might even go back if I ever have a date, and then I went home. Honestly, what did you expect to happen, David?”

Even through the phone, she can almost hear him audibly deflate. Something like a sigh, or perhaps the sound of his entire plan collapsing in on itself. Personally, Emma thinks it’s hilarious.

(It’s especially funny when she vividly remembers the way Killian had stripped her out of that dress, can still feel the scratch of his beard on her inner thighs.)

(But again - those are things that David doesn’t need to know.)

———

The set-ups multiply like rabbits, and Emma starts to notice her and Killian being forced into more and more situations together, just the two of them. Fuck only knows why they think these clumsy attempts will work; after all, Emma and Killian held out for 8 years of each other’s company before finally getting together (without anyone’s help, she might add). Still,

Trivia night is a weekly tradition for them all, down at the Rabbit Hole. Some weeks, the turnout is good; sometimes, not so much. They usually meet up at someone’s house and carpool from there because there’s not a ton of parking spots outside the bar, and it’s always worked well - two, maybe three cars instead of a half dozen or more. It’s a good time, and Emma always finds herself looking forward to Thursdays.

Tonight, they’ve met at Robin’s, Killian’s former roommate. It’s a good crowd tonight, too - Robin and his fiance Marian, Mary Margaret with David, Belle the librarian, Ruby and Mulan, even Graham and Lance and Tink. The gang’s all here, probably trying to let loose a bit before holiday obligations set in, and they’re raring to go - all twelve of them.

Emma hopes that it’s not planned - that there just happen to be two cars and then some worth of people here - but it’s more likely planned. Robin probably twisted their arms to come, just for this.

“Emma, would you mind checking the door one more time?” he calls as they congregate in the driveway. “I’m sure I locked it, but I’ve just got that niggling little feeling…”

“Sure, no problem.” And it isn’t - it’s checking the damn door. Except it’s actually winding down his stupidly picturesque front garden path to the front door, and then having to maneuver around the always-unlocked outer glass door to make sure that the real door is locked, and then maneuvering and winding and everything back… and by the time Emma makes it back, everyone’s already piled into Mary Margaret’s station wagon and Robin’s little SUV, even the middle seats everyone usually hates, leaving just the conniving man himself and Killian standing on the asphalt.

“Sorry, looks like the two of you will be riding together,” Robin says, not seeming remotely sorry. “This is convenient anyways! I know how much time you two spend together, if you decide that it’s easier to crash together afterwards… it wouldn’t be a problem for the extra car to stay here overnight.”

“Oh, I’m sure it wouldn’t be,” Emma grumbles. “I don’t suppose you have any underlying motive here, do you Robin? Say, to the tune of six hundred dollars?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” he responds cheerily. “I just really, really want you to know that you can keep your options open. And, you know, other euphemistic things if the urge moves you.”

Asshole.

(Emma does not leave her car at Robin’s overnight - but that doesn’t stop Killian from meeting her at her place afterwards.

“This euphemistic enough for you, love?” he teases as Emma pulls at his shirt, trying to tug the cotton tee over his head.

“How’s this for a euphemism: fuck me.”

“That’s not exactly how that word works, Swan.”

“I could not possibly give fewer shits about semantics than I do right now, Killian, unless it somehow relates to you getting your pants off.”

Somehow, even in the midst of their frantic stripping, he manages to laugh. “As you wish.”

She’s always preferred straight talking anyways.)

———

“Thank god I found you both!” Mary Margaret declares, bursting into Emma’s office a little too dramatically for her tastes. Until now, she and Killian had been having a wonderful lunch together, but that’s obviously a thing of the past now.

“That seems a little extreme for a Friday,” Killian comments mildly as he sets his cafeteria burger back down on the styrofoam tray. Personally, Emma thinks the cafeteria food is disgusting, but Killian’s got a real fondness for the cheeseburgers, and especially the french fries. No one’s perfect, she guesses. “What terrible impending tragedy can Emma or I save you from, Mary Margaret?”

“Kathryn’s father is in the hospital, so she and Fred can’t work their assigned booth at the Winter Carnival tomorrow.” Storybrooke County School District’s charity carnival is a tradition every winter - one Mary Margaret takes very seriously. Something that’s clearly about to come back and bite them all in the ass. “Would you two be able to cover tomorrow? You’d be doing me such a huge favor…”

Killian raises a single eyebrow as he turns to meet Emma’s eye - that eyebrow that always seems like a dare. “My schedule’s clear this weekend. Count me in. What do you say, Swan, think you can find room in your schedule to save Mary Margaret from the tragedy of all tragedies?”

Emma rolls her eyes at the way he’s putting it on thick, but truth be told, her only plans had been spending the day with Killian. Might as well. “Sure, what the hell,” she says, reaching for another bite of her microwave pizza. “I don’t have anything else going on.”

In retrospect, Emma realizes that Mary Margaret could have done something terrible with this - assigned them to the kissing booth or something. God, she hopes that there’s not a kissing booth at a middle school carnival, but it feels like just the kind of thing she’d pull. Thankfully, they’re set up at the ring toss game. It’s not strenuous in the least; they don’t even have to take money, just paper tickets. Really, the only questionable thing is that they’re crammed right together in the box formed between the booth walls and the counter and the table of bottles behind them. Maybe that’s something that would have bothered her a few weeks ago, back when they were Emma and Killian but not Emma and Killian. Now, it’s just an excuse to get right up in his space and enjoy all those little touches, right under everyone’s nose.

(Maybe, every time they have to duck under the counter to retrieve poorly-thrown rings, Killian takes the opportunity to steal a quick kiss while no one else can see. And maybe - just maybe - Emma uses those same opportunities to steal her own kisses right back.)

“Soooooo, how’s it going?” Mary Margaret chirps when she pops up out of nowhere mid-afternoon. It’s like she thinks she’ll find them making out in the middle of the carnival or something. Which… fair. The urge is there. But they’re professionals - and Emma wants that money, dammit. She’s not caving here.

“Just fine, Mare,” Emma replies. “Nothing worth reporting.”

“There’s not? You two are looking awfully cozy in there… nothing to report?”

“Well, you’re the one who set up the booths, so…”

“Aye, just making the best of it,” Killian helpfully adds.

Emma almost feels guilty about the way that Mary Margaret visibly deflates.

“You know this was another ridiculous set-up, right, love?” Killian asks once their friend has walked away. “She probably never even needed our help. It was all a ploy.”

“I see it now,” Emma sighs. “I had just weirdly hoped she’d be above all that bullshit.”

Killian quirks that eyebrow yet again. “Mary Margaret? Infamous meddler? Of course not. It’s cute that you thought that though, darling.”

“Oh, shut up.”

(“Mary Margaret told me to take the weekend off, that they’d over-scheduled,” Kathryn tells Emma later when she tries to ask how the other woman’s father is doing. “Was that not the case?”)

(Fucking figures.)

———

Ruby, frankly, is not a surprise. In fact, if there was one person Emma would figure would be pulling this bullshit, it’s Ruby. The girl’s too competitive for her own damn good - not to mention that mile-wide chaotic streak running through her soul.

“Pucker up!” she crows, thrusting what Emma assumes is a sprig of mistletoe over her and Killian’s heads. They’re at Ruby and Mulan’s place for… some party; it’s probably, maybe holiday themed, but Ruby’s never needed an excuse to throw a party. Anything to get them all drunk and laughing and forgetting about the stresses of the week.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Emma demands. “Ruby, don’t be stupid. This isn’t college anymore.”

“Oh, like we ever did this in college,” Ruby scoffs with that devious twinkle in her eye. “Besides, college shenanigans are a state of mind. And I’m not giving that up. Now c’mon, no weaseling out of this.”

“It is the rules,” Mulan points out, appearing to slip her arm around Ruby’s waist and drop an affectionate - if slightly tipsy - kiss on her shoulder.

“Yeah, you hear that? Smart half says it’s the rules. So go ahead and pucker up and kiss him. And then go make out for a while and maybe bone each other so I can win the pool.”

Killian blushes a little bit at the phrasing - something that’s surprisingly cute on him, knowing how often he usually tosses around the innuendoes and exactly how dirty a mouth he has when they’re alone. Before Emma knows what he’s doing, he leans in to press a gentle kiss to her cheek, and then another, smacking one for good measure. “Who are we to deny the great, determined Ruby Lucas?” he proclaims grandly. “One kiss: delivered.”

Ruby’s face gets a bit mutinous; it’s the only word for that particular storm cloud, really. “No it isn’t! That’s cheating!”

“Eh. Technically, it was a kiss.” God bless Mulan for being the only one willing to go against Ruby when she’s got a plan; perks of being the girlfriend, Emma supposes.

“And more importantly, Rubes, that’s all you’re going to get from us.” And that’s Emma’s last word on the subject.

(“Happy Christmas, darling,” Killian whispers into her neck later once they’re back at her place, dangling his own sprig of mistletoe over their heads. “How about it? C’mon, give us a kiss.”

Emma is more than happy to comply.)

———

Emma wouldn’t say it’s common for her to get calls from the school librarian, Belle, but it’s not unusual either. So when Belle calls her up in mid-December, shortly before Christmas break, Emma doesn’t think twice about it.

“The new Scholastic catalogs are here,” Belle informs her. “I haven’t started sending them to classrooms yet, but if you want to take a look now…”

“I’ll be right there.” Yes, the catalogs are full of books for middle school students, but Emma still loves those things. They’re chock-full of nostalgia.

“I haven’t even taken them out of the box yet,” Belle explains when Emma meets her at the check-out desk. “They’re all still in the back room. Here, I’ll let you in.”

That should have been Emma’s clue here. Why would a box of new catalogs, just arrived in the mail, already be shoved into the storage closet? But Emma’s too excited about the prospect of those newsprint magazines to think about it. By the time Emma realizes there’s nothing in this little closet but printer paper and old yearbooks… Belle’s already closed and locked the door, trapping Emma inside.

So it’s yet another set up, most likely. It’s a good thing she’s not claustrophobic, at least.

Sure enough, not five minutes later, Emma can hear Killian’s voice outside the door.

“How many boxes did you say it was, Belle? I’m happy to help haul, but I’m just wondering if we should get a hand cart to assist.”

“Oh no, I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Belle’s voice responds. “Just a few trips for each of us. Right in here…”

And suddenly, Killian’s in the cramped little closet too, and the door is shut and latched behind them. Gee, what a surprise.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Emma comments dryly. Somehow, probably on some kind of ridiculous romantic instinct, Killian’s hands have already found their way to her hips. It’s nice, really, ignoring the circumstances.

His face is adorably confused, looking around the room and back to the door and then to Emma’s own face and all over again. “Did she just lock us in here?”

“Yeah, keep up, Jones,” Emma teases. “I assume another stupid set-up effort.”

That makes the confusion disperse alright, a smirk full of promise creeping across his face instead. “If that’s the case… we’ll just have to make the most of it.”

“Oh no you don’t,” she warns. “There’s a camera in here.”

“So? It’s not like she’s watching the monitors.”

“So, Belle recently started dating Will Scarlet in IT. You want to take the chance she locked us in here, and forgot to have her boyfriend monitor us?”

“Fuck,” Killian swears, dropping his head back in dramatic emphasis. “They’re really going overboard, aren’t they?”

“I’ll make it up to you later. I promise.”

Thirty minutes later, when Emma and Killian have done nothing but talk and try to find some little extra space in the crowded closet, Belle finally lets them out, just in time for the end of Killian’s free period.

“I’m sure you have no idea how that happened,” he comments, sarcasm dripping from every word.

“It’s just the weirdest thing,” Belle agrees.

Well, that’s one way of putting it.

(Emma makes it up to him, several times over, at her place that night, with a take-out pizza to boot.)

———

After what feels like an eternity, it’s finally here: New Year’s Eve. As long as they make it to midnight and the new year proper without anyone finding out, this whole ridiculous farce is over, and they can be the couple they’ve technically already been since October. Emma and Killian, Killian and Emma - but more than they had been before.

They’d spent Christmas together - not that that was anything unusual. With everyone else going to visit family, the two of them often spend the day together, eating take-out Chinese and watching holiday movies. Killian’s got a brother back in England that he makes sure to call, and some years Liam will fly over, but Killian usually saves his visits for summer vacation, when he can stay in whatever little English hamlet his brother calls home for weeks at a time. There’s always something nice about spending the holidays together, just the two of them, but it was extra special this year. Who knew Emma was the kind of girl who wanted to trade kisses under the Christmas tree between swapping gifts?

(Killian, apparently - but then again, he’s always claimed to know her better than she knows herself.)

“Just a few more hours,” he murmurs against her neck, twining his arms about her waist from behind as Emma carefully brushes on mascara. “Few more hours, and then it’s all in the open.”

“Thank god for that, too. After all the PDA we’ve gotten from certain people all these years, I’m looking forward to rubbing it in their faces a bit.”

They carpool to Mary Margaret and David’s, just like they do every year. It’s routine, really; Emma always crashes at Killian’s after the annual New Year’s Eve party so that someone is there to help her with the hangover in the morning. Killian makes better hashbrowns than anyone she knows - even Granny - and they always manage to pull her out of the worst of her misery. He’s good about taking care of her, too, with water and Advil and making sure to shut all the shades as tightly as possible. They even share a bed a lot of years; it’s just that tonight, Emma knows there will be a lot fewer clothes involved.

They drink. They eat. They mingle. Sometimes, they’re together, carefully not touching, and sometimes they drift apart. That’s how this party usually works, after all - and Emma is nothing if not committed to seeing this entire thing through, pretending nothing is different this year, that she and Killian definitely aren’t together. Nothing to see here, folks.

God, she’s so fucking lucky he didn’t cut and run once it became obvious just how much of a competitive lunatic Emma is.

Finally, though, it’s the moment - less than a minute left. Killian is already waiting for her by the patio doors, just like he promised. Emma is only too happy to wind her way over there, grinning when she finally finds herself in front of her boyfriend - about to be secret no longer. Behind them, the assembled drunken crowd loudly counts down the last seconds of the year. They keep their hands determinedly to themselves - just as agreed, so no one can try and claim anything happened before the strike of the new year - but Killian still looks at her with that twinkle in his eyes and wiggling eyebrows. It’s anticipation, and excitement, and a good bit of joy - knowing that soon, this will all be out in the open. No more keeping their hands to themselves.

“You ready for this, love?” he says just loud enough for her to hear as the clock hits ten seconds.

“Hell yeah,” she grins back - because she is. She so is. This has been a long time coming - years in the making, really - and you know what? The whole secrecy may have helped her wrap her head around the whole thing, as well as win her the pot, but she’s ready to take it public. Maybe rub it in everyone’s faces just how happy she is and how she did this on her own schedule. Why the hell not?

Cheers erupt all around them, and Emma’s grin stretches to something that almost hurts her face. Killian looks much the same. “Happy New Year, love,” he says, finally pulling her towards him by the hips. “I think it’ll be our best one yet.”

Fireworks are going on outside, lighting up the snow on the ground, but Emma can’t be bothered to pay attention - not when Killian attacks her lips with purpose, grinning happily into the kiss before she insistently deepens it, slipping her tongue into his mouth to play. It’s just another in a series of kisses, they know - but it’s more than that. It’s a display, in the best way, declaring them them.

Emma and Killian. Killian and Emma. A pair, a unit, a couple.

“HA!” shrieks someone across the room as their make-out finally gains attention. Emma thinks it might be Ruby - though, at this point, it might be Mary Margaret. Maybe both. It’s definitely Ruby who materializes just as Emma and Killian finally break apart with a laugh. “It’s about fucking time!”

“Yeah,” Emma agrees - something that seems to short-circuit Ruby’s brain for a moment, if that look on her face is anything to go by. “It really was. And you know what else?”

Ruby shakes her head mutely, that twist of her eyebrows demonstrating that she’s still trying to get her bearings about what the fuck is happening here.

“It’s the new year. That pot is mine.”

“That’s my girl,” Killian whispers in her ear.

Best. New Year’s. Ever.

———

On January 1st of the new year, Emma and Killian - Killian and Emma - they, them, a pair, a unit, a couple take their six hundred dollars in winnings and treat themselves to a goddamn massive lunch at Granny’s. Together. In public. Because they deserve it.

Grilled cheese has never tasted so good to Emma - especially the crumbs off the corners of Killian’s lips.

#csss20 #cssecretsanta2020 #cs ff #captain swan #cs fanfiction #my writing #the set-up scam #secret dating #friends to lovers #oh my god and they were ACCOMPLICES #happy holidays everyone!

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sisterspooky1013 · 3 years

Text

Perfect Opposites

Rating: General Audiences

Words: 1843

Find it on AO3

Tagging: @today-in-fic

It’s jealousy that fuels all the gossip, and the unkind comments. Jealousy from the men because she’ll never so much as give them a passing glance, and jealousy from the women because they feel inferior in her presence. Because thanks to her, Fox Mulder is no longer a prize to be won by new recruits. Gone are the betting pools about which young, sexy new agent would successfully take him to bed (the tall brunette always had the most bets), and numerous are the men who boasted to their buddies that they would be the one to get her number, to take her out, to fuck her, with nothing to show for it. She didn’t even bother to reject them, just ignored their attempts at small talk and walked away with a tight lipped smile, leaving their egos bruised and “ice queen” on their lips. They called him Spooky because as whacky as his ideas were, he could still charm their girlfriend into a weekend fling with minimal effort and they knew it. They were all jealous, from the seasoned senior agents to the ones fresh from Quantico. Every last one.

I’ve always taken a special interest in them, Agent Mulder and Agent Scully, given my history. I noticed Agent Mulder and Agent Fowley too, before, but I knew it wasn’t anything special. I didn’t see myself in them the way I do when I watch him with Scully. I picked up on the difference right away; how he looked at her, and touched her casually. I saw something familiar in his gaze, the sadness and the longing. She seemed oblivious to it for the first few years, always so painfully poised and professional, but eventually she caught on. While everyone else called her “ice queen” behind her back, I saw how she leaned into him when he whispered in her ear, and the quirk of a smile that played at the corners of her lips. That same sadness and longing in her eyes when she looked at him, stealing glances while he was focused on AD Skinner at the front of the room. Sometimes they’d touch the other’s knee under the table and exchange a knowing look. I can’t see through tables, but if you know what you’re looking for, you’ll find it. And I knew she wasn’t cold and without feelings. She just didn’t allow very many people in, but she allowed him in.

When Agent Fowley came back, I immediately thought of Agent Scully and how she might be feeling. She’d probably be threatened, and jealous, though she really didn’t need to be. Agent Mulder never once looked at Agent Fowley the way he looks at her, even when they were in a relationship. Even when they lived together. I guess Agent Scully doesn’t know what I know, because I saw how upset she was by Agent Fowley’s presence. The set of her jaw, the way she crossed her legs and leaned away from Agent Mulder, putting distance between them both physically and emotionally. She was protecting herself, or trying to. It’s been painful for me to watch, though I know I’m biased in wanting them to be together. I’ve told myself over and over not to get involved, that she probably doesn’t even know I exist, much less will she listen to what I have to say. She’s a private person, she would never talk to me about something she likely hasn’t even admitted to herself. My resolve crumbled, though, the day I saw her crying in her car in the parking garage.

I can’t know for sure that’s why she was crying, I will admit as much. But because I’ve been there and walked that path, and because I’ve been watching them for so long, I feel so strongly that she was crying over him. Over her, Agent Fowley, stealing Agent Mulder away. She doesn’t need to worry, but she does, and it just hurt my heart to see it. I told myself that if I ever happened to be alone with her, I would say something. I can’t recall ever having been alone with her before, so if it happened by chance, it would be a sign.

Imagine my surprise when I was washing my hands in the bathroom and she came out of the only other occupied stall, eyes puffy and the final sniffs of a covert crying session still crinkling her nose. It was only she and I in the bathroom. It was the sign I was looking for.

I said “hello” and she looked at me startled, like she hadn’t even realized I was there. That happens a lot lately, I’ve noticed. While I was once the young hot thing at the bureau, my late 50’s haven’t been especially kind. You become invisible, as an aging woman. Someday she might know what that’s like too.

“Hi” she responded, curtly, but not without some warmth. She wasn’t rude, but she also wasn’t looking to chat.

“Agent Scully, I realize you probably don’t know me from a hole in the wall, but-“

“-Agent Hansen, right?” She forced a smile. I didn’t do a very good job hiding my surprise that she knew my name. I nodded, and barreled on before I lost my nerve. She’s even more beautiful up close than she is across a conference room table.

“Right, Agent Hansen. Um, I don’t mean to be nosy, and I’m not asking you to share any personal information or anything, but I wanted to tell you…”

She was watching me suspiciously by way of the mirror while she washed her hands. Just get it out, damnit.

“…I just wanted to tell you that you don’t need to worry about Agent Fowley.”

She straightened up and turned to face me while she dried. If I thought she looked suspicious before, I didn’t know how many flavors of suspicion she possessed.

“How do you mean?” She asked me, and I knew she was curious even more than she was uncomfortable.

“I mean, you don’t need to worry about her and Agent Mulder. He’s not in love with her.”

She balked.

“What? Why would you say that to me? Agent Mulder is my partner. Nothing more.”

Sensing that she was about to bolt, I went for it.

“Agent Scully, just hear me out, okay? You don’t have to say anything, but please listen. I was like you once. I’ve been with the bureau a long time, and when I was in my late 20’s I was assigned a partner who was nothing like me at all. He was tidy and methodical and I have more of a ‘bull in china shop’ approach to life. But we became very close, and after several years we became…involved. He was the love of my life, and when I see you and Agent Mulder together, the way he looks at you, it reminds me of the way Harry used to look at me. I was here when Agent Mulder and Agent Fowley were together, as partners and as lovers, and I can tell you that he NEVER looked at her the way he looks at you. I know that she’s intimidating and it’s got you all out of sorts, I can see that, and I just wanted to tell you that you don’t need to worry.”

Her expression was rapt but also quite emotionless.

“You can see what? What makes you think I…that Agent Fowley bothers me?”

I shook my head and waved my arms to indicate that she didn’t need to worry about THAT either.

“No no, it’s not obvious, Agent Scully. I know you work very hard to hide it. I only notice because, well this sounds creepy I’m sure, but I’ve always taken an interest in you, because you remind me of myself. It’s only because I’ve observed you so much with Agent Mulder that I can see how much she bothers you.”

She let out a breath of relief, then looked around the bathroom, as though it had just occurred to her to make sure no one else was in there.

“So, you and your partner, you got together?” She didn’t look at my face when she asked. She was embarrassed to even be curious.

“Yes, we did, about 8 years after we were assigned to work together.”

“And, um, what happened? At work?” Curiosity got the better of her after all.

“We were split up, and he was reassigned to VCU. I’ve been here in the bullpen ever since. We got married, had two beautiful daughters.” Because I know her expressions so well, I caught the almost-smile that she quickly suppressed.

“Is he still in VCU?” The wrinkle in her eyebrows told me she was trying to figure out who he was. All the guys down there these days are pretty young.

“He passed away a couple years ago, from a heart attack. But he worked up until the day he died.”

Her hand reflexively went to the cross at her neck, her mouth falling open in an “I’m so sorry” look that I’ve become very familiar with since Harry died. I kept talking to save her from offering condolences.

“It’s sad, yes, but we had 20 wonderful years together. Harry said we were ‘perfect opposites’ and that we each made half of a whole person. So you can see, then, why I can see my own story in you and Agent Mulder. Maybe you’re not ready, yet, to take that next step, and that’s okay. It took us 8 years. But I see how much you’re bothered by Agent Fowley and I just promised myself that if I ever had a chance, I’d tell you that you don’t need to worry. Agent Mulder is in love with you.”

She looked at me then, shocked, like I’d said something unspeakable. She opened her mouth to protest, but then closed it, looked at the floor and said “thank you” so quietly I almost didn’t hear her.

I left then, pretty sure I had done all I could. I told AD Skinner I wasn’t feeling well and took the rest of the day off, and stopped by the coffee shop around the corner to get two drips; one black and one with cream and sugar. After that I drove out to the little cemetery to visit Harry, and tell him what I did. As always, I poured his black coffee into the ground for him, and sipped mine while I updated him on our favorite star-crossed agents, the other set of ‘perfect opposites.’ I wish that he had lived to see the day they finally get their heads out of their asses, but if they’re anything like us, they’ll need plenty of time to accept the obvious. And if they’re anything like us, once they finally come to their senses, they’ll wish desperately that they hadn’t wasted one minute on this Earth not loving each other, because forever is never as long as you think it will be.

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sweetbunnykook · 4 years

Text

Only You (8)

Word Count: 12,827 // angst (mention of physical abuse/harm, mention of child abuse/neglect, mention of forced pregnancy, mention of murder), smut (brief mention of cockwarming and masturbation), no fluff

Photographer!Jungkook X Noona!Reader

Summary: Jeon Jungkook, your wedding photographer, helps you escape on your big day upon learning about a secret your groom-to-be kept hidden. You soon fall for this young, passionate photographer. However, you underestimated just how much he was willing to reciprocate that love. Maybe, you think, he’s loving you just a little too much.

A/N: I’m so sorry this took FOREVER for me to write. I hope you guys enjoy this chapter, please come scream in my inbox so I can scream with you! - 🐰

The red and yellow iron man figurine is snatched away from his clammy little hands, the harsh ridges of the plastic cutting across his palm to leave gashes that burned. Jungkook’s eyes are already glossy with unshed tears as he stares at the beloved toy in her grasp.

“Fucking useless piece of shit!” His mother screams, voice cracking as she throws the plastic figure at the man sprawled on the couch, a small pouch of belly fat pooling over his unzipped jeans. His dark disheveled hair and tattered clothing makes him look older than he actually is, earning a disgusted sneer from the woman. The head of the figurine hits the side of his arm but he simply glares at the child, and then at his wife, before turning away in silence. Iron Man lays on the dirty carpet, feet pulled apart, head dislodged from the neck.

“You think you’re the only fucking man in the world that works!? If I didn’t push out your bastard child, I would’ve left you years ago!”

Jungkook’s face scrunches into a frown, hiccupping as he gasps for air between sobs and hiccups. He knew he shouldn’t cry for the sake of angering his parents further but he couldn’t help it. Catching his mother’s attention, he steps back only for her to yank his small arm through the oversized superhero shirt and drag him across the living room. The child falls onto his knees, unable to help himself as the grip on his arms numbed his little hand in which he held his lunch bag.

“I’m sorry! Mama, I’m sorry! Mama!”

The soggy brown sandwich bag tumbles away from his grasp as his mother drags him into his makeshift room behind the sliding door of a storage unit. The shoebox-sized space is thankfully warm as it’s situated next to the hissing water heater. Jungkook’s mother pushes him onto the futon next to his school bag, empty cartons of milk, and mismatched socks.

“Don’t you dare make a fucking sound,” she spits, glaring down at the shaking boy who’d curled into the yellowed blankets in the corner. “You don’t want to upset mama, do you?”

Jungkook shakes his head, toes digging into the sheets below him. His ears are ringing, but he knew better than to disagree when her eyes become as red as the knitted dragon on his socks. Red means danger, red means silence.

The door slides shut with a bang and little Jungkook shakes and shakes, bent knees knocking into each other as cold sweat forms on his temples. He wipes his moist eyes with the back of his hand and curls into the corner, hunger pains wringing his stomach tight. He struggles to hold in his bladder and cries harder when he tremors once more and his pants turn dark with urine.

The room gets darker, the house falls steadily falls silent, yet there is still no food offered to him. He doesn’t know how much time has passed as the only window in the room is nailed shut with wooden boards; only the small amount of sunlight shining between the rotten wood tells him when to sleep and when to dress for school. Looking at the dark gaps, he’s disappointed to find that it’s well past dinner time.

He can hear his parents screaming at each other between bouts of silence, their voices lowering gradually as exhaustion takes over them. He’s glad that at least he’s left alone. When the screaming ends, there is moaning, sounds of flesh against flesh, and silence once more.

They must have forgotten he hasn’t eaten, he thinks to himself as his frown deepens.

Jungkook knows they are most likely asleep but he doesn’t want to risk disturbing the peace – the silence – that he can finally enjoy. If it weren’t for his hunger, he would be perfectly content staying still. He closes his eyes to the world and wishes on the lonely lightbulb hanging from the ceiling that one of his parents will awaken and at least take pity on him to throw the sandwich bag in the room. The roaches might have gotten to it first but he wasn’t in a position to complain.

Wiping away the dried snot on his face with the back of his hand, Jungkook looks up at the spotted roof and imagines a big studio like the one Iron Man has. When he becomes big and strong, he would have a drawer full of chocolates and another one full of clean and cool clothes like his classmates. He would be so successful and so cool that his teachers will fall to their knees and he will never have to do homework again. Even Iron Man will come knocking at his door to spend time with him – that’s how cool he will be.

Despite the growling in his stomach, Jungkook giggles softly. He discards his soiled bottoms away from the futon, being extra careful not to let the wetness touch his backpack, and lets his big shirt fall over his knees. He then rolls over to cushion his head with the back of his backpack. At least in his dreams, he lived well.

Some days are painful but some days should be better, he thinks.

“It’s a miracle you survived,” Taehyung says one day as he hands Jungkook a bigger share of his rice ball. Jungkook rolls the sleeves of his black Busan middle school uniform up to his elbows, knowing the smell will be hard to get rid of if the loose seaweed falls apart in his hands like last time. The cheap tuna Taehyung stuffed it with smelled like gasoline and they made it a habit to hold their breaths as they chew. The mayonnaise at least helps the mouthfuls of fish slide right down their throats. No matter how strange his lunch boxes smelled, Jungkook never complained.

“I hate them,” Jungkook whimpers as he chew, leaning the heel of his sticky palms against the wet boulder beneath as his older friend rubs the tender sores on his neck with a free hand. Several bruises trail down his spine and Taehyung knows there are more underneath the uniform. “I just want to get out of here.”

Their naked feet, exposed under their rolled pants, dangle from the sharp layer of rock and moss protruding from the side of the boulder. The sound of ocean waves drown their voices and they find themselves shouting over its volume. Jungkook jumps slightly when cold water splashes over his toes.

“We’ll go anywhere you want.” Taehyung stretches his neck from side to side to undo the knots, his steel eyes landing on the grains of dry rice rolling down the rock.

Jungkook looks at his dearest friend, truly look at him, and grabs another rice ball from the canteen. He coughs slightly when the tuna goes down the wrong pipe, taking a swing of the water bottle from his opened backpack laying at his feet. It was hard for him to sit still when Taehyung says such things so frivolously. In fact, Jungkook found himself annoyed – annoyed that these fantasies are way beyond his imagination and annoyed that Taehyung might not mean what he says and Jungkook is just waiting around for leftovers like the rice ball in his hands.

Jungkook kicks the side of the rock as he licks his fingers clean, scraping his heel along the ridges back and forth. His bottom lip sticks out in a pout. “You’re going away to med school later too…we might not see each other even when you get to college. It’s like…ten years.”

Jungkook can just imagine it. Taehyung, the miracle from a small town in Busan who surpassed everyone with his razor-sharp intelligence and sly fox charms. He’ll walk up to a podium for a white coat ceremony to attend the nation’s best medical school. There will be cheers and flowers everywhere; he bet even the president will show up for the ceremony because Taehyung will represent the rags-to-riches fantasy everyone wants. He’ll go on to be a surgeon full of pride and joy. He’ll marry a naïve but rich girl from Gangnam who will pity his hardships and they’ll have five children together and live in a penthouse. They’ll live on the top floor where they can look down at the people passing by like they’re nothing but ants.

And as for him, he might still be sleeping in that same storage closet next to the hissing water heater.

“I’ll take you with me.” Taehyung pushes the half-full canteen towards the younger boy, giving away his share, and wipes his hands on his pants. There are three giant rice balls left and even some pickled radish at the bottom. The food offering doesn’t make the younger boy smile like he usually do, his brain is so full of worries it might explode.

Jungkook shakes his head at nothing. The future seems so, so far away, almost out of reach. He can barely image his life without Kim Taehyung, the only genius the sad little town has produced this generation who ironically became his best friend and caretaker. There’s been rumors that he’d skipped four grades and grew up speaking Cantonese just from watching films. Jungkook hasn’t confirmed these theories himself but he wouldn’t be surprised if it were true. He had a future as bright as the stars while Jungkook knew, deep in his heart, that his kind is bound to be in the sewers. He’s forever looking up at the stars that Taehyung can collect without lifting a finger.

“I won’t burden you, Tae. I’m just trouble.”

“You’re not,” he runs his fingers through Jungkook’s dark cocoa hair with his damp fingertips. The younger boy trembles slightly at the feeling, kicking his feet to hide how much he’s enjoying it. “That’s what they want you to believe…but you’re not. We’ll get out of here together, I promise.”

“N-No, you have to go Tae,” Jungkook puts the rice ball back in the steel canteen set between them and turns, serious all of the sudden. His voice is cracking and his leg shakes up and down as he tries hard to control the rage and grief boiling inside him.

He knows what will happen. When Taehyung leaves, luggage in hand, to whatever top-tier college in the country with a full scholarship, he’ll end his life. He’ll take the kitchen knife and plunge it deep into his heart and bleed out in front of his sad excuse of a mother. His father can join in on the crying, or the celebration, over his corpse once he wakes up from a drunken slumber. Actually, they might not even notice he’s bleeding. With the piles of newspaper and dishes laying around, Jungkook would be nothing but bones underneath all that garbage by the time they discover his body.

Taehyung, gripping the hair above the nape of the boy’s neck, keeps him in place like a bothersome cub. “I won’t leave you, Kook. I swear on my life I won’t. When the time is right, we’ll get out of here together.”

Jungkook doesn’t reply immediately, weighing the sincerity on his ears. Feeling tears sting his eyes, he leans his forehead on the older male’s broad shoulders to hide his face and circles his arms around his biceps. Taehyung nuzzles his chin into the younger boy’s hair and smells the salt of the sea in his scalp.

“I’m useless,” Jungkook says at last. He’d decided that Taehyung was genuinely concerned about him after all and not showing off. Those words were not like the empty promises he’s heard many times growing up. “I’m not smart like you. I can deliver milk and newspaper and that’s about it.”

Jungkook rubs his cheek up and down Taehyung’s shoulder blade, scratching the little wound on his cheek until it burned. He can still feel the buckle of his father’s belt ripping a patch of skin off the top of his cheekbones. He had considered leaving that day without a dime to his name but knew better to stay.

Taehyung reaches behind him and tugs his backpack forward, choosing to instead comfort the boy through a gift he’s been wanting to give for some time. He shrugs Jungkook away, earning a pout as the boy wanted to hear more honeyed words of comfort. His irritation, however, is short lived when he sees a flash of onyx and silver in Taehyung’s hands. He watches as the film camera gleams under the tangerine sun, the cracks on the side oozing a type of charm only antiques have.

“This is grandpa’s camera,” Taehyung says as he sets the camera down on his friend’s lap. “I want you to take pictures of the things you love before we get out of here.”

It’s not a gift, but a promise.

“You’re giving this to me?”

He nods. “Don’t worry, he ran off ages ago. I wanted you to have it…I think you’ll like it once you get the hang of it. There’s already a roll inside, it’s half used. I know you wanted that camera from Mickey’s but…this is good enough for now.”

Jungkook’s cheeks turn bright red as he holds the camera in his hands, brushing his thumbs across the protruding lens and the square of white plastic in the corner. He didn’t realize that Taehyung paid enough attention to catch him staring at things he can’t afford. It was equally humiliating as it is flattering that someone notices his wants and needs. Although the camera in his hands is not as fancy as the one in the display cases, Jungkook is more than grateful for he would not be able to afford the basic point-and-shoot camera on a delivery boy salary.

He can’t help but think maybe this will be Taehyung’s final gift to him before he goes away. Maybe the older boy is just taking pity on him because attachment is an illusion that slowly dissipates as absence takes its rightful place.

That rags-to-riches fantasy happens to those who are smart and sincere like Taehyung and not to boys like him – boys who stupidly spend hard-earned money on Iron Man comic books despite needing money to escape.

“I can’t afford to buy film,” Jungkook complains because he knows he’ll burst into tears if he thanked Taehyung. He peers into the viewer with one eye closed. He takes a shot of the waves dancing under their feet. The cerulean blue, their tanned feet, the black rocks – he can already feel excitement bubbling within him when he’ll make the time to develop the roll at the school photography lab.

“I have a box of unused ones in the basement. I’ll dig it out for you later.”

“Mm…okay.”

He points the camera towards the setting sun, taking a snap just when two birds fly past him. The film inside clicks into place with a satisfying snap, making him giggle. He turns at the waist and points the lens towards Taehyung, who stares into the camera with a disinterested amusement that tugs Jungkook’s heart a little more than he feels comfortable with. To please the boy, Taehyung holds a peace sign over his cheek, shielding half of his face as his eye peers past the ‘v’ shaped fingers. Jungkook takes the shot.

“Happy?”

He giggles louder this time. “Very much so.”

Taehyung takes the camera away, enveloping his large hand over the boy’s fingers. He holds the viewer up to eye level, seeing Jungkook nibble on his lower lip. He knows what the boy is thinking. There’s no way he can look pretty with the wound on his cheek, with the purple bruise blossoming around his right eye, the chapped lips split open from his nervous gnawing. Sensing his discomfort, Taehyung reaches over with his free hand and tugs at Jungkook’s hair tucked behind his ears. His deep mahogany-black locks bounces forward like a curtain, shielding the injuries without effort.

“Perfect.”

The camera snaps once more.

You curse under your breath after splashing your face with cold water in the office bathroom. Work has been absolute hell in contrast to the newfound heaven at home with Jungkook. You swear there’s a force in the universe set out to get you; as one part of your life heals, another part has its wounds reopen. When Jin called in sick for a few days two weeks ago, you did not realize how different he was going to be when he returned. Something about the way he looks at you these days leaves you paralyzed, often times leading you to work entirely in your personal office instead of the open cubicle like you usually do.

You assume that perhaps there is something going on in his personal life that can explain his passive aggression towards you and your coworkers. Taking pity on him through your own self-talk, you complete his share of the paperwork without complaints for an entire week without earning a single ‘thank you’ or even a smile from him. He often walked back and forth in the hallway, dialing his phone with an aggression that leaves you wondering if the screen even works with how hard he’s pressing. Knowing he was the type of person to need distance during hard times, you didn’t push it.

That is, until he’s suddenly calling in the middle of the night and dragging you out of break rooms. The office is already short on staff due to Sora’s absence, you didn’t need to be reprimanded for laziness especially after you carried his entire workload and apologized on his behalf for mistakes in the software he was supposed to fix.

Honestly, you’re not sure why Jin is cold one moment, hot the next, and then absolutely boiling on some days. But you’ve had enough of it and you’ve reached breaking point today when you heard rumors for the first time that your department, usually praised for its performance, has too many unprofessional workers (it did not take energy for you to figure out people are talking about your little cat-and-mouse chase with Jin). Thus, it was a relief when your former assistant shows up at the office and gives you a break from the cycle of avoiding your childhood friend while saving whatever reputation you have left here.

Pleasant and giving as always, Sora brings sandwiches for the people in your department with no pressure to have the favor returned. It’s the first time you’ve seen your assistant since she took her maternal leave; you almost forgot about her despite receiving occasional updates about her condition and even yearning for her when Jin disappears from his cubicle or stares at you from across the room. To you, she’s one of the best persons you’ve worked with so far in your career. Although Jin is great at handling IT issues that arise too many times for you to wonder if the whole job should be thrown away, it was Sora who brightens the atmosphere with her rambunctious laughter and messy desk in which she was miraculously able to get work done at an unmatched rate. Sporting a small bump beneath her floral wrap dress, she greets you with a kiss on both cheeks.

As you take her in your arms, you peer at Jin leaning against the office fridge with arms folded. His public questioning about Jungkook stays fresh in your mind and everyone else’s as they quietly glance between you and him between conversation.

Almost every time he chases after you, the first words out of his mouth was your boyfriend’s name. It got to the point where you wish you’d wake up from this nightmare that will pass when whatever in his life fixes itself. You’re sure his irrational behavior, arriving from nowhere with the suddenness of a car crash, is coming from something else in his life. You are sure, one hundred percent, that this is the kind of asshole behavior that somehow manifested in your male peers back in college, not that you were ever on the receiving end of it. Until now.

Currently, Jin seems to be deep in thought, sporting dark bags under his eyes. His eyes meet yours momentarily before you pull back and gasp at Sora’s belly with the vigor of a seasoned actress.

“Why do I have a feeling you didn’t just come to bring sandwiches?” You tease while your coworkers chuckle, turning their heads towards you for a moment before turning back to their plates. There are only a few sandwiches left on the counter as you couldn’t leave a conference call until much later unlike others. Actually, it was the same conference call from the person who was disrupted when Jin pulled you out of the room for an “emergency” days ago. You were too angry to even listen to him then, and even angrier now that you’re here smiling after apologizing with a bow just moments before.

With the merry atmosphere dancing in the otherwise cold break room, even your boss sitting at the end of the table has a difficult time asking people to head back to their cubicles and corner offices.

“No, I came here because I missed you,” she squeezes your arms, dragging you softly towards the table scattered with sandwiches of all types. How unfortunate the lobster roll – your favorite – is all gone.

“Please,” you scoff and she laughs with that hearty, sweet sound you missed so much.

“Actually,” she begins, “I’ve been thinking of staying at home to be a mother.”

Your jaw hangs. “You won’t be coming back after this?”

Her face falls slightly at your question and you immediately shut all your thoughts deep inside. You don’t understand the first thing about being a mother. It’s only reasonable you hear her out first. From the corner of your eyes, you see Jin walk towards the coffee pot and pour himself a cup in his chipped mug that brings a spark of annoyance in your chest.

“I do,” she sighs, “but…I found out I’m having twins. Just last week actually. This entire pregnancy was a bit of an accident and I needed time to rethink my priorities. My husband is more than thrilled we’re having twins, you know how he is-“

You nod in sympathy.

“-but it’s difficult for me. I already have a toddler and now with two more…I thought about handing in my resignation soon. I just wanted to see you all one more time before I do.”

You place your hand on her back once you see the tears in her eyes, leading her outside of the break room and into the small walkway where sunlight from the open windows gives you a better view of her solemn yet saccharine face.

“You do what’s right for you. But I understand it’ll be difficult for you to get another job if you need one later with kids around. Have you talked it over with Alex?”

At the sound of her husband’s name from your lips, her cheeks redden slightly.

“He’s glad that I’m strongly considering staying at home. He always wanted to have a big family and we’re more than financially stable with his salary alone. It’s just…I’m going to miss work.” She looks up at you, eyes watering even more. “It feels like I have a family here. Especially you, I feel like I have the little sister I always wanted.”

“Oh Sora,” you sigh, bringing her in your embrace once more and letting her cheek rest on your perfumed shoulder. She inhales the scent of soft geranium and jasmine, letting it calm her anxiousness only further amplified by pregnancy hormones. If the rest of your coworkers found out how emotional she’s getting, they all will follow suit and cry along with her. “We’re still family whether you work here or not. I’m always a phone call away and you know the team will be here to help you if you need anything.”

“Thank you,” she sniffles, “I’m grateful…really, for everything.”

“It’s no problem at all,” you smile. “I can’t wait for the babies to arrive. From the bottom of my heart, congratulations on the twins, Sora. It’s such a rare and precious thing.”

She beams at you, eyes glistening, her smile stretching wider as she takes your hands in hers and gives them an eager squeeze.

“I don’t even know how to explain it. Just seeing the ultrasound for the first time was, god I wish you were there!”

“Me too,” you agree, turning your head to the side to see Jin peering at you from between the gap of the door and the column in the corner of the hallway. “Alex must be so thrilled.”

She rolls her eyes. “He wouldn’t shut up about it. He’s baby-proofing the entire house right about now even though I’m not even due for another six months.”

You giggle with her, thinking back to the time you walked into your home to see Jungkook on all fours, rubbing sandpaper to the edges of your coffee table. It’s too dangerous, he said when you stand in front of him with a fist on your hip, you’ll hurt yourself. His strong arms bulge and flex as he works the wood with the ferocity of a mad man. You wonder if Alex is in the same position on the floor, religiously rubbing sandpaper back and forth against the corner of the wooden table.

“That’s so funny,” you muse. “Jungkook baby-proofed the house once and made a mess of the living room…and I’m the farthest thing from a clumsy child.”

Sora raises an eyebrow, elbowing you softly on the side. “Is he dropping hints? You have sex regularly, don’t you?”

“Shhh! Sora!”

She cackles as you turn back and forth between the open door and at her amused face.

“We’re not even married, or even engaged!”

“Well,” she shrugs. “Do you really need to be married to have a child these days? Men can have baby fevers way early in the relationship,” she muses, thinking back to her college days. She seems completely different from the emotional expecting mother just a few minutes ago now that men are the topic of the conversation. Classic Sora move. “I conceived my daughter just a day before Alex proposed.”

You blush, tucking your hair behind your ears. For a moment, you think of your picture-perfect boyfriend on his knees rubbing your lower belly and cooing with his ears pressed up against you. “I guess not but…Jungkook and I aren’t ready for that yet. At least, for the time being.” You shake your head dramatically from side to side, bringing your hands up to your face. “All this baby talk is giving me ideas I don’t like.”

“Alright alright,” Sora waves her hand back and forth like she’s swatting away a fly. “I won’t be one of those annoying office moms that constantly pressure people into pooping out kids.”

You laugh, leaning your back against the wall.

A coworker from two cubicles down peeks his head out the door and urges for Sora to come back into the room. From the ruckus, you can hear your coworkers fighting over the last few sandwiches in a game of rock paper scissors. It seems people are also curious about the picture of her ultrasounds – which you didn’t realize were there before – scattered across the lunch table.

Everyone except for Jin, that is.

You turn towards the door as she waves you off and staggers into the room, just in time to maneuver around Jin who walks towards you while closing the door behind him.

“I need to talk to you about something,” he pleads, peering down at you with a heavy, foreboding stare that wipes the remaining laughter out of your chest.

“Can we talk later?” You move to the side to walk past him, only to be blocked as he steps along with you. You really don’t want to deal with him today when you’re having a good time. You actually don’t want to deal with him at all, at your wit’s end.

“You don’t pick up my calls and you almost always leave before me, if not right away. When I ask, you avoid me.”

Every word out of his mouth is true and you feel sick being confronted with it all despite how valid your anger is with the way he seems to want nothing to do with you when he returned, then wanting to bombard you all five working days last week. However, you’re not sure if the sourness in your gut is regret or anger; regretful that you stayed away from Jin like your boyfriend asked or angry that he is slowly getting on your nerves with his recent behavior. Anytime Jin approaches, it’s never about work or even about your friendship and always about your relationship with Jungkook that he somehow sees as unhealthy and worrying.

“Sora is retiring, Jin. I want to be there for her.” You step around him, only for him to grab you by the elbow and drag you further away from the door. You push him away, glancing at the end of the hallway to see if anyone saw.

“What the hell happened to you?” Jin questions.

“No,” you whisper-snarl, looking back and forth from the door to your childhood friend. “What the hell happened to you? Why do you keep picking fights with me when you know I’m going to react the same way?”

He raises an eyebrow. “With you ignoring me?”

You can feel the anger in your veins making your nerves curl. For the past week, he had been insufferable. You’d never seen someone turn from a friend to a stranger so quickly after you have to bear the weight of his eyes following your every move, leaving you unable to do any substantial office work without errors. Even then, you assume he must have personal business to take care of and needed the well-deserved sympathy. After all, Jin has always been a hard worker and you’ve never once doubted his work ethic, especially in this company where he thrived from your recommendation.

However, his newfound aggression has you thinking back to your boyfriend’s warning about how little you know about men despite living with one. His glare sharpens every time you leave early to head back home or when you take a quick call from Jungkook during your lunch breaks. His eyes seem to follow you across the room as you move back and forth from the copier to your office. You think Jin would be over this little temper tantrum of his until, just yesterday, he’d thrown his cup of coffee in the break room sink while you were on the phone. The sound of porcelain meeting steel and the anger in his eyes was something you couldn’t forget about and in your heart you knew the fury extended past you onto your boyfriend waiting for you at home.

“I know you obviously have an issue with Jungkook.”

“So now you’re ready to discuss?”

“Discuss what?” You scoff. “You claim to be my friend who watches out for me yet you can’t even be happy that I’m finally with someone who cares for me. Jin,” you sigh in exasperation, “look, I know you let your paranoia or whatever get in the way but I promise you Jungkook isn’t a liar or a cheat like Namjoon. You’re overreacting.”

He crosses his arms. “Are you so sure about that?”

“About what?”

“Him not lying to you.”

You didn’t like how serious he looked at that very moment. You’d constantly teased about how his classic poker face he kept from his agent days is the reason why he’s been single since the day he was born. It’s a type of unique hardened face that intimidates anyone smaller than him. Now that this sternness is directed at you, you’re not enjoying a single moment of it.

“There’s no reason for him to lie to me.” You’re confident in that statement and he can sense it by the way your spine straightens and your eyes brighten.

It tugs his heart that you feel so strongly about another man when he knows the truth. It hurts him to know that you’ll be ruined by the files he received from Hoseok and Yoongi sitting in his flash drive. Above all, what hurts him the most is that he risked both of his former coworkers’ safety to verify his intuition, an intuition you easily brushed off to prioritize a months-old relationship against his life-long friendship to you.

On the other hand, you can’t fathom just how much Jungkook can possibly keep from you despite being the most sensitive and loving boy you’ve ever met. A little over two weeks ago, on your balcony, Jungkook had revealed everything you needed to know about him and the reason why he feels the way he feels. He’d trusted you enough to tell you something that affected him the most, that justified his habits you were once annoyed by, and that gave you the reason to become more than just his girlfriend. Sitting on his lap, kissing his scars, and listening to his words, you knew nothing can stop you from loving this boy you met under unwelcomed circumstances.

Really, it was ridiculous that you never noticed the signs before. Jungkook had always cowered to your anger, always the one to put your needs first before his, almost never raising his voice at you except for the few times you were oblivious to your surroundings and endangered your wellbeing.

And here, your friend, belittles you the longer he doubts the validity of your relationship with Jungkook.

Jin’s lips part but you manage to speak before him, stepping closer to him as you crane your neck to meet his unwavering gaze.

“I need to set this straight.” You put a hand on his arm. “I appreciate you as a friend, as someone who has been with me for a long time and looked out for me. I know you’ve always been good to me and I don’t hate you, even if I’m more than angry at you right now. I know you care a lot about the people close to you.”

You see him visibly soften at your words. The tender, loving expression on his handsome face makes you weak for a moment.

“But I need to draw a line here. I’m a woman who can make her own choices about what she wants. I don’t need you to be this…bodyguard stressing yourself to protect me from harm. I know what I’m doing and who I’m with. For god’s sake Jin, I’ve been living with Jungkook for months. If he’d somehow lied to me, I’d know by now. So please,” you beg, your eyes going back to the laughter coming from the closed break room door to your best friend’s piercing eyes. “Leave my relationship alone. Let me land on my feet after what Namjoon did to me. I’m,” you sigh, “so happy now. I’m at peace. So please…Jin,” you squeeze his arm. “Please. Can we just go back to being us?”

For the longest time he stays silent, his eyes moving across your face as if he’s looking for something important.

He finds his voice when you step away from him. “…I understand. I’m sorry…for making you uncomfortable. It wasn’t my intention.” He takes your hands in his. “I’m really sorry.”

You offer him a small, sympathetic smile and bask in the warmth of his palms. “I’m sorry too, for avoiding you when I could’ve said all of this earlier.”

“I just-” he starts and pauses.

Jin looks out the window, focusing on nothing in particular. He can see the top of trees and similar silver rectangle buildings reflecting sunlight. He watches a few cars drive past the swirl path leading to the parking lot situated around the main entrance of the building. He looks back down at you.

“I actually wrote everything I wanted to say and…I was too chicken shit to read it out loud. I,” he clears his throat, looking down at his shoes. “I’m just going through a hard time. I know I’m taking all of it out on you. I’m really sorry, I really-”

“Wait, Jin,” you cup his face in your warm hands, immediately shedding all traces of anger and annoyance you carried for the last few days. Of course, your friend of many years would never hurt or anger you on purpose. He’s overthinking and lashing out when logic hits a wall of emotions, just like you had with Jungkook before. You’ve never seen Jin on the verge of tears until now and it’s tugging your heart painfully. “I forgive you, everything’s okay now, right? You’re still one of my dearest friends, I’m not going to be mad at you forever.”

Jin shakes his head. “No, there’s just…”

He freezes mid-sentence again, leaving you curious as to what his next few words might be. Jin’s eyes move frantically from his shoes to the trees outside. Sweat prickles his scalp as he considers the weight of what he’s about to do next, what he’s about to reveal to you. He’d considered and reconsidered his plans only to wing it all last minute. What good does thinking ever do for him? When Jungkook holds your heart captive, is planning worth the trouble? Or is it easier to play Jeon’s game with his unpredictability? Right now, Jin is convinced it’s the latter.

You watch as he digs into his pocket to reveal a small black flash drive the size of a rifle bullet. “Everything I want to say,” he swallows, “is all here.”

You feel glued to the ground by the weight of the object in his hands and by how intense his gaze is as it sets on you. If Jungkook can see you know, you know he would be furious. Jin takes your hand, revealing your soft pink palm, and places the flash drive in the center before curling your fingers around it. Even though the object itself is as light as a feather, the burden of his words lay heavy against your chest, restricting your ability to breathe.

He whispers your name softly like a prayer, rubbing his thumb across your enclosed fist. “Please read it all for me when you’re alone. I promise I’ll leave you and Jungkook alone unless you need me.”

“W-What’s in it?”

A love confession? Maybe Jungkook was right all along about Jin, about men.

Jin shakes his head. “Just read it. Alone. I went through a lot of trouble to make this for you. If you forgive me and want me to be the Kim Seokjin you grew up with, read it.”

Your fist tightens slightly as you take another step away from him. When you walked to the office this morning and found him staring into his mug of pitch-black coffee, you weren’t expecting anything more than the usual passive aggressiveness or being chased during lunch breaks between your boyfriend’s calls. You didn’t expect to stand here in front of him, wondering if the contents of this flash drive will confirm the doubts Jungkook had about him all along.

Noona, can’t you see he wants you for himself?

You dig your hands into your pocket and tuck the flash drive away, garnering the strength to finally look back into your friend’s eyes. Jin’s eyes are fixed on your pocket before they scour your face once more as if he were searching for something.

“What is it?”

How ironic that you’re the one asking the questions now.

Jin’s lips part just slightly before he digs his fists into the pockets of his black slacks and look out the window. It’s strange that he can’t find the words he wanted to say when he can finally be alone with you for once without raising the suspicion of others or, worse, Jungkook’s. The wind blows gently into the hallway, carrying with it the scent of wet leaves. He stares into the distance as you stare at him until a round of laughter interrupts your thoughts. You look at the break room door and then back at your friend who seemed to have turned to stone.

“I’ll make sure to read it,” you reassure him, unable to bear the silence any longer.

He turns back to you but his smile is sad. You gaze at him longer, unable to decipher anything that just happened in this lonely hallway. One thing for sure, you know the contents of Jin’s flash drive needed to be opened alone and whatever is inside affects you more than it’ll affect Jungkook. Something about the content is going to change you, alter your reality, and take the blissful filter you’ve been wearing for the last two weeks at home. The thought makes you feel queasy as if you have something dirty to hide, as if you’re committing adultery behind Jungkook’s back after he’d spilled his heart out to you.

It was Jin who turns on his heels and heads back into the room.

You dig the flash drive out of your pocket and hold it up to the sunlight. It’s such a small and simple plastic tool costing just as much as a tin of mints.

Yet, it scares you so much you nearly miss your phone vibrating in your back pocket. Jungkook’s name flashes across your screen and for the first time, you hesitate to press the answer button.

Perhaps you thought too highly of yourself all along. How different are you really from Yori or Namjoon when you can keep a man’s secret in your pocket while you live with another?

So far, Jungkook has learned that fear is a strong motivator. It influences you, shapes you, makes you create paths where there isn’t one. It crawls up the walls and knocks on your window as a reminder that there’s always something lurking in the distance. It’s why Jungkook believes in never settling when things get comfortable.

When he asked Taehyung to make placebo pills, he had done so in fear that you would leave him. Yet, this does nothing to settle his nerves. In fact, it makes him uneasy that he’ll get caught somehow as if the birth control pills he flushed down the toilet never melted. In his unease, he can imagine those eggshell white tablets sticking to the sides of the drain despite the chances being slim to none. One call from a neighbor about a clogged pipe and it’s over for him.

This is the nightmare that lingered in his mind before he’d sat you down in his lap and pressed your hand against the dent on his cheek. Three weeks ago, you listened to him attentively as he wraps you slowly around his fingers. He can smell himself on your neck, taste himself on your tongue, feel your touch so agonizingly sweet on his taut stomach. It pained him a little that you, the privileged girl from the world above, might trade love for pity. But you were so accepting and so understanding of his past, his dependency on Taehyung and you, that there was no way someone can come along and convince him you weren’t made for him. Making love to you, worshipping your skin and scent, has never been so otherworldly for him.

Sitting in front of the television and replaying the footage of you from the wedding that could have taken you away from him, Jungkook inhales and exhales slowly. He’d taken the time to clip Namjoon’s footage away so that all that’s left is you in the wedding boutique twirling multiple dresses to your chest, your soft wavy hair pooling over your shoulders as you do so. In a silk robe, you lift a ballroom dress up against the mirror, eyes moving up and down the charmeuse and tulle quickly to take in all its miniscule details.

He loves that about you. The way your eyes glisten and widen when something strikes your heart. It’s the same look you gave him, sitting in his lap on that damp balcony, running your thumb over the scar on his cheek.

It was especially painful for Jungkook to reopen his past wounds but in one way he felt the invisible weight lift off his shoulders. He couldn’t tell you everything – especially not about the strings Taehyung pulled for him to live a normal life – but he was satisfied that you didn’t mind one bit. He swears he could hear you purring and sighing softly underneath his chin, reacting with a slight gasp when he tells you how often he was hurt back then and how thankful he was that Taehyung took him under his wing. Although a small spark of jealousy ignited in his chest when you mentioned inviting his attractive friend for dinner once he’s back in down, Jungkook was more than grateful that you didn’t seem to mind how attached he is to the older man.

He wonders if you’d react that same way if he’d told you he’d lost his virginity to Taehyung a year into high school and that his first kiss happened on that same beach rock. He wonders if you’d react in the same sympathetic manner if you truly knew what happened before he was able to graduate high school before the world plunged into tar.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

Jungkook’s hands tremble as he yanks the storage drawer open and dig out his shirts, undergarments, and jeans into the duffel bag. He has to make sure he doesn’t forget his winter clothes because he would be livid if he finally gets out of this house only to freeze to death on the streets. From between the cracks of the rotten wood plastered against his window, he can see Taehyung standing with a cigarette hanging loosely from his lips. Taehyung looks around the house, at the rusted gates connected to the concrete walls that surround the perimeter, and the mailbox slumped over the garbage can. He looks at the messily covered windows and puffs out a smoke. There’s a similar slumped duffel bag next to his feet inflated with clothes and packets of food.

“I’m leaving.”

Jungkook’s mother attempts to grab him by the neck, unable to do so easily as he stands tall after he outgrew his middle school uniform. Her grip slips as fast as it comes.

“You ungrateful little shit!” She spits, reaching up successfully this time to grasp the ends of his hair as she shoves hard enough for him to stumble into the wall.

Relentless, Jungkook continues throwing his clothes, then his lunch box filled with coins and a wad of cash, into the bag.

“Do you have any idea how much I love you?!” She sobs, throwing herself on the floor next to his shoes and dirty socks. She scratches the slits on her arms and proceeds to drag her nails across the floor. A wretched cry falls from her lips and Jungkook feels his throat clenching, his eyes watering. Rather than sadness, it was boiling hot resentment that keeps him silent.

He doesn’t turn to look at her. He knows she’s going to manipulate him, somehow, with her disgusting guilt-tripping shrieks and nail him against the wall to prevent him from moving.

She pounds the sticky floor mats with the heel of her palms, her voice hoarse. “I made you, Jungkook! I took care of you, I fed you, I bought your fucking clothes. And you’re leaving me with this fucking asshole,” she slams her hands down again, her head snapping towards the sound of the back door slamming open followed by heavy footsteps. His hands begin to sweat, causing the toolkit he grabs from the top of the shelf to slip and clatter on the floor.

In the distance, Jungkook can hear his father crushing a can of beer against the kitchen counter and throw it in the sink for him to clean like he usually does. No longer is he going to be yanked around like a puppet for these two sad excuses of a human being. How his mother was able to carry him inside her full term and give birth while smoking and drinking like a sailor is unknown to him. He’s grateful, at least, that he came out sane. He thinks with a sudden surge of anger that perhaps his mother’s need to have a punching bag was more critical than the inconvenience that the pregnancy caused her.

To her, his father coming back with the stench of prostitutes and alcohol always became his fault. It was his fault that his mother’s body isn’t as it used to be. It was his fault their marriage is dead. Above all, it was his fault for existing to remind them that they produced another good-for-nothing trash to add to the pile of garbage that is this town’s desolate population.

“I’m not coming back,” Jungkook grunts as he throws a camera and several rolls of film in the bag. “I never want to see you or dad ever again.”

His mother shakes her head over and over again, arms stretched towards the door as it suddenly slams open to reveal the lean yet pot-bellied figure of a graying man. His father looks down at the duffel bag on the floor, and then at his wife curled next to Jungkook shoes. His face seems lifeless – like a corpse – with bulging black beady eyes that reflect no light and a mouth set in a thin strip. It’s the first time in years that the man came to see Jungkook in the makeshift bedroom, usually taking the couch in the living room as his permanent place of residence. It’s where he drinks, where he watches the same television program about car remodeling, and where he demands weekly handjobs in his drunken stupor.

“You’re leaving?” He interrogates, voice low and tired as if he’d woken up from a slumber.

Jungkook nods, zipping his bag and glancing around the room to see if he missed anything. He didn’t own much but it pains him to leave his heavy stack of comic books behind. There was no way he could carry that with him across the country.

“Why?”

Jungkook looks at his father under the single light bulb illuminating the otherwise dark and swampy room. For the first time, he notices how similar they look. He has the man’s eyes, his soft yet chiseled jaw, and even the mole under the lips. If the man were several decades younger, they would be a splitting image of each other. The thought makes bile rise up Jungkook’s throat.

Why is he leaving? Was that even a question he needed to answer? One night with the Jeons and anyone will run far away. Jungkook has lived here for nearly a decade and a half and at no point during his residency was he able to remember a time when his body wasn’t covered with bruises or scars. It’s a miracle that he’s never broken a bone nor hospitalized after being whipped across his bare buttocks for years like a prisoner. The humiliation was far worse than the pain.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Jungkook retorts for the first time, gaze hardening. “I fucking hate living in this hellhole.”

His mother watches as her husband swings forward and slams his fist down on the side of Jungkook’s temples, knocking the boy against the open drawers. Jungkook splutters a ball of saliva and blood and digs his arms and legs into onto the ground the crawl away. Unfortunately, the room had only so much room for him to move. The stronger male pulls him by the ankles, dragging him back and flipping him on his back for him to see the belt buckle coming undone.

Jungkook crosses his arms across his face and shields his eyes away from the light and those deep black eyes. From the gaps between his forearms, he sees his mother crawling towards him and yanking his pants down, digging her nails so deeply into the patch of skin where his hips meet the waistband that the scratch marks instantly bleed.

“This boy needs to be taught a lesson!” He hears his father say with a voice as sudden and full of viciousness as thunder, the first lash coming down across his arm. He cries out, spine stiffening as a he gasps into the side of the bag. His breath is ripped out of his lungs. The second lash comes down shortly afterwards across his thighs where former bruises had only recently begun to heal.

“He does, doesn’t he?!” His mother encourages, no longer seeming as distressed as she was before looking down at his scrunched and tear-streaked face.

“When I am done with you, boy, you are going to wish you were dead. You ungrateful piece of-”

A stream of thick liquid splatters over Jungkook’s trembling body, a few droplets attempting to seep into his eyelids squeezed shut. His pounding head gifts him with a vision so hazy he might as well stare through a dense blanket of fog. When his arms come down at his sides to hold his temples together, he can feel his veins pulsing beneath.

It takes a full minute for him to even understand what he was looking at. There’s a muscular arm holding his father across the chest to hold the man’s spine straight and another swung over his shoulders as a silver scalpel, following a trail across the neck, stays lodged deep into the trachea. Jungkook sees another splash of red fall over his bare knees as the stream of blood falls to his feet. The smell of iron is thick in the air when his father, eyes bulging out further than he thought possible, slumps to the side.

Pulling himself away from the weight of the corpse at his feet, Jungkook watches the figure rip the knife standing tall from the man’s throat and plunge into the side of his frozen mother’s neck. He watches her pale, skinny limbs thrash as if she’s burned before she slumps down next to the futon.

With a feeling he can only describe as akin to relief, Jungkook looks up at his savior.

“I told you you’ll need me here.”

With soaked hands, Taehyung gathers the boy in his arms and leans him against the wall. He watches as Jungkook’s face scrunches in pain once more and stray tears make its way down his baby soft cheeks. He takes his trembling bottom lip under his front teeth and shakes as he whimpers like a wounded puppy.

He is truly a puppy, Taehyung thinks.

The older boy takes his place against the wall, legs stretched out in front of him, watching Jungkook with the same enthusiasm as one watches a child take its first steps. Jungkook, wiping the splatters of blood from his face, exhales and sniffles loudly before crawling towards his mother. He wraps his fingers around the silver scalpel from her throat and pull until her skull knocks back down to the floor with a thud. Bloods seeps from her wound down to his fingers and, with a sudden strength, Jungkook lodges the sharp end of the tool into her heart. She must have been partially alive as a throaty gasp makes its way out of her mouth.

Her blood is darker than he remembered from the many period-stained panties of hers he scrubbed with his hands over the kitchen sink. It looked like tar, thick and warm yet lightweight as it drenches his clothes. Remembering his state of undress, he curls his fingers around the waistband of his pants and pull it up towards his hips and over the scratches at his side.

Jungkook grasps the knife once more to push further and relishes in the feeling of it hitting bone. He realizes, with wonder, that his parents don’t even look like corpses in front of him but like puppets.

Maybe that’s how they saw him when they were alive – like a puppet they could throw around without a care knowing it’ll live and die under this roof.

Jungkook takes the knife and stumbles over to his father’s body with enthusiasm, puncturing the man’s stomach and dragging the knife up towards the breastbone. More tar-black blood seep into the flooring, flooding the horizontal bamboo until it ran underneath the drawers and the small shelf holding his textbooks in a neat stack. He grips the knife and plunges, again and again, into the side of the man’s head, gasping only slightly when the bone gives away with a small crack like a camera shutter.

Jungkook situates himself on his knees, heels digging into his buttocks, and looks down at his soaked hands resembling red gloves. He examines his nails, the cuticles darkening as the blood oxidizes in the swampy room. He blinks a few times, watching the red glow under the dim lightbulb above him.

He’s imagined this moment many times before in his fantasies, some much more exciting and drawn-out than what occurred like a fight scene from a Bruce Lee movie. But none of those fantasies included Taehyung coming to rescue him like he had many times before. None of these fantasies included such quick and boring deaths. He was hoping he could say everything he wanted to say to them, about how much he loathed them with all his heart, how much he wished he could watch them boil alive like an insect in a summer pond.

They probably knew but didn’t care.

Now that it’s over, now that there will no longer be screaming and tiring cycles of starvation and receiving the belt, Jungkook is rather grateful for Taehyung’s interruption. And he’s grateful that his best friend of years has never really hid his experience from him. Taehyung just merely waited for his slow brain to catch up.

There’s only one thing he could say as the room falls silent and still.

“Is this what happened to your grandpa too?”

It was with a sudden intuition that Jungkook asked such a question.

“This…and a little more.”

Jungkook slumps down to the floor, looking past his shoulder at Taehyung, silently motioning him to come hold him.

Reading the silence without hesitation, the older boy crawls forward and envelops him in his embrace, keeping him tucked beneath his chin as two hands grip the underside of his arms. He shields the boy’s gaze away from the bodies, knowing that the first time is always the most poignant despite him taking it so well.

“They’ll know it was us.”

Taehyung brushes Jungkook’s bangs back and tucks the ends behind his ear.

“They’ll find us even if we left.” Jungkook continues. Without looking, Taehyung can hear the pout in his voice.

“Are you worried?”

Jungkook nods, fingers palming the thick ropes of muscle beneath his grip.

“Don’t be,” Taehyung chuckles, his long fingers brushing over the small sensitive patch of skin just behind the boy’s earlobes. “I’ll take care of you.”

Jungkook decides to take a long, cold shower after ending the call with you. It concerns him that you sounded exhausted over the phone but he expected it anyway as you’ve been working far too much this week. Your voice, so soft and gentle, makes him semi-hard enough that he finds himself palming the length of his cock under the running water to relieve his frustrations. It had taken him a substantial amount of self-control to refrain from asking for more time in the bedroom these days. As sweet as you are allowing him to nestle inside you and nuzzle you when you were too tired and sleepy to move, your exhaustion ultimately lead him to tucking you in his arms and make sure you at least get some sleep. God, how he wishes for you to run your hands over his chest and arms now.

Jungkook twists the shower knob into the wall and ruffle his dripping hair. He slides the glass door to the left, heaving a soft sigh as he examines the surface of the tub, the toilet, and the sink. The smell of sanitizing lemon cleanser still lingers in the air but he knows the scent will be long gone by the time you’re back from work. Next to the polished sink, he prepared a small basket of bath supplies – jasmine-scented bath salts, dried flowers, and a heart-shaped sponge – for you to pamper yourself when you drag your feet through the front door looking like death. Work has been rough on you and he was more than happy to handle all the responsibilities at home that you sometimes habitually do.

He grabs the towel folded over the slightly rusted rack erected next to the shower curtain (he reminds himself to replace that) and wraps the fluffy material around his waist. Stepping out of the shower, he grabs his cellphone just in time for it vibrates aggressively in his grip.

Head tilted to one side to make sure the moisture at the ends of his hair doesn’t drip on the surface, he answers the call with a smile.

“Tae!”

“Is she pregnant yet?”

Jungkook exhales softly, a smile dancing on his lips. The older Taehyung gets, the less he beats around the bush. “Not yet but she’ll be fertile next week, I think I’ll have better luck soon. How’ve you been? Jimin told me you were in Cuba…and Hong Kong too.”

He hears a sigh over the speakers and chews on his bottom lip. Oh, Jimin is going to get an earful for sure for blabbering his business around.

“I had to deal with a few people…listen,” his voice lowers suddenly, “has anyone approached you or your girlfriend recently?”

Jungkook walks into the bedroom, turning off the bathroom lights with his elbow on the way out. He sits at the edge of the bed, combing his hair back until the droplets trail down his spine and shoulder blades.

“Not that I know of,” he shakes his head, “why do you ask?”

When Taehyung doesn’t reply immediately, a pang of anxiety wraps his heart in a vice grip.

“I-is there someone after me?” He grips his phone.

A few thousand miles away, the older man shakes his head, re-evaluating what he needs to hide or reveal. He wants Jungkook to be prepared for emergencies but after discovering that this Kim Seokjin person is in the same city and, out of a strange coincidence that may not be a coincidence, worked in the same building as you, he’s come to a logical conclusion that makes the situation unpredictable. A basic background check tells him that Seokjin no longer works for the government nor does he have permission to access private health and criminal records of strangers. It explains why the man needed to contact Hoseok and Yoongi. The motive behind such an unethical behavior could also be because of you, Taehyung guesses when he scrolled through Seokjin’s social media profiles to see more than a few pictures of him and you at cocktail parties and birthday gatherings. It did not take much deduction to understand that Taehyung is staring at the jealous male figure that his closest friend complained of lingering around his precious noona. Perhaps the man is using unethical means to dig for the literal skeletons in Jungkook’s closet?

However, if Jungkook sees the man as a threat and if Seokjin has evidence in his possessions, why has neither of the men taken drastic action? Jungkook is far too immature (Taehyung admits) to not consider using his services to take care of a male threat. He seems unusually at peace with you now, leading Taehyung into a wall. If Jungkook isn’t truly threatened and if Seokjin hasn’t acted yet, the former agent is probably smart enough to realize you’re not worth the trouble of dealing with a criminal. The contents of Jungkook’s case must have scared him off. Yes, that’s it.

Taehyung mentally slaps himself on the forehead for not thinking through before calling and worrying the boy.

“Tae? Are you still there?”

That bug he planted in the software used to track juvenile criminal cases lent him more paranoia than relief. There were numerous times Jungkook and his files were accessed by agents that were actively filtering or attempting to study old cases to his annoyance. Maybe the pictures scared Seokjin off for good. Two weeks is too long of a wait to expose a man when there’s an abundance of evidence.

“You don’t have to worry. I was asking because someone messed up a shipment and my customer isn’t very happy. Sent some threats that sounded a little too serious than the usual.”

Jungkook exhales a breath he doesn’t know he’s holding. “…I mean…it sounded serious enough to worry you. Should I keep watch? Should I tell Jimin?”

“No, no need for that. I called to check, just in case. You know nothing is guaranteed in our line of work.”

The thought makes Jungkook upset. Nothing is guaranteed, but he hopes your devotion and Taehyung’s safety is. He doesn’t know what he’ll do without the both of you.

“Okay…” Jungkook looks down at his toes clenching into the floor. “You’ll tell me if there’s anything wrong, right?”

To that, Taehyung replies quickly. “Of course. We’re brothers after all.”

He smiles to that, brushing his locks back and standing. He makes his way towards the closet, fishing out a pair of black sweatpants and a matching cashmere shirt.

Hearing the ruffle of clothes through the phone, Taehyung makes the decision not to tell you about Kim Seokjin after all. With the expectation of pregnancy and Jungkook’s proneness to jealousy, he didn’t need more work on his plate. Despite the brotherhood, they each had their own lives after all and constant surveillance of the past would do more harm than good, reopen wounds that have longed healed.

“I’m catching a flight, I’ll call you later.”

“Okay,” Jungkook beams. He suddenly looks forward to the day he’ll introduce Taehyung to you if there’s business that needs to be done in the city. “Bye, Tae-”

The doorbell rings, prompting Jungkook to turn towards the opening where he can see past the living room to partial front door. By the time the bell rings a second time, Taehyung has already dropped the call. Jungkook makes his way out of the bedroom slowly, keeping his feet light.

Taehyung has already reassured him that there was nothing to worry about. Being approached by someone seems unlikely if this customer of his had expressed similar threats in the past. Yet, somewhere in his gut, he couldn’t fight the feeling that there’s something he isn’t noticing. And the answer to that feeling might be on the other side of the door.

When he reaches the panel, he presses the button next to the monitor to reveal the image of a neatly dressed middle-aged woman carrying a small, wrapped box in her hands. He can tell just from her clothes that she belongs to this part of the town – her posture itself reflects wealth and respect.

It took a few more blinks until he realizes who he’s looking at.

Mother-in-law!

The door opens with a loud clang, causing the woman’s head to snap upwards at the tall man smiling down at her. She notes his damp hair and handsome features – doe eyes, a button nose, pink shapely lips and aristocratic cheekbones. You sure know how to pick your men.

“Are you…Jungkook?” The woman inquires.

He nods eagerly, stepping to the side. “Yes, you’re noona’s mother, right? Please come in.”

He notices the hesitation followed by a pair of Celine heels clicking against the polished floors. He mentally rewards himself for dedicating the morning to polish the bathroom, the kitchen, and the parquet. The house smells a bit like lemon but the balcony carried the scent of orange blossoms that masked the unpleasant sharp notes of artificial fruit.

The woman’s eyes move across the living room, eyebrows slightly raised as if she was bracing herself to witness a pig sty instead of a home.

“What time does she get off work?”

Jungkook closes the door and hovers an arm across her back to lead her towards the sofa. She’s about the same height as you, the top of her head barely reaching his shoulders. He silently hopes the furniture doesn’t smell like sweat as he’s been melting there with the television on for the first half of the afternoon.

“A-about nine, she’s been working overtime for this week.” His knees hit the side of the couch but any hint of pain is overridden with the need to impress. “Please take a seat, I’ll bring you some water.”

“Thank you,” she smiles, although the light doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

Jungkook backs slowly towards the kitchen and then jogs to the fridge, yanking the door open and fetching a cool bottle of water. His hands shake when he fishes a glass from the dish rack, making sure he chose the glass without the uneven bottom. He should have refunded the entire set months ago when it came with such a frustrating defect.

He quickly pours into the cup and wipes any stray droplets on the side of the glass with the back of his hand. She thanks him under her breath when he sets the cup in front of her with a wooden coaster propped underneath. She takes the glass in her hands and take a small sip, smacking her lips together as if she’s tasting wine.

Jungkook struggles to look for the right words to say.

“I brought marinated crabs,” she thrusts the neatly packed box towards him, “I think you’ll enjoy it.”

Jungkook’s smile couldn’t have been any larger as he takes the wrapped box from her with both hands. “Thank you so much…I’m sorry I don’t have anything prepared. I wasn’t aware you were coming.”

At that, your mother clears her throat. “I came to talk to you about my daughter. Without her knowing, you see. I’m sure you know we…haven’t been on speaking terms for a while.”

Jungkook nods, placing the box on the table and gathering his hands in his lap. Despite keeping close watch on your every move, he’s kept in the dark about your family situation. He only remembers you shaking with laughter and tears when hearing about your mother maintaining close ties with the Kim family after what happened. Even though the woman hurts for her daughter, financial ties are hard to break.

“…Yes, I’m aware.”

The older woman sighs softly, dragging her gaze across Jungkook’s expression and posture. The boy certainly is polite but it was obvious he was not from the kind of world you’re from. She can tell by the way he fidgets and seem too eager to please; it was endearing but also pathetic to watch. He’s extremely sweet and charming – she admits – and overwhelmingly so. Unlike Namjoon, he seems to be much more expressive and sensitive.

She can understand why you took such a liking to him, why you could overlook the not-so-pleasant behavior that reveals his poor upbringing.

“I wanted to come to tell you…I found someone for her.”

He smiles, not understanding the woman for a few moments until her solemn eyes met his. He can feel his belly clenching as his stomach drops. He must have misheard, that’s it. “I-I’m sorry?”

Your mother takes another sip from her glass, looking around the house once more, as if she were stalling time, before planting her eyes on Jungkook’s appalled expression. She seems guilty, at least, that she’s said such a thing to the boy although she’s never once held a high opinion of him.

“I’ve been looking for a suitable partner for her.” She continues. “I am aware she is rightfully upset with me and she won’t listen to me, much less talk. I know she was seeing several men before she became…serious with you.”

Jungkook can feel his stomach churning.

“You must know by now what kind of family she comes from. There are some…things that are expected of her to respect our traditions. I know it’s entirely unfair of me to-”

Jungkook stands, turning away from her as he brings a hand up to his mouth. His temples pulse with nausea as her voice grows louder.

“-come here and ask for you to understand! What you did to Namjoon did irreversible damage to my daughter’s reputation and as a mother,” she shakes her head from side to side, “I can no longer sit still and watch her make a terrible mistake”

“I…” Jungkook starts, his heart hammering in his chest. “What I did to him…I would never do to noona. I’d never hurt her o-or even think about doing such a thing.”

The woman sighs, her eyes devoid of warmth. “I know, darling. I do trust that the incident happened because you were protecting her feelings. I can appreciate your sentient. However,…she’s my only child. As a mother…as her only parent…I have to make sure she’s on the right path.”

Jungkook turns, his eyes glazed as he bores into the box sitting on the couch. This wasn’t a present given for pleasantries, it was brought to cushion her true intentions.

“Jungkook…” The woman stands to stretch her arms out and hold Jungkook’s hands under her warm palms. He’s paralyzed, whether or not it’s from her insulting logic or from her general disapproval of him, she doesn’t care to know.

“I’m not your enemy. I know you love my daughter, I’ve heard of how much you’ve taken care of her. Please understand that-”

His ears are ringing. Jungkook can feel himself shrinking under her gaze. He couldn’t even bring himself to be angry because he knows, deep down, how incompatible he is with you considering the two very different lives you both have led. Did you phone your mother for the first time in months behind his back after he told you about his past? Did you pretend to be okay even if it scared you?

It’s like your mother reached into his core and pulled every shred of insecurity he carried within him. Every night for the last few months, he felt like he was given permission to consume the forbidden fruit that is you, knowing there are consequences to his consumption. Your devotion, your promises, your endless compassion towards him – is it all going to turn into a mirage?

He knows since the very beginning that in many ways he’s incomparable to Namjoon and even some of your rebound lovers he had the displeasure of following around. A glance at a man’s wristwatch and he could tell whether they belonged to your world or not. Jungkook can only hope that the struggles he’d faced would give him the leverage others don’t have. He is willing to risk it all for you and make sure you won’t ever have to experience a single morsel of pain he’d endured.

“Can you give me a chance?” Jungkook pleads, voice small.

Suddenly, anger flashes across your mother’s face but as quick as it came, it disappeared. He could tell she was struggling to keep herself in check after several months of you ignoring her calls, her incessant demands to maintain the family image, and the burn of needing to sneak around your schedule to reach your new apartment herself. It’s the pent-up frustration of having the family pride stepped on again and again by you that has led her to this moment.

If he were your guardian, he’d also be worried too. He can forgive your mother just as he had forgiven you many times.

“A chance?” She fumes.

Jungkook nods. “I promise I won’t disappoint you…I-I have a business and I’m more than willing to be the sole provider-”

The woman’s hand tighten around his relaxed fists.

“Jungkook,” she grits. “You are not hearing me. I don’t want her marrying into a family out of our circle. We have an established tradition of-”

Jungkook scoffs, ripping his hands away. “No, ma’am. You are not hearing me.”

Her eyebrows come together as her foundation-covered wrinkles deepen with a frown. She watches Jungkook walk across the living room to the hanging picture of you and your father. You were a mere child then, staring naively up at your late father with wonder as your little fists reach up to take the glasses resting on the bridge of his nose.

Digging his hands inside his pocket and running his tongue over the inside of his cheek, he turns to the woman.

“I’m asking for a chance because I’ve already decided to ask for your daughter’s hand in marriage.”

#bunny:fic #yandere bts #yandere fanfiction #bts fanfiction #jungkook fanfiction #jungkook angst #jungkook fanfic #bangtan fanfiction #bangtan angst #bangtan smut #jungkook smut #bts smut #bts fanfic #jungkook x reader #only you #chapter 8 #i had to make a super hard decision to take out the smut that I wrote like over a thousand words for *WHEEEZEEEEE*#there will be smut in OY9 tho i GUARANTEE #pls don't come for me with pitchforks lmfao

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