#but other people will like. pretend to not notice the fucked up sentence until corrected

[elftwink]

something very funny to me is that thing cis ppl do when they have to use they/them pronouns and their brain short-circuits and they forget what a sentence is supposed to sound like and say things like "well i'll just ask they what them is doing". like what's happening here. come on man

#good idea generator #this is not exclusive to ppl who are doing it on purpose or otherwise are unsupportive #those ppl typically then like. pretend its the pronouns fault the sentence sounds bad #but other people will like. pretend to not notice the fucked up sentence until corrected #and like?? thank you for trying but i know you know how to use the word they. we have had it for a long time #your whole life in fact. believe in yourself. you can use this word in a sentence. i have heard you do it #if this post makes you defensive. not to be rude but please work through that on your own lol #either you dont do this and the post isnt about you #or you DO do this and i have wounded your pride and made you feel like a bad ally even though you are trying #what you need to understand is 'trying' is not a get out of jail free card. it does not exempt you from critique or jokes #and while ofc it's always frustrating to put in effort that you feel goes unrecognized #i think you should ask yourself if you're trying because you want to get better and genuinely respect trans ppl #would you still do it if no one was grateful for it? if no one emphasized how hard it was for you?

[waitimcomingtoo]

Disobedience

Part one

Synopsis: after getting tortured by HYDRA, you have to obey every command you’re given

Masterlist

“Hi, baby.” Peter wrapped his arms around you as you sat in front of your laptop, kissing the top of your head before rubbing your shoulders. “What are you doing?”

“Um.” You folded your lips in, knowing he wasn’t going to like what you had to say. “I’m just making arrangements.”

“Arrangements?” He wondered as he looked at your computer screen. He saw that you were on florists website, scrolling through the different variations of flowers.

“Why are you looking at floral arrangements?” He asked in grave voice as he slowly pulled his hand away from you.

“Well.” You swallowed, thinking of a way to break the news gently. “I figured it would make things a little easier on you and my family if I started planning it now.”

“Planning what?” Peter asked, intentionally playing dumb.

“My funeral, Peter.” You told calmly. “In case you guys want to have a service once Mr. Stark-“

“No.” Peter cut you off and began to walk away. “Not happening. You’re not dying.”

“We have to talk about this, Peter.” You complained as you followed him. “You can’t just pretend this isn’t going happen.”

“No, we don’t have to talk about this.” Peter retorted. “I still have time to figure out a cure. You gave me a year.”

“No, Peter.” You sighed. “You gave yourself a year.”

“What are you talking about?” He asked as he stopped walking. You stared at him for a long time, not wanting to tell him the real reason you agreed to his request.

“Peter, I never wanted to agree to that.” You said softly. “But I didn’t have a choice. You asked for a year and I had to say yes. If I could’ve said no, I would have.”

“I’m still working.” Peter protested. “It’s only been three months since I started helping them in the lab. Dr. Banner and I-“

“Dr. Banner can’t fix this.” You cut him off.” He still doesn’t even know what’s causing it. The only people who know who can fix me are at HYDRA.”

“Well we can’t exactly send them a text and ask how to reverse their mind control.” Peter snapped.

“I know.” You said. “That’s why I’m going to them.”

“What?”

“I’m going back to the headquarters where they kept me and demanding that they reverse it.” You explained. “They’re the only ones who can fix this.”

“You can’t be serious.” Peter furrowed his eyebrows as he watched you pack a bag. “Y/n, they tortured you for three months. We thought you were dead. We…I buried a casket.”

“They caught me off guard last time.” You corrected. “This time, I’m going to them. I thought it through and I have a plan. I’m going and I’m not leaving until I get what I came for.”

“You can’t go there.” Peter shook his head. “It’s too dangerous. I won’t allow it.”

“Last time I checked, you weren’t the boss of me.” You scoffed, growing frustrated with him. “I’m going and you’re not stoping me.”

“Y/n, I need you to think about this.” Peter began to panic. “I know you want the cure but this is not the way to get it. This will get you killed.”

You tilted your head and stared at him, hoping the irony of his words would hit him.

“But that’s what you want.” He realized. “You have a death wish and you’re granting it.”

“Its either I find a cure or die trying.” You shrugged. “It’s worth the risk for me.”

“No.” Peter said firmly. “You’re not going back there. You’re not going through with this plan.”

“Watch me.” You said spitefully as you zipped your bag. You began to walk towards the door and Peter panicked at the thought of losing you all over again.

“I command you to stop.” Peter said sternly, and you stopping in your tracks. You didn’t turn around, too angry with him for using your condition to look at him.

“Do not going through with this plan.” He continued. “Do not go to HYDRA. Do not try to fix this yourself.”

You listened to his commands and felt yourself reluctantly losing your ability to go. You still desperately wanted to go, but felt physically unable to bring yourself to do so. You turned around slowly and looked at Peter with seething anger.

“If you can so easily use my condition against me, then maybe you’re not the guy I thought you were.” You said slowly, making Peter’s face fall.

“Baby, I’m sorry. You know I hate to-“

“If you’re sorry, then take it back.” You challenged him. “Take the command back.”

“I…no.” Peter said weakly. “I can’t. I can’t let you do this.”

“Then I can’t be your girlfriend.” You laughed sadly as a tear rolled down your cheek. “I thought you were a good guy. I must’ve been thinking of someone else.”

“Y/n…” Peter whispered, the weight of his actions breaking his heart.

“Can I go, sir?” You asked him, giving him a look that told him not to say no. You’d grown out of calling people “sir”, and he knew that. You were saying it now to drive in how much he hurt you.

“Yeah.” He swallowed, eyes falling to the floor as he realized what he had done. “You can go.”

You shook your head at him before walking out of the room, leaving him to wallow in the guilt. You gave your hair a stressful tug as you walked through the hallway, trying to come up with a way to get around Peter’s command. You didn’t have to think too long before you saw Bucky coming towards you.

“Bucky, can I ask you something?” You asked as he approached. Bucky stopped and nodded quietly.

“Do you care about me or my well being?” You wondered.

“No, not really.” He said softly.

“Good.” You nodded. “Then tell me to go through with my plan.”

“Go through with your plan.” He told you, and your felt your ability to go return.

“Thank you.” You smiled in relief. “I appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome.” He nodded. “Wait, are you gonna die?”

“Maybe.” You shrugged. “I’m not sure yet.”

“Can I have your milk frother if you do?” He asked.

“Yeah. You can use it whenever you want.” You told him with a short laugh. He gave you a small smile in return.

“Okay. Thanks.” He said before walking away. You watched as he left, never really understanding him.

“What the fuck?” You mumbled to yourself before retreating to your room. You grabbed your bag and jumped out the window, using your powers to fly your way to HYDRA headquarters.

~

“Y/n?” Peter knocked softly at your door a few hours later. “Can I come in?”

When you didn’t answer, he assumed you were giving him the silent treatment.

“I know you’re mad at me about before but Mr. Stark says we should never go to bed angry.” He tried again. “Do you want to watch a movie? I’ll let you pick. And then gaslight you into picking a movie I want to watch.”

Again, he received no answer.

“I’m joking.” He followed up. “Sort of.”

He sighed when he got no response but didn’t let it deter him.

“Can you answer me, please?” He asked, careful not to give you a command. When you didn’t respond, he got worried and opened your door. He didn’t see you anywhere but noticed the bag you packed before was gone.

“Damn it.” He sighed and pulled at his hair. “Damn it, damn it, damn it.”

Peter ran into the kitchen where he knew most of the team would be to tell them what happened.

“Y/n isn’t here.” Peter announced. “I think she went to HYDRA headquarters.”

“What makes you say that?” Steve wondered.

“She told me she was going to HYDRA headquarters.” Peter answered sheepishly.

“Why didn’t you stop her?” Tony asked.

“I tried.” Peter defended. “I told her not to go.”

“Then how did this happen?” Tony sighed.

“I have no idea.” Bucky said as he sipped his coffee, getting milk froth on his upper lip.

“Get to the jet.” Tony said as he stood up. “We’ll bring her back.”

“Okay.” Peter nodded, trying to keep his calm. “I’m ready. Let’s go.”

~

You landed in front of HYDRA headquarters and walked to the front gate. You had powers similar to the Scarlet Witch, but your energy manifested in a deep violet. You used your blasts of energy to knock out the guards at the front gate, not giving them a second look at you marches past. You knocked down anyone in your way until you reached the room where you were kept. A chill ran down your spin as the memories of your torture came flooding back. You made sure the light was on before entering the room, bracing yourself for anything you might see.

You only got a few steps into the room before you heard the door slam behind you, a familiar sound that made your skin crawl. You turned around and saw Elisa Sinclair, the woman in charge of torturing you, standing with her back against the door.

“Y/n?” She smiled. “I thought that was you. There are alarms going off all over building. You really did a number on my guards out front. I always knew you were different from the other Avengers. You were never afraid to get your hands dirty.”

“What did you do to me?” You asked as you raised your fists. Purple energy pulsed in and around your fists, showing her your we’re serious.

“HYDRA improved you. Have you returned to give thanks?” She asked through a smirk.

“No.” You snapped. “I’m here to reverse it.”

“I should’ve known you’d be ungrateful.” Her smile fell. “Such a shame. All that technology gone to waste. You were going to be our first genetically modified soldier. Any command given, you accept. No hesitation. No fear. Just listen and obey. You would have been beautiful.”

“You ruined me.” You swallowed angrily, trying to stay calm.

“We made you better.” Elisa retorted. “But you were taken from us before we could finish. Now, you’re nothing but a half cocked experiment. We have no use for you.”

“Then reverse it.” You shouted, advancing on her. “Undo what you did to me.”

“Why would we do that?”

“Because I’m telling you to.” You said, wishing you had a better comeback. She gave you a condescending smile and shook her head.

“I don’t think someone in your position has any right to tell other people what to do.” She pouted. “In fact, why don’t you-“

You hit her with a blast of energy before she could finish her sentence. She began to choke as you suspended her in the air. You threw her against the back wall, knocking the wind out of her.

“You’re not giving me any commands.” You seethed. “I’d die before I obeyed you.”

“I can arrange that.” She said in a strangled voice. Before she could speak again, a web was shot to cover her mouth.

“Silence, whore.” Peter’s voice came from the doorway. You stifled a laugh at his endearing yet non-threatening presence Elisa looked at him.

“I’m sorry.” He quickly followed up. “I normally don’t call women that but you hurt my girl and it felt warranted.”

“What are you doing here?” You asked him as you turned around. You let Elisa go, dropping her to the ground with a thud.

“I came incase you needed my help.” He explained. “But it looks like you got this, so I’m just gonna stand here if you need me. Good job, baby!”

“You shouldn’t be here.” You repeated. “She’s dangerous.”

“I’m dangerous.” He said confidently. “And dressed to the occasion. What kind of villain wears khakis?”

“Oh, I see.” Elisa’s laughter sounded in the empty room. “Is that Peter?”

You stayed silent, hoping Peter wouldn’t speak either.

“Answer me.” She said, and you obeyed.

“Yes.” You answered, feeling your mouth go dry.

“She spoke about you all the time.” Elisa looked past you, right at Peter. “Every time I put her in that dark room and-“

“Don’t.” Peter gulped. “I don’t want to hear that. I don’t want to know what you did.”

“She used to cry for you. Everyday she’d tell me, “Peter’s gonna stop you. Peter’s gonna come for me. Peter will find me.”” She mocked your voice. “He never came, did he? Never rescued you.”

“No.” You responded as you stared at him. “He didn’t.”

“Does that make you mad, Y/n? Be honest.” Elisa commanded.

“No.” You shook your head. “He didn’t know where I was.”

“But you thought he stopped looking, didn’t you?” She continued. “Don’t lie to me.”

“Yes.” You answered against your will. “I thought he gave up.”

“How did that make you feel? Tell him the truth.” She ordered.

“I was angry. I was angry with him for giving up.” You admitted. Despite not being able to see his face, you could tell Peter was upset.

“You were pronounced dead.” He said weakly. “I went to your funeral. I thought we had lost you.”

“I was never dead. Just with HYDRA, wishing I was.”

“Because he stopped looking. Look him in the eyes and tell him that.” Elisa ordered.

“Because you stopped looking.” You told Peter as tears ran down your face.

“Hm.” She sighed and looked at her nails. “Kill him.”

Your eyes widened as the urge to kill Peter took over your body.

“Peter, run.” You ordered, and he took off running.

“Go after him.” Elisa said simply. “Kill him.”

Your legs began to move but you shot a blast of energy forward to knock yourself backwards.

“No.” You cried. “Don’t do this.”

“Why?” She taunted. “Don’t you want to make him pay for not coming to rescue you?”

“I don’t need rescuing. I’m not gonna hurt him.” You said through gritted teeth as you fought the urge as hard as you could.

“That’s not up to you, is it?” She teased.

“You don’t have to do this.” You looked at her desperately.

“I know.” She smirked and knelt down beside you. “You do.”

Your body began to move against your will towards the direction Peter ran in. You put your hands forward and kept a steady blast flowing from your hands. It held you back, but you knew it wouldn’t last.

“Kill him.” She commanded again. “And don’t listen to him if he tells you to stop.”

Your body stumbled forward and you were defenseless. You moved in the direction towards Peter, finding him almost immediately. You used your energy to create a force field that held him in place, lifting him in the air as you cried.

“Peter.” You sniffled. “She told me to kill you.”

“It’s okay.” He assured you. “Just don’t kill me.”

“I can’t.” You tightened the force field around him, constricting his breathing. “She told me not to listen to you.”

“Okay.” Peter gulped. “That’s okay.”

You fought the command long enough to drop him to the ground, fighting with yourself to leave him alone. Peter webbed your arms to your sides, giving you momentary relief.

“Peter, you have to run.” You cried. “You have to go.”

“I can’t leave you here.” He said as he stood up. “They could capture you again.”

“I’m gonna kill you if you don’t leave. I don’t have a choice.” You said as your reluctantly fought against the webbing. The webs were breaking and you knew he wouldn’t be safe for much longer.

“I can’t leave you to be tortured.” He insisted. “I lost you once. I can never go through that again.”

With a defeated cry, you broke free from the webs and sent a blast that knocked him down the hallway. You ran after him and punched him in the face before he could recover. You climbed on top of Peter and brought your fists down in heavy, painful blows. Peter’s mask began to break apart, his bloody eye soon becoming visible.

“Fight back!” You cried desperately as your hands closed around his throat.

“I can’t hurt you!” He wheezed.

“Peter, just knock me out.” You begged. “Close your eyes and knock me unconscious.”

“No.” He was crying as well now. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”

“Peter.” You whimpered, tightening your hands around his neck.

“Y/n, whatever you’re about to do, it’s okay.” He said in a strained voice. “I forgive you.”

“I don’t forgive me.” You sobbed, feeling his heartbeat begin to slow down.

“I love you.” He smiled up at you as tears rolled down his face. “Until my breathing stops, okay? Can you repeat that back to me?”

“You love me.” You said as fears fell from your face onto his.

“Yes I do.” Peter nodded, keeping his smile. “I love you so much. This isn’t your fault. Can you repeat that?”

“It’s not my fault.” You repeated as his face turned a deep shade of purple.

“Yeah, baby. I…” Peter trailed off mid sentence as his head rolled to the side. His eyes stayed open as your released your hands from his neck.

“No!” You screamed, laying on top of his body to hug him. “No.”

You held Peter tightly and cried into his chest, pressing kisses against his beaten face. The anguish you felt was replaced by a fiery rage for Elisa. You thought your condition was ruining your life, and now it had ended someone else’s. As you stared at Peter’s limp body, your entire body began to glow a deep purple. A huge blast of energy shot out from your body, breaking all nearby windows. You felt something inside you click and your legs began to move. You wanted to stay with him to grieve, but you knew the fight wasn’t over. Elisa was going to pay for what she made you do. With heavy steps, you walked back to the room and blasted the door right off the hinges.

“There you are.” Elisa smiled as you stormed in. “Did you do it? Did he scream?”

You ignored her and kept approaching, the energy around you growing with each step.

“Woah, there.” She gulped. “Stop it.”

You didn’t stop, keeping your eyes dead set on her while she backed away.

“I said stop it.” She said again, but you didn’t listen. You shot a blast of energy at her and held her against a wall.

“You can’t control me anymore.” You growled as you got up on her face. You smiled a little when she began to tremble.

“Beg for mercy.” You whispered in her ear. Elisa looked up, feeling a newfound fear of you.

“I said beg!” You shouted, making her jump. “That’s an order. And you have to obey.”

“Please.” She begged. “Don’t kill me.”

“Is that an order?” You asked as you tightened your grip. She nodded rapidly, gasping for air.

“Sorry.” You smiled wickedly. “But I will no longer be obedient.”

With that, you used your powers to choke her to death, leaving her lifeless body on the floor.

You walked out of the room and wiped your face free of tears, letting the pain of losing Peter finally settle in. As you rubbed your eyes, you bumped into someone unexpectedly.

“Oh, thank goodness.” Peter’s voice filled your ears. “You squeezed the life out of my neck. Did you find that lady?”

“Peter?” You asked in disbelief as you touched his bruised face. “You’re okay?”

“Someone forgot their boyfriend took an improv class in freshman year.” Peter smiled proudly. “You couldn’t kill me if you thought I was dead.”

“You’re a genius.” You exclaimed as you hugged him tightly. “I’m so glad you’re okay. I was about to pull a Loki and kill a bunch of random pedestrians.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” Peter assured you as he hugged you back. “But we should finish this reunion later. We need to get back into the jet now.”

You pulled away and smiled a little, feeling a forgotten sense of freedom.

“No.” You said, loving the way the word rolled off your tongue.

“No?” Peter asked in surprise.

“No.” You repeated. “I don’t want to get back on the jet. I want to stay here with you for a few more minutes.”

“Are you…disobeying me?” He asked slowly.

“Yeah.” You smiled proudly. “I am.”

“Oh my God.” Peter pulled you into an excited hug. “Oh my God!”

You hugged him back, feeling tears of relief stream from your eyes.

“You’re free?” He asked. “You don’t have to obey anymore?”

“No. I don’t know what happened. I saw you lying there and something switched inside my brain.” You shrugged. “The urge to avenge you was stronger than my urge to obey.”

“I’m so proud of you.” He cupped your face. “You fixed yourself. We have to tell everyone.”

“Yes we do. Because I want to. That’s my choice.” You said confidently.

“Yes it is.” Peter encouraged you. “Now please, let’s go home.”

You and Peter walked hand in hand to the jet, not wanting to leave each other’s sides after what you gown through.

“There you guys are.” Tony got off the jet when he saw you approaching. “Are you kids okay?”

“We’re okay.” You smiled softly as you looked at Peter.

“Okay.” Tony sighed in in relief. “Let’s go home, yeah? It’s been a long day.”

“You have no idea.” Peter nodded as he rubbed his throat. “I almost died back there.”

“I killed a woman with my bare hands.” You laughed, but your laughter quickly died when you realized what you said.

“So, we’ll unpack that later.” Tony pointed at you. “Parker, get your throat checked out by the medic. L/n, get yourself a therapist.”

“Yes, sir.” You chuckled as you climbed onto the jet.

Less than an hour later, you walked back into the main part of the jet to sit with Tony.

“I just checked on Peter. The medic said his throat should be fine.” You told Tony as you sat down in one of the seats.

“Good. Though a few days without him speaking might be nice.” Tony teased.

“Yeah.” You laughed. “Well like it or not, he’s one of the bravest guys on the team. You should’ve seen him back there. He was a hero.”

“I always saw that in him.” Tony said softly. “Why do you think I recruited him in the first place? It wasn’t just for those lovely curls, though they are a bonus.”

Before you could respond, Peter came into the room with a neck brace on. Your eyes quickly fell to the ground, not wanting to look at what you had done.

“Hello.” He said in a weak voice.

“Hey, Pete.” You collected yourself and looked up at him with a smile. He smiled back and sat next to you, resting his head on your shoulder. You kissed the top of his head and rubbed his back, silently thinking him for everything he had done.

“Almost there guys.” Tony said. “I should call Pepper before we land. Y/n, can you pass me my phone?”

“Get it yourself.” You said proudly, wanting to exercise your newly gained free will.

“Excuse me?” Tony looked back at you.

“I just sat down and I don’t want to get up again.” You said simply. “Get it yourself.”

Tony stared at you for a long time, trying to decide if you were serious. Finally, a huge smile broke out on his face.

“That’s my girl!” Tony cheered, slamming his hand on the dashboard a few times. “That’s my damn girl!”

You smiled proudly as Peter patted your back, just as proud of you for being able to disobey.

“I’m proud of you.” Tony said. “But if you ever talk to me like that again I will euthanize you.”

“Fine by me.” You chuckled, happy to be back to normal.

“That is absolutely not fine.” Peter gasped. “Oh my God. I shouldn’t have to say this, but no euthanasia jokes.”

“Sorry, Peter. I don’t have to listen to you anymore.” You shrugged playfully. “Do you think we would have gone with lethal injection or death by firing squad?”

“I was thinking of shooting you out of a canon.” Tony added to the joke. “Cap has one in storage from his touring days.”

“What if you fed me to feral dogs?” You suggested.

“What if we didn’t make jokes about killing Y/n?” Peter matched your tone. “What about that? That might be fun. Who’s with me?”

“All right, we’ll stop.” You laughed as you pressed another kiss to his cheek. Tony laughed as well, smiling as he caught the sweet interaction in the rear view mirror. He wouldn’t admit it, but he was thrilled to see you smiling again. He thought he was going to lose you and that though killed him. The jet steeled into a comfortable silence for a few minutes as everyone relaxed. Tony looked at you and Peter again in the rear view mirror, wanting to stir the pot for his own amusement.

“But I do know where we could get a pack of feral dogs.”

Tag List 🏷

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#peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker imagine #peter parker angst #peter parker x y/n #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #iron man #tom holland fluff #tom holland fanfiction

[babybluebex]

next week [baron zemo x reader]

summary ↠ you're hired to give a message to a german prisoner, but you never expected to actually take a liking to him. pairing ↠ baron helmut zemo x fem!reader (y/n) word count ↠ 2.9k warnings ↠ explicit language, a bit of nonsexual choking, zemo calls you a bitch a/n ↠ after a week, here she is!! also, if there's demand for it... part 2? until then, enjoy! masterlist/taglist in bio!

The prison felt cold and unforgiving, and you instinctively wrapped your arms around yourself. You followed the guard down the halls, twists and turns with no hope of remembering the correct way out.You figured that they had designed it that way on purpose; nobody could leave and escape if the way out was a labyrinth. Finally, you were led to a man sitting at a desk. His eyes followed you as you approached, and it was only once you were fully in front of him did he speak. “Name?” he asked in German, and you cleared your throat. Your German was shaky, but would have to do.

“Zemo,” you replied. “I’m here for visitation with my husband.”

The man laughed a bit. “Pretty girl visiting her man in prison,” he mumbled. “Such a waste. Take off your jacket, Frau Zemo.”

You had no reason to be nervous, but you still shook a bit when you slid your jacket off and held your arms out for the necessary pat-down. But, as you pondered it, you actually had quite a lot to be scared of. The past three days had been hell, for sure. It started with a firm knock on your apartment door in your home of New York City, and you had opened it to see a man with a metal arm and surprisingly kind eyes. He had introduced himself as simply James, and he had told you that he needed you to do something for him.

“I know you’re Sokovian,” James had explained. “I found your name on a registry of citizens that were moved to the US following the Sokovia incident a few years back. If you do this for me, I’ll help you get access to the city ruins. You were young when you lost your parents, yeah? I know the feeling. Not having closure is… Awful. Wouldn’t wish it on anyone. But, in order to do that, I need you to do something for me?”

You had looked James up and down. “What is the something?” you asked.

“I have a friend,” he began and gave a little wince. “Acquaintance. Umm, I know someone who’s in a German prison right now, and he’s going to be a big help to me and my business partner. All you need to do is go in and give him a message.”

“What sort of message?”

“‘Winter’s coming soon. Next week, I imagine.’ Has to be that, verbatim; don’t say anything about who sent you or why. I’ve already got the meeting and everything set up, you just need to go visit him and give him that message.”

“What does that mean?” you asked.

James had hesitated for a moment, tapping his metal fingers against the arm of his chair. “It’s better if you didn’t know,” he said. “I need as little people involved here as possible. I would go in and give him the message myself, but I’m kind-of a wanted man myself. Will you help us?”

James had been thorough in setting up the meeting, even going as far as purchasing a gently-used set of rings for you to wear. He told you that this man, Helmut Zemo, had been in prison for seven years for a variety of things, the heftiest being murder. “He was justified, though,” James said, and you pretended not to notice his small “I guess.”

The guard said something into his radio unit, and you caught enough of it to know that he was approving you to enter. You knew nothing about this Helmut Zemo other than what James had told you, only the bare basics. Sokovian, had a family that was killed at the same time as yours. According to James, Zemo wasn’t dangerous. He would be more confused than anything, he told you. But, no matter what Zemo did, if he denied he had in you no right, you had to keep with it and deliver the message in a natural way. You were his wife, and you were happy to see him.

The light flicked on over the bed, and Zemo gave a quiet grunt of disdain. It was four in the afternoon, and he always asked for the light to be off. Four was when other prisoners were granted visitation, but he had nobody. Stupid light must have accidentally been triggered.

“Zemo!” he heard a guard call from down the hall, and he pulled himself from bed and approached the plexiglass divider that separated him from freedom. “I thought you said you don’t have a wife!”

“I don’t!” Zemo called back, an irritated edge in his voice.

He finally saw the guard turn the corner and approach, and his eyes instantly fixed on the girl that was trailing behind him. She was young, much, much younger than him, and strikingly beautiful. Maybe it was the seven years in jail, but he could have sworn that he was looking at an angel. She seemed nervous, and Helmut focused his gaze on the rings on her left hand. Before he could speak up and correct the guard that this woman wasn’t his wife, she spoke up. “My God,” she whispered in a soft English, her voice heavy with a familiar Sokovian accent. “Helmut, you look… Tired, my love.”

Zemo tried to gauge the woman. She seemed too green to be an assassin, so at least that was something. And she knew his name. How did she know his name? “I am tired, mein lieber,” he sighed, and he pressed his palms up against the glass. She stepped closer and did the same, laying her hands just opposite his, and he examined her rings. Small, simple, unassuming. Props. “You’re so beautiful.”

You gave a small laugh, one that you hoped sounded like a woman whose husband had complimented her. Did he really mean it? Or had he caught onto the act as well? He seemed smart, you had to admit. And he was handsome too. Though his eyes were dull and dark with exhaustion, they were still a lovely brown. His hair was messy but showed hints of ginger in the dark locks, and his scruffy facial hair accented his soft jaw. However exhausted he was, he was still quite the looker. And he was the first full-blooded Sokovian that you had willingly met since the incident. “Can I hold him?” you asked the guard, lowering your voice and tightening your throat to try to feign emotion. “Please?”

The guard blinked slowly, and he nodded. He translated the request through his radio, and, just a moment later, there was the loud buzz as the cell door was unlocked, and it slowly creaked open. You wasted no time in meeting Zemo at the door and throwing your arms around him, and he held you with the strength of a thousand men as you dug your face into his neck. He shushed you gently, stroking your back, and he pressed his mouth to your temple in a fake kiss. “Why’re you here?” he mumbled through gritted teeth, praying the guard hadn’t noticed it. “Who are you?”

“I missed you,” you whimpered into his neck. “I’m sorry, Helmut, but I moved to the States, and I couldn’t exactly tell people who I was or who you were or why I was living in New York alone but married--”

Zemo moved his lips from your temple to your mouth, and he captured you in a slow and deliberate kiss. Whatever game you were playing, he would join. What’s a bit of fun? Anyway, seven years was a long time to not even touch a woman. If he wanted to kiss you, you would let him. According to the stories James had told you about his family, you figured that he deserved it.

You finally pulled out of the kiss and embraced the man once more, and you mumbled, “It’s so cold in here, Helmut. How do you manage?”

“I make do, mein lieber,” Zemo said. “At least you’re here to keep me warm now.”

“Not for very long,” you said softly. Then, you looked over your shoulder at the guard, and you asked, “Ten minutes, yes?”

The guard nodded silently, and you turned back to Zemo. “Well,” you started, breaking away from him and passing your hand over your cheek to wipe up (nonexistent) tears. “Show me your room.”

Zemo gave a small smile and took your hand, the one with the rings, and you pulled you into the cell. You weren’t lying; it was awfully cold. The room was devoid of much of anything, just the bed and a small sink and toilet in the corner. Books were stacked up beside the bed, all dog-eared and torn at the corners, and a small woven mat was in front of the bed.

“You’ve taken good care of them,” Zemo said suddenly, and you looked away from the stack of books to see him holding your hand up to see the rings. “I figured you wouldn’t even wear them after…”

“What makes you think that?” you asked gently. “I married you, I’d never pretend I didn’t.”

“I love you,” Zemo said quickly, nearly interrupting your sentence. “I missed you.”

You nodded silently, and Zemo tugged you into him once more. His arms were tight around your waist, his hand stroking up and down your back, and he laid a small kiss on your neck. Zemo kept his mouth at your pulse point for long enough to gauge just how fast your heart was beating, and he nodded to himself. A spy of some sort. But what did you want?

You looked at the glass wall of the cell, and you saw that the guard had stepped away, and suddenly every piece of James’ plan fell into place in your mind. Like James said, he couldn’t give Zemo the message himself, and it would be weird for someone like James’ partner to come visit Zemo in prison, especially after seven years of absolutely nobody, so someone else would have to do. You, a young Sokovian girl, Zemo’s wife, made sense. But after seven years, what wouldn’t make sense was if the married couple’s first meeting was just a conversation through a wall. No, the only way it made sense was if it was a conjugal visit.

Fuck.

Apparently, Zemo had caught onto this quicker than you had. His mouth on your neck pulled away in exchange for your lips, his hands captured your waist, and he tugged you fully into him so that your bodies were flushed together. Your anxiety made a quick squeak fall from your mouth, and you covered it with a giggle; you were sure that, even though the guard was gone, you were still being watched. “Seven years hasn’t dulled your charms, so it seems,” you said, and Zemo laughed.

“Of course not,” he chuckled. His hands slid up your body, carefully delving under your shirt, and he added, “I haven’t seen you in so long, it’s almost like I’m starting from the beginning.” He pulled out of the kiss, and you saw his eyes canvasing you, and he said, “My name’s Helmut. And yours, beautiful lady?”

“Goodness,” you huffed. “You’ve already married me, silly.”

“Indulge me, mein lieber,” Zemo said. Even though it was an act for the security cameras, he truly wanted to know your name. Maybe, with that, he could piece together why you were there. “Won’t you play my little game?”

You rolled your eyes, but played along. You told him your name, and he gave you a tight smile. “Beautiful name for a beautiful girl,” he said gently, and you could see that he really meant it. Married or not, you could tell that Zemo-- Helmut-- was grateful for your presence. “Can I offer you a dance, mein lieber?”

You pressed your arms around his neck and laid your head on his chest, and he squeezed you in a tight hug. Softly, he began to hum something in your ear, only for the two of you to hear, and he sighed as the two of you began to sway to his humming.

“Who are you?” he whispered, planting a kiss on the side of your face. “Who sent you?”

You swallowed thickly. You remembered that James had instructed you not to speak of him, and you mumbled, “I can’t imagine how it must feel to be here.”

“What are you talking about?” Zemo snarled, and he pushed his leg in-between yours as an “explanation” for the sudden change in temper. “I asked who you are.”

“Helmut, you have to trust me,” you whispered quickly.

“Trust?” he huffed. “You come in here, lying about yourself, and ask me to trust you? You, the bitch who claims to be my wife? That’s a big ask, sweetheart.”

“I--” you began. You really didn’t want to anger James by breaking from the meticulous plan he had made up, but you were more afraid of the man between your legs at the moment. He was a more urgent threat. You took fistfuls of Zemo’s off-ginger hair and pulled him closer, pressing your forehead against his, and you whispered, “A man came to my apartment two days ago. He said he needed my help, and he told me to come here and deliver a message.”

To the outside onlooker, when Zemo put his hand on your throat, it might have looked innocent. Not truly innocent, but certainly harmless. But it scared you shitless. His fingers were strong, and his thumb dug straight into your windpipe. It hurt, and your throat immediately began to burn with the urge for breath. “I’ll ask again,” he said easily. His eyes were a new sort of dark, not by exhaustion or confusion or arousal, but by rage. “Who sent you here?”

“I don’t know who he is,” you said quickly. “I only know his first name.”

“Which is?”

“James,” you choked out. “Light eyes, dark hair, prosthetic arm.”

Zemo’s grip loosened for only a moment, but then his thumb went back to its place. “He sent you to give me a message, didn’t he?” he asked. “About the winter. What did he say?”

You felt lightheaded, but you tried to stand your ground. “It comes in a week,” you said quickly. “Please let go of me.”

“Why you?” Zemo asked. “Of everyone in the world, why you?”

“My mother was killed in Sokovia,” you said, and fought back the urge to gag. “I only found out because I heard her name on the radio. Her apartment is still there, and James promised me that he could bypass the military blockade and get me there to say goodbye.”

Zemo’s hand fell slack around your throat, then off altogether. He took a small step back, and his eyes fell to the floor as his brain whirred to life. “He lied to you,” Zemo said carefully. “There’s nothing left. Not when I last went, and certainly not now.”

Your heart sank, and you pressed your hand to your neck, right where he had been. “You’re lying,” you said. “Th-There has to be something there.”

“That military blockade is there to keep people from settling on the land,” Zemo said. “Most of it was taken by surrounding countries, but the worst of it was… Is, just barren land. There’s nothing left for you to mourn.”

“How do you know?” you sniffled. “You’ve been in prison for nearly a decade.”

“Because I was there,” Zemo said. “My wife, son, and father were killed there. You wasted your time coming here; James can’t do anything for you.”

You hesitated for a second, then said, “But you can, right?”

Zemo froze. It was momentary, and you wouldn’t have noticed it if you yourself hadn’t said the words that triggered it, but he let out a heavy breath and resumed with the close-quarters dancing, his grip suddenly gentle again. “What makes you think that, mein lieber?”

“I’m not stupid,” you chuckled lightly. “I was young when I lived in Sokovia, but I recognized you when I saw you. Baron Helmut Zemo, locked up in a German prison; how aristocratic is that?”

“I have no power anymore,” Zemo mumbled. Sometimes, he nearly forgot his lineage, especially since the country he served didn’t exist anymore past his memories. “I cannot do anything.”

“Right,” you whispered slowly. “I figured as much... Who is James?”

“A man that I used to know,” Zemo said. “A man that I’ve never been friendly with, which is why I’m surprised that he would seek me out. He didn’t say why he was coming, did he?”

You shook your head, and Zemo laughed humourlessly. “Of course he didn’t,” he mused. “Shouldn’t have expected that… Next week? Guess I have to keep you here, make sure I stay plenty warm, huh?”

“I wish,” you chuckled. “You are rather cute, Helmut.”

Helmut Zemo laughed, the tops of his cheeks going pink. “And you tease me about my charms,” he said, his voice finally above a whisper; suddenly, the act of estranged husband and wife was back. You could easily pass off the bought of anger and crying as Helmut being too passionate, as Sokovians tended to be. “If you don’t watch yourself, Y/N, I might have to marry you all over again.”

#baron zemo #baron helmut zemo #helmut zemo #baron zemo x reader #helmut zemo x reader #baron zemo x reader angst #baron zemo angst #helmut zemo x reader angst #helmut zemo angst #daniel bruhl #daniel bruhl x reader #daniel bruhl x reader angst #daniel bruhl angst #helmut zemo fanfiction #baron zemo fanfiction #daniel bruhl fanfiction #kit.txt

[vidavalor]

"You're my favorite" is a dialogue callback & a major hint as to what's up with Mobius

Let's talk about Mobius, Ravonna, the drink rings, the pen, the trophies, and "you're my favorite" because I don't think the clues are leading towards Mobius being a villain or a clone or a Loki... but they are leading towards him being a lot more *like* Loki than maybe we realized at the start... meta/analysis under the cut

Mobius is not a villain. The set of scenes meant to really underline this fact are when we see him sneak off to the library with Ravonna's Tempad to watch the Hunter C-20 video and see for himself that his suspicions that Loki was right about the agents being variants is true. If he were a villain, he would have already known this. That said... there are some clues that there *is* something that Mobius already knew and let's look at what those clues are and just what Mobius may be up to.

Mobius is something that Ravonna and the TVA need-- he's smart, inquisitive and a good leader. Their problem with that is he is smart, inquisitive and a good leader. That makes him a bit dangerous should he get too close to the truth. Other agents love him and might be more likely to follow him if he told them they were being lied to so that can't ever happen. On the other hand, it's far easier to "fix" someone that's broken by TVA definition than to just outright destroy it because good analysts don't grow on trees. That other agent who collected the other half of the trophies in Ravonna's office? The one who left drink rings on her table that overlap (in a Mobius loop-like pattern) with Mobius' own? That was the dude whose name is literally his name *twice over*-- Mobius himself. That is why there is no other analyst for Mobius to have ever bumped into in the hallway or been introduced to. Now, think about how Mobius must have thought about this other analyst. Like, a *lot*...

Mobius likes his puzzle and his ears are sharp, too. He brings up the other analyst to Ravonna in conversation, keeping it light, to watch what she says about this person. The more vague she is, the more he realizes that what he's beginning to suspect is likely true. He jokes with her to cover up that he's beginning to understand what's happened and what does he say? He jokes that he hopes that he's her *favorite*, a line of dialogue that he uses when hugging Loki and looking at another version of Loki in Sylvie. What does this mean? It means that while Mobius didn't know that all the agents are variants who were kidnapped from their timelines until Loki told him-- and we know that's the case because we saw him steal Ravonna's Temppad to watch the proof of it that he needed to see for it to be true, even if it was clear that he believed Loki when he was told of it-- Mobius *did* know something already at the start of the show: he knew that he had been reset.

He knew he was not the first version of Mobius that had existed.

That first version was the man he couldn't remember, who had gone on other TVA missions and collected half the stuff in Ravonna's office and had whole other conversations with her where he left other drink rings and that person was just gone now to him. This? Is one of the reasons why he's so empathetic towards Loki and bends over backwards so much to give Loki another chance at being the person he wants to be-- because Mobius himself has been doing that too, in secret. He probably blames Ravonna more than the TVA as a whole at that point-- he turns on the TVA more after he discovers that the agents are all variants-- but it's also why he's willing to take more risks and do things like bring Loki in to help because he identifies with him. Mobius has figured out that he was Ravonna's other agent but he knows that if he ever said that aloud or led Ravonna to think that he had realized it, she would reset him again or prune him and Mobius doesn't want to die. Ravonna tests him frequently with that pen, in particular-- it's either tied to who Mobius was in his timeline or it's something he brought back from before he was reset. She's looking for any signs that Mobius has remembered any of the resetting or any of his life from before. Mobius pretends that he doesn't but he does remember who he was before he was reset into who he is now-- at least enough to know that he was reset in the first place.

Another clue to this? When he rescues Loki from the judge in the courtroom, he's saving him from undergoing the same fate he previously did. There are only two options that we saw-- don't take a ticket (and so prove that you are not pliable and of no use to the TVA) and you get pruned to The Void. Take a ticket (and so prove that you have potential to follow orders) and the judge sentences you and then you get "reset"-- have your memories wiped & be turned into a TVA agent. That was about to happen to Loki when Mobius ran in but look at what Mobius said to him about it. Loki asked if he was taking him somewhere to kill him and Mobius said no, that that's where Loki just was. But think about that for a second-- it was clear that Loki had passed enough of the ticket test that he wasn't going to get pruned to The Void.

If Mobius at that point thought, like most do, that pruning = death, then Mobius would know that Loki had already saved himself from that by taking the ticket. So what is the "death" that Loki would have faced instead, if Mobius hadn't saved him? Mobius knows now what it is because he knows it happened to him before. He saved Loki from having his memory wiped and this version of himself from being killed by the TVA. Just as he's giving Loki another chance to embrace the moment and be whoever he wants to be, Mobius is also trying to do the same thing for himself. Whoever he was is gone now, in some ways, and Mobius can't even remember the missions he went on before, the trophies he brought back to the woman who killed who he was before and made him yet another version of himself. He struggles with what it is to be *him*-- an individual in the midst of similar copies-- and to have an identity of his own... just like Loki does.

Then, Loki uncovers the truth about the TVA from Sylvie and tells Mobius that all the analysts are variants-- that they were people kidnapped from their timelines to serve in the TVA-- and while Mobius does seek out the proof (and I think he also just is trying to figure out what happened to poor C-20, now realizing that she knew before the rest of them did), he believes Loki enough to seek out that proof. He instantly doesn't trust Ravonna. For a man who has spent his whole life (as far as he knows) in service to the TVA and its mission, it's a huge leap, even if he suspects Loki to be correct. The reason why he believed him so readily is because he already had reason to distrust Ravonna and the TVA brass because he already had figured out that he had been reset.

It's also possible that B-15 was also reset alongside Mobius, namely because she works with him all the time and might begin to notice that he wasn't remembering their previous missions. If there is anybody in the TVA that Mobius might have told about his suspicions that he was reset, it might be her and she could have been helping him. (For instance, who is it that tells Loki that he *has to take a ticket* in no uncertain terms? Why does B-15 care if he does or doesn't? What was it to her if they pruned Loki at that point? He was just another variant. Unless Mobius, whom she trusts and is her friend, told her to do everything she could to keep Loki alive in there long enough for him to get there.) So, there's a slight possibility that B-15 knows she and Mobius were reset but I also think he probably didn't tell anybody and if B-15 was helping Loki in the courtroom, it was just because Mobius asked her to.

Which means that Mobius has been wanting to fuck with the TVA a bit-- or at least annoy Ravonna-- for awhile, hence his willingness to go traipse around with Loki. His whole of the word "favorite" though is more loaded than it seems. When he says it with Ravonna, it's a dry joke only he really gets. He's flirty, he's joking with her that he hopes that she likes him more than this other analyst guy who is bringing back these other trophies for her. He makes it sound like a romantic rivalry between him and her other time-hopping Indiana Jones. Mobius at this point *knows that other analyst is himself* when he's saying this but he can't let her know that he knows, so he pretends it's a whole other person, and not a previous sense of himself that she has tried to erase and reset into a version of himself that he wants. Worse, Ravonna *never answers him*-- she never tells Mobius that he is her favorite. She talks about their friendship being uncommon and keeps trying to gaslight Mobius into believing that they have a thing between them that is exclusive to them when Mobius knows damn right well that she had him mind-murdered and he can't trust her. So, even this reset version of Mobius gets the run-around from cold fish Ravonna.

So, when Mobius is then in a moment where he's saying goodbye to the god he loves who is on a paralleling journey to his own, in terms of trying to be the best version of himself he can be with the single chance he has left, he says "you're my favorite" in such a way that while he is saying it, in a whisper, to the Loki in his arms, he's looking at Sylvie when he says it and that's intentional. He respects Sylvie, whose end goal isn't to do harm so much as to free the imprisoned and whose determination to that end is freeing Mobius more than he had previously thought possible, and he loves Loki-- and he's determined to not have them feel what he feels with Ravonna. He wants them to know they are both good as they are, that they can be their own selves and don't need to be more than just the best versions of themselves that they can be. Ravonna makes multiple copies of Mobius and tries to strip him of his sense of self and he's been fighting back quietly, recognizing the same type of fight in all of the Lokis that he meets, taking in their various issues with stride because he just admires all of it and feels a kinship to it. Telling Loki and Sylvie "you're my favorite" is a way of giving them what he hasn't had for himself, which is a sense that he's fine the way he is and he's loved and enough and who he is as a person-- the same traits that make him a good agent-- are not inherently subversive in a bad way or wrong... and if you read that last sentence and realized that Loki is then the perfect person to love Mobius, I agree. :)

#lokius #agent mobius #mobius #loki series #loki speculation #loki (marvel)

[sanders-sides-fic]

We all pretend (to be the heroes on the good side)

So… This got real angsty real quick. I didn't intend for it to be that bad. But it went there… So… Yeah.

This is the prompt I was using

Trigger warnings: vaguely implied coma, vaguely implied character death, implied fall, abandonment, ability to move inanimate objects like they're alive

Virgil Sanders.

Most people didn't know that name. Some did, but not nearly as many as knew him. Weird, wasn't it? To be known, without your name being uttered. Maybe that was still part of his history.

He hadn't started out on this side of the fight. A few years ago he'd been feared beyond compare. "Nightmare", that's what they used to call him. Back when he'd been pushed into that role without a visible way out. He didn't have a choice back then, or, at least that's what he used to think.

Then, one night shit got down. He destroyed every connection he'd had, severed every bridge, left everything behind. "Nightmare" became "Anxiety" at that time. A villain-turned-vigilante, who didn't use his powers to terrorise his opponent's minds until they were unable to fight, but answered to the terror people around him felt instead.

Back then he'd started to work with some of his former enemies. They took him in well, everything considered. And he couldn't deny that they helped him a lot. He would sometimes join hands with "the brain", and occasionally even with his reluctant friend and Virgil's former nemesis "the prince".

There were a lot heroes with a "the" in their names, surprisingly.

Now, he couldn't tell anymore when it had happened. But at some time he found himself influenced by their heroic antics, and he took on the name of "storm cloud". His hero name. He teamed up with the brain in his mandatory probation, the so-called introduction phase before his official debut with title of hero. Sadly the name a common friend had offered for their team had been rejected by the hero in question. "Mind storm" would have been awesome, though, right?

And then things started to become brighter in his little world. Hell, his entire career was nothing more than a redemption arch.

That's why he was often times called "the light of hope" by the people. Light of hope, my ass! They were just relieved to see not every villain was beyond help. That was the only reason they liked him, if you'd asked him. Publicity.

That was what he kept thinking about in that moment, when he found himself facing off with his current nemesis. The golden snake was… an old acquaintance. A villain that'd only become a villain because of him. Or, because he wasn't a villain anymore. A villain that Virgil secretly couldn't bring himself to hate because of that, even after everything that had transpired between the two of them.

What even was this, really? A fight between a hero and a villain? If so, who was who? Virgil couldn't tell anymore. He didn't know who he was anymore. It was so… What was the word?

Ack! No time to think of it. He jumped to the side, narrowly avoiding the snake's poisonous fang. Ja- the villain had become quite good at this by now. Virgil was really driven to the edge of the building. Luckily there were no more civilians around, but he could still see reporters, some persistent fans, and police officers taking away the snake's underlings out of the corner of his eyes.

The wind blew strong this night.

A bolt of purple lightning shot towards Jan- the villain. It was stoped by the snake of pure gold he controlled so delicately without ever reaching him. Of course. What had Virgil expected? This villain was outstanding. Like he'd always had been.

Virgil tried again, the lightning coming from his finger tips getting harder to control by the second. Too many people, too much fear in the air, too little time to concentrate. And the villain knew this. Virgil could see his smirk underneath the shadow of his hat.

"Just give up, dark and stormy night! You can't hang on for much longer."

Virgil gritted his teeth and fired another bold of lightning. "And let you escape when we got this far? Big chance." Though he did want to do that, if he was being honest.

A laugh so hauntingly familiar and yet a far cry from what he used to know resounded through the tense air. "Suit yourself, then!" Another snake, another step back, pushing the golden puppet away from him with his lightning, parry, attack, cutting off the escape route, damn it all and…

And there was no more building under his feet. His hand somehow managed to grip the edge of the building, fortunately. He would decidedly not look down. And if the people around him would kindly stop sending their fear about him falling towards him, that'd be great, thanks!

He could see the golden snake stepping forward leisurely. "Told you so, dearest." With a smirk the snake retreated.

Well, from the sounds of it, Ro would arrive any moment now. He could hear him in the distance. So he only needed to hand on. Just a bit more. Even though his breath was heavy, and his muscles ached, and there was so much fear it felt like his powers were going to explode, and he was tired, and…

At that moment Virgil realised for the first time how tired he actually was. And he started to wonder what would happen if he would let go of the edge. Five fingers desperately hanging on. Now four. For how much longer? How long until Ro arrived? How much longer did he have to hang on?

What would happen?

Well, he would probably die. Splash, unsightly and painful. Sure. But, aside from that? Who would care? Who would actually care about it? Ro, who only accepted him after fighting so much to prove he was even a bit trustworthy? Lo, who had taken him in because he wanted to prove the point of villains deserving a second chance?

Would there be an official memorial? Like with other heroes? Or would there be merely a single line in the newspaper, like with the villains? Maybe there'd be a few lights on the edge of the street in his colour, like some did for vigilantes they especially adored.

But that would also be the end of so much bad stuff, right? No more pressure, no more screams in his head, no more false smiles, no more… No more tiredness accumulating in his bones.

Was that what would happen?

"No!"

The sudden desperate cry from the villain's mouth startled him out of his thoughts. And, oh… Oh, fuck. Oh, shit! Oh, in that moment of sudden stupidity he'd actually let go, without even fully noticing, hadn't he?

And again, the voice he'd always be able to recognise, no matter where he would hear it: "No! Don't you dare die! Not here, not like this, not now."

It was too late, though. And had Ro arrived yet? He could still see the shocked fans, the officers, the people up there. Frozen. They didn't move as he fell down to his inevitable death. But the villain? He did, he leapt towards the edge, as though he was still within reach.

And Virgil, no, Storm Cloud couldn't help but let out a startled laugh at the irony of it all. How ironic it was, he thought just before his vision went dark, that the only hand reaching out to him, the hero, the so called "light of hope"… the only hand reaching out to him now was that of his nemesis.

Maybe not hating the villain wasn't that stupid of a secret, after all.

❦

"Oh? So how do your powers work, then?" Janus looked up at him through his thick eyelashes, a content smirk on his face as Virgil played with his hair.

"I can hear their fears. They scream in my head, and I can feel their anxiety on my skin." Virgil thought about how to best describe it, fingers changing directions to trial the snake tattoo Janus had on his left cheekbone. "It's like static in the air. And I can either wait until it explodes, or I can let it free. That's what those lightnings are, just… The tension from the air gathered into sheer fear. If I condense it enough, it makes them pass out from fear."

Janus sighed, mismatched eyes closed. "Mine's so stupid in comparison. So I can control metal that looks like animals, wow. It's useless, really. Like, what am I? A fucking jewellery box? Stupid!"

Virgil couldn't help but laugh at that. "Yeah, yeah. But it's fine, isn't it? Since I was able to capture you that way. If you hadn't become my hostage, you wouldn't be with me right now."

"Like me!" The two of them startled, looking at the man hanging upside down from the ceiling. "Though I suppose I'm less hostage and more freeloader…"

"You both are technically freeloaders," Virgil corrected with a smirk "and I didn't kidnap you. You followed me and begged me to take you in because your brother's my enemy. What was it again that you said?"

"I'm leverage so you don't kill him! So I am a hostage. A willing one, though. And it's not bad, you don't torture me or anything. You're surprisingly gentle for a villain…"

"Yeah, well, I… It just happened. If I had had the choice, I…"

Janus sat up suddenly, a serious look on his dolled-up face. "But it did happen. And that's good, because there's no way either of us" he pointed between Remus and himself "will be on any other side anymore. It's too late for us, and we like it here. And you do too, right?"

Virgil looked at the eyes of the man he loved, the man who he pretended not to know had bought a diamond ring just a few days ago. And he couldn't answer. So he just sighed and kissed his forehead instead.

"If you ever change sides" Janus muttered as he snuggled back against Virgil "I'll come and terrorise the entire world to get you back. I'm no hero, but I'm on the right side." Virgil didn't see it, but he knew Janus' face got considerably darker during that last sentence. "So I'd sacrifice the world for you."

There was a beat of silence.

"I'll never forgive you if you leave."

And Virgil didn't plan on leaving. Really, he didn't. But the next night… It just happened. Like when he became a villain. A week later, when he finally managed to get back to their layer, everything was empty. But on top of the bar there was an empty bottle of wine and a black velvet box.

Virgil leaned back, sighing. He looked back up, tears in his eyes. He was too late, huh?

"I guess you saved me, Jan," he muttered to no one in particular "since this is a nightmare. Or maybe it's hell. Who knows." He chuckled, tears still streaming down his face. "I hope I wake up soon."

He sighed, sinking to the floor, trapped in the most painful memory he had. "But then again, maybe that's what I deserve for always letting go at the worst times…"

The scene started to replay again.

Taglist: @gattonero17 @alias290

#villain and hero au #sanders sides au #angsty fic #sanders sides #sanders sides fic #angst #anxceit

[stab-the-son-of-a]

Whumptober No.4 - Taken Hostage

TW: Guns, off-screen assumed character death, sexist character, smoking

Taglist: @whumpers-inc

There is a surprising (and hand-cramping) amount of paperwork that goes into working at a call center, even one as unconventional as 1-877-WHMP-NOW. An annoying, several hour, several stack amount. Bianca will never forgive whoever it was in HR or accounting (the only two departments who actually seem masochistic enough to enjoy bureaucracy) that suggested all these extra reports and encounter summaries and redundancy measures.

In the same way you tune out the world while enjoying a nature walk and only begin paying attention again when your unconscious mind notices something dangerously wrong, Bianca pauses in her muttered curses to the paperwork gods and listens.

“Why of course she’s in today,” Fran says in a tight tone. “I’ll just transfer you right to your personal whump-passionate care coordinator, Dom.”

Not Dom. Not that irritating, overly stuffed up crock of shit again. Dom had run through almost the entire call center, leaving Bianca the only person who had yet to swear to walk if they were forced to deal with the self-impressed asshole. Jerking her head up, Bianca stares Fran down, like a deer willing a semi-truck to change paths. She shakes her head, desperately miming cutting across her throat with a rushed flail.

Their gazes lock. Fran continues to dial, even as they watch Bianca’s distressed pantomime with all the impassive finality of a monarch’s sentence.

“Don’t you dare, Fran,” Bianca hisses. “I swear by all that is good and holy if you transfer him--”

Her line rings, and she answers it with a chipper grin that doesn’t touch her glare one bit. “Well hey, sugar!” If looks could kill, Bianca would be in a whole other line of work right now as she tosses an eraser at Fran’s head. “What can I do for you today, hun?”

Well, she can already tell this isn’t going to be a pleasant call, not if the sirens are any indication.

“Brianna,” Dom cries, “I’m too handsome for jail!”

Bianca mouths to Fran, “I’ll kill you,” even as they duck their head and pretend to be oh-so invested in their latest call report. She tosses another eraser and this one hits the mark, bouncing off the back of their skull.

“Hello! Brianna! I need you to put down the Covergirl or your nail file and do your job, sweetheart.”

Rolling her eyes, she returns her attention to Dom. “I’m awful sorry. What did you say your emergency was?”

“Thank you for the urgency,” he spits.

Bianca waits for him to elaborate. The sirens on his end of the line continue blaring, the voluming growing as they grow closer.

“Did the line cut out, sugar?” she prompts, carefully sterilizing her tone with a thick layer of honey.

“I tried to rob this small town little podunk town store and took this girl--” Dom lets out a short cry of pain and kicks at something. He corrects himself, ”This bitch. And someone had the nerve to call the cops on me!”

At the sound of gunfire- too close to the gun to be from any policeman, Bianca raises a single brow in silent question of his intelligence. In her humble, professional opinion wasting ammo on puerile displays and a lead tantrum is useless, but again, she’s just a professional. She only graduated at the top of her class and has years, if not decades, on Dom in terms of experience.

Of course, Bianca says none of that.

“Have you taken the girl hostage, Dom?”

“Yes! Jeez, do I have to spell everything out for you people?”

“It’s very helpful when our clients are clear and precise, Dom,” Bianca returns, an almost feral edge to the too wide portions of her smile. “Have you read our informational brochure, ‘So You Want to Take a Hostage’? Or perused our FAQs for whumpers?”

“Why should I?”

A year ago maybe Bianca might have been surprised. Now she’s just glad Dom can’t see the various mocking faces and mouthed insults she indulges in due to such a response. That doesn’t mitigate the desire she feels to bash her head against her desk until her mental faculties match Dom’s. Instead, she parrots, “No. Why should you.”

“So, what do I do?” Dom asks, impatience clear in his tone. “How do I get out of this?”

“Well, Dom, could I speak with your hostage for a hot sec?”

Completely ignoring her question, Dom muses aloud, “What if I just went out there with my guns and just started shooting. There’s only one car out there. I can take out some backwater donut cop.”

She loves her job. She loves her job. She. Loves. Her. Job. She may be a masochist.

“That course of action might not work well, sugar,” Bianca says carefully.

“Why not?”

Just as she’s about to answer, said aforementioned cop starts in with the megaphones and the offers for surrender. Quickly, she traces the call while Dom yells back about assholes and what he deserves and specifically what the cop deserves, involving his megaphone and uncomfortable places.

That ‘podunk’ little town is more of a small city, and even if there is only one cop currently there, there are bound to be more en route, and rapidly at that.

“Are you listening to me, sweetheart?” Dom demands. “There’s only one of him and I’ve got two guns. It’s fool proof.”

Oh, it’s something to do with fools alright. “So, to clarify, you’ve got a gun in each hand?”

“I just said that, honey, put your listening ears on and try to keep up.”

Over her ten plus years working with the call center, Bianca has heard plenty of stupid shit in her time but trying to go out dual wielding guns is… a new one. She quickly shoots Fran a short text reading, You SO owe me, Franny.

“What about your hostage? How are you going to keep control over her? Is she bound?” Bianca tries to reason with Dom, the apparent Blade wannabe, even if it’s futile.

“I’ll bring her with and put the gun to her head. Easy.”

Easy. Yes, so easy. Fran returns her text. ‘You’re the absolute goddess of dealing with BS I am not worthy.’

“Dom, could you be a dear and let me speak with her, please? Thank you sugar.”

“God what is it with women always needing to yap yap yap?” Dom complains as he rips the gag out of the hostage’s mouth.

“FUCK YOU!” She howls immediately. “I’ll bite your fingers off, you small dicked piece of shit!”

So, Bianca had admittedly harbored suspicions that the ‘girl’ was actually a grown woman, considering Dom’s typical behavior, but this certainly confirms that. A wistful sigh builds as Bianca listens to the hostage chew Dom out and insult his manhood and intelligence.

‘Damn straight. I expect pumpkin spice brownies and a latte on my desk tomorrow morning.’

‘It’s June.’

“It’s DOM.’

‘Pumpkin spice brownies gotcha.’

A solid, but wet crack jerks Bianca’s attention back to the matter at hand. The hostage is eerily quiet. Waiting for a response from either Dom or the hostage, she picks at the dry skin on her lips and taps her foot.

“Oh shit,” Dom whispers.

Screwing her eyes shut as if that will change what his answer is, Bianca asks, “Dom?”

“Yeah?”

“Did you just pistol whip your hostage?”

“Yeah.”

Nope, this is officially the stupidest, most asinine, bass-ackwards call from a client she’s ever had to suffer through. Clearly having overheard, Fran twists around to get a better vantage point to watch as Bianca places her head in her hands and fights back a scream of frustration.

Collecting herself, Bianca chirps, “I’m sorry, sugar, but you really ought to have read our guide. The first rule of a hostage situation is to keep your hostage alive as leverage. Now, as it stands, you’re a murderer surrounded by... “ She counts up each little blip. “Four cop cars and another two on the way. You have to understand, honey, that it goes against policy to stay involved.”

“What? No! You can’t do this you bitch!”

Bianca grins, sharp and vicious. “Oh, Dom, I can, and I will.” With that, and Dom still shouting injustice, she hangs up.

“I’ve wanted to do that for forever,” she breezily admits to Fran.

They match her smile inch for inch, and then some. “Bee, you’re my hero. I’m throwing in maple walnut fudge pancakes just for that.”

“Of course we’ll have IT burn the connection and remote into Dom’s phone before the incident gets too close to home, blah blah blah, and we’ll look into whether that lady remembers anything after the whole gun to the head thing,” she dismisses, “but for now, I need a smoke break or twenty. Toodles!”

#whumptober2021 #no.4 #taken hostage #oc #fic #guns #off-screen character death #smoking #sexism #wcc series #wcc fran #wcc bianca #hostage situation #pistol whipping #food mention

[bi-dazai]

okay while we're on the subject of eating healthy and exercising, I want to vent/talk about weight loss. This is gonna be a rly controversial, very personal and extremely long post but I do want to make a point. I'm not going to discuss every fucking nuance of haes or my EDs. But for clarity, know that my eds are complicated and were mostly osfeds - minor anorexia osfed in high school and bed osfed when I was 18-19. after i realised how fat i was the minor anorexia came back and over the pandemic it became full scale anorexia nervosa.

I'm 5'3. The healthy weight range I should be in is in the high 40s-low 50s. I went up to TWICE that by the time I was just nineteen years old. It wasn't fun being fat. I consumed as much fat acceptance, fat activism content as I could, I pretended I was confident and happy even when I was fat. But I wasn't. Because people don't just get obese accidentally. A little overweight, yes. But obese? No. You get obese from depression, from giving up. You don't want to move so you don't. You're sad all the time, and the body positivity circles say eat comfort food, whatever and as much as it makes you feel better!! Do you know what that is? That's encouragement of BED. Do not say that. Because I did that. I ate sugar and junk food, I was still depressed.

I was reading these posts that were claiming fat people shouldn't be weighed at the doctor, that your weight shouldn't count, that BMI is incorrect and doesn't matter, etc etc. There were posts saying that they got "perfect bloodwork" (what even is that? I knew that was wrong, I've had chronic iron deficiency for a decade!) even though they were fat, so they had to be healthy, right? I got shown pictures of obese ballerinas and obese weightlifters blah blah blah. And I grew and grew, and I got to almost 85kg on the fast track to 100kg before reality smacked me in the face and I realised I was shortening my lifespan by decades.

Here's what it was like being obese!

- joint pain, constantly

- could barely walk anywhere without feeling out of breath

- couldn't find any fashionable, good quality clothes (plus size stores either carry unfashionable clothing, or fashionable but cheap quality clothing. I don't like to waste money on cheap clothes)

- more acne than I'd had in years

- oily skin

- more difficulty feeling "full"

- JOINT FUCKING PAIN

- rashes from skin rubbing against skin!

- even larger chest, making me MORE dysphoric

- back pain!!

- snoring - this is not just embarrassing. This is potentially deadly.

- DYSPHORIA

- KNEES. JOINT PAIN.

- DYSPHORIA

this was just things I felt physically, noticeably! The things that my fat was doing on the inside was even worse. Fat isn't just this layer of packing peanuts that appears on top of you. It coats your organs. It gets everywhere. It makes your entire body run worse.

Fat also makes it much more likely for you to not just GET cancer, but it it also makes it harder to FIGHT cancer. Being obese makes almost every single goddamn sickness on the planet worse because when you have THAT MUCH fat tissue the hormones and shit it secretes fucks EVERYTHING up.

Yes there are obese bodybuilders. Yes there are obese ballerinas. Let's talk about those two.

There are plenty of drs and dieticians who have pointed out the obvious - if an obese person was really, actually eating healthily and exercising every day, they would not stay obese forever. Its not magic, it's thermodynamics. CICO done right works for everyone. If you are eating healthy, appropriate portions for weight loss at your TDEE and exercising it would literally be IMPOSSIBLE for you not to lose weight!! Even more the heavier you are because when you exercise you carry around a lot more weight.

Obese weightlifters are still obese. They are not proof you can be obese and healthy. They are still going to die younger if they do not lose weight.

Let's talk about fat ballerinas. The only ones I've seen are trainee ballerinas, not professional ones. And their performance looks impressive at first, until you look closer. You notice their balance is never quite perfect, their control can be amazing and the best ever but they'll still be off. Why? Because fat moves around with your movement, and it displaces your balance and your line of movement. It's simply not possible to do something like ballet dancing as a fat person without risking major injury as well. En pointe is already stupid dangerous for the skinniest ballerina. Going en pointe at anything above 60kg is going to get progressively suckier the heavier you go. And god help your ankles because falling down will always end in a major injury.

I'm so fucking done with "fat acceptance". I'm tired of "body positivity" being a movement about obese middle-upper class white women and not about scars and disabilities etc like it was focused on in the start. I have no problems with Health at Every Size - every person should feel happy to workout, to eat healthy. I have no problem raising issue with people bullying others for their weight as well. That's wrong. But pretending that it's Healthy at Every Size is a fucking lie, and it's one that could've sentenced me to an early death. Healthy at Every Size said I was condemned to joint pain and oily skin and depression and exhaustion for the rest of my life based on cherrypicked sentences from studies that didn't agree with them. That "95% of diets fail" sentence in particular drives me up the wall. You don't need a diet to lose weight, you need healthy CICO, you need to eat below your TDEE, you need to eat healthy, and you need to exercise. All you have to do at first is go on a 10-20 minute walk, whatever pace you like, a few times a week.

You can BE fit, you CAN lose weight! You are not sentenced to having joint pain and an increased risk for cancer and a less effective COVID vaccine for life. You can change your body in incredibly ways. You have no idea what you are capable of.

There's this myth that weight loss takes keto and shakes and diet pills and crash diets etc. It doesn't. All it is is making sure you eat less than your TDEE, eating HEALTHY calories, and getting your heartrate up by exercising at least 175 minutes a week.

The human body is not meant to be obese. There's no such thing as a set point weight. There's CICO, there's nutrition, there's making sure your muscles dont atrophy. Weight loss and fitness isn't some magic thing that youre just born able to do. I was lazy throughout my entire teens. I thought fitness was something the popular girls did. It's not. It's for everyone. and everyone, especially in places with an obesity epidemic such as the US, UK, and Australia, should make use of it. It's a good thing. Walking is one of the best things you can do for your body, and it's incredibly rewarding in every way. Eating healthy and not eating until you feel like you're going to burst is rewarding in every way. And it's not like you can't ever have junk food again, you just have to limit it to a treat, a once or twice per week thing. And honestly, it makes it much more enjoyable that way.

Now I want to talk a little about my anorexia. My weight loss journey came to anorexia. This is because it was an eating disorder I'd had for a long time. I did not see a trainer or dietician, and I consciously decided to push myself too far. I consciously decide to eat less and exercise more when I am starving. This is not something that just happens because someone is eating at 1200cals. It happens because you have an eating disorder which you are born with. Saying people who eat 1200cals of healthy food a day and exercise right are "anorexic" is so fucking insulting to everyone involved. It's ableist and ignorant. 1200cals is also a pretty generous amount for anorexic ppl to eat. That's close to a binge in ED standards, so that should give you a reference for how offbase saying 1200cals is "anorexic" is.

My anorexia is healthy habits pushed into eating disorder territory. I eat healthy, yes, but I don't eat enough. I exercise, yes, but I often push myself too far when I'm already lacking energy. The advice I give people for health is correct, and I'm never going to go around saying "eat less than 1200cals" as weightloss advice. Eat less, sure, but there's a limit. Calorie counting is a good thing to do, tracking your macros and nutrients is good. But I do it too much.

I know what's healthy, a lot of ppl with restrictive and purgative EDs do. People with EDs can give some awesome health advice, we just can't follow it because we have a mental disorder. Believe it or not people with EDs discussing their EDs are not "pro-ana", pointing out that anorexia and people with anorexia are real and not some boogeyman you use to justify not losing weight and eating healthy is not pro-ana. Anorexia existing is not pro-ana and anorexics being anorexic has nothing to do with fatphobia.

this post is a rambling mess but i rly had to get some stuff clear on how I feel abt this stuff because it's getting concerning how much unhealthy shit, and then straight up ableist shit, that the fat acceptance crowd spews out.

A little exercise won't kill you, eating healthy won't kill you. You are not sentenced to ugly plus size fashion and joint pain and being out of breath for the rest of your life. Leave the Healthy at Every Size death cult and join the Health at Every Size movement. Let the doctor take your weight (it IS medically necessary). acknowledge that you are obese and it is affecting your health. It's scary but it can be the start of a new, healthy beginning. It was for me.

Losing 15kg has been the best thing in my life. Sure, the anorexia is there enjoying it for one reason. But the reason I truly enjoy it is because I've discovered what a healthier body feels like. I've discovered the joys of exercise, I've discovered the joys of eating healthy. I can fit nice clothes now. And I'm still overweight! I'm 66kg, that's 4kg away from the barest minimum acceptable healthy bmi. But I feel so so much better. I look better. I have a jawline! Good skin! Energy! It didn't fix me but it sure made me a hell of a lot better.

Please please try and eat healthy, eat an appropriate amount, go for walks. It's so so good, and if you do it right you WILL lose weight. You'll live past 50. You'll get to explore the world in a way you couldn't when going up stairs had you out of breath. You'll fit into that nice skirt you've been looking at. Your skin will clear up. You'll have energy and your mental health will improve.

It's so so fucking worth it to put effort into your health, like I cannot emphasise this enough. Please do it, I wish I could tell myself this when I was binging on junk because the FA crowd told me it was valid to comfort eat until I hurt.

#long post #this is mostly a vent but yeah #basically my decision is that im not touching any fat activism fatphobia etc with a ten foot pole #esp on this blog except to discuss my personal experience with it ie this post #personal #ok to rb #sorry for not putting it under a readmore im on mobile

[taexual]

i’d love you to stay but that’s simply insane // JJK (5)

    jungkook is an uncontrollable lead vocalist of the campus band, and you’re a goal-oriented top student that’s known his rich and complicated family since childhood. you don’t want anything to do with each other, until each other is exactly what you want to do.

pairing: jeon jungkook x reader

genre: college au

warnings: angst + soft joon cameo

words: 3.9k

      chapter five

You tossed and turned for half the night and when you finally managed to fall asleep, your phone buzzed with a text message. Sticking your hand out from under the covers, you kept your eyes closed as you looked for your phone and debated throwing it against the wall so you could keep sleeping.

Driven by some sort of a pathetic hope – what if it was him – you opened your eyes after all, only to see that the text came from a student in your Sociology class, Namjoon. You were supposed to work on a project with him and he was wondering if you were free to meet him at the library today.

“It’s Saturday,” you texted back sleepily, thanking the God for autocorrect, “I don’t mind but don’t you have plans?”

You put your phone back down, hoping to get at least a few more minutes of sleep, but another text message came in almost instantly.

“Everyone will flock to the library on Monday and pick out the best books,” Namjoon said in his text, “so I’d like to get a head-start. Would 9 work for you?”

Nine in the morning – considering that it was eight right now – was absolutely not going to work for you because you were still half-asleep and weren’t motivated enough to have breakfast, shower, make yourself look presentable, and drag yourself across campus in an hour. But you didn’t want to be a nuisance, so you texted back, “sure! See you at 9” and sighed your way into the dorm bathroom.

Thankfully, everyone else seemed to be still asleep, so you got the whole place to yourself and could shower for as long as you liked, without fearing that someone was going to rip off the curtain, separating your naked body from the rest of the room – it was the sort of fear that didn’t go away in all of the three years that you’d lived here.

The shower did wake you up but, with waking up, came the memories of last night and the disappointment that Inna had brought home.

Truthfully, what hurt you the most wasn’t even the fact that Jungkook had presumably spent the night with some other girl but rather, the fact that he did so right after you decided not to purposefully sabotage your budding friendship with him and, instead, give it a chance to see what happened.

Well, you saw what happened and you didn’t like it one bit. So, on the other hand, maybe this was for the better. Clearly, there was still a lot of the old Jungkook – the one you knew and loved once upon a time – left in him, but there was also a part of him that you had never gotten to know – that was the part responsible for the end of your friendship seven years ago.

And, stepping out of the shower in your robe, you decided it’d be best to never get to know the foreign parts of him. Obviously, some of those feelings you’d had for him all of those years ago – actually, a lot of those feelings – had survived the long hiatus and were very much making a comeback – if they ever truly went away, that is – so it was best to quit before you got burned. Again.

And then, by a stroke of simply awful luck, you exited the communal bathroom only to see a familiar figure leave someone’s room down the hall. Being the only two people here, the two of you immediately took notice of each other, and you were starting to wish someone had ripped that shower curtain off so you could have died of embarrassment back there, instead of suffering through seeing Jungkook right here.

“Hi,” he said, just as surprised to see you here even though he walked you home yesterday and knew very well where you lived. “W-why are you up so early?”

“I have plans,” you said, your answer more curt than you’d intended. Being subtle would probably work better since you didn’t want him to know how hurt you were.

“Oh,” Jungkook said. He noticed that you didn’t ask why he was here which could only mean that you knew. “Can I walk you? I was on my way home anyway.”

“I’m not going out in a robe,” you said, “I still need to change.”

“Well, I can—I could wait,” he said, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans to hopefully stop them from clenching into fists. Your coldness was messing with him.

“No need,” you said, abandoning all hopes for subtlety, “I’m sure you’d rather get back to your—well, friend, I guess. She’s probably waiting for you inside.”

You wanted to walk past him into your own room – and would have done so, too, if you were only a little faster – but he was quick enough to get his hand out of his pocket and grab your wrist, stopping you.

“Are you jealous?” he asked and you began fuming at this—very observant and absolutely correct—accusation.

“What? I’m not jealous,” you lied loudly and proudly. “I just think it’s funny how you’re trying to get your life together one moment, and then go ahead and sleep around the next.”

He let go of your hand. “I—”

“If that’s your version of drinking responsibly,” you added with a scoff, “then I have to tell you, it’s not all that different from any other type of drinking you’d been doing since you started college.”

“Drinking—are you going to preach about absenteeism to me now?” he asked, suddenly focusing on the wrong thing. “That’s very closed-minded coming from someone like you. I thought you were—”

“I’m obviously not who you thought I were,” you cut him off again, even angrier now that he’d touched you – just like that time at the party last week – because, despite the circumstances, the softness of his skin felt outrageously nice.

“Okay, fuck!” he couldn’t help raising his voice. “I’m still trying to catch up on all that we’ve missed about each other.”

“Why?” you demanded. “Why does it matter?”

“Because we were friends once upon a time,” he quoted the words you’d said to him and you groaned as you recognized them.

“Once upon a time was a long time ago,” you said. “Maybe what’s in the past should stay in the past.”

Jungkook had gotten into physical fights more times than he could count and yet he’d never gotten punched just by someone’s words until now. It hurt and, frankly, he’d have preferred it if you’d socked him in the eye instead. At least that way you could both could see the damage done.

“Right. Well, in that case, it’s really none of your business how or how often I’m drinking,” he said, his hurt feelings coming out in chilly, stone-hard sentences and you’d already heard him tell you something like this before. You should have listened and hung up the phone as soon as he called to apologize about it.

“Hey,” you raised your hands in defense, “you’re the one who called me last night.”

“I was drunk,” he shot back, his voice as cold as yours had been, “I barely even remember it. Don’t think it means anything or gives you the permission to—”

Not realizing what excellent liars you both were when you were angry, you allowed yourself to listen to him until his words started to sting too much.

“Oh, don’t worry,” you said then, turning around to go back to your room. He didn’t try to stop you this time. “I never thought it meant anything.”

You were late to meet Namjoon at the library because, after having closed the door of your room, you didn’t dare to come back out into the hall even after you dressed up and got ready, in case Jungkook had lingered. But it all turned out to be just wishful thinking – he probably left as soon as you went inside – and there was no sign of him anywhere when you did finally come out.

Well, that was that. This time last week, you had been on your way to visit Jungkook at the hospital, and now your very unsuccessful attempt at reconnecting had ended. 

You should have seen it coming, it’s been far too long. Pretending that it hasn’t and rebuilding your friendship on memories had, clearly, not worked.

“So sorry I’m late,” you announced to Namjoon when you finally reached the library, all out of breath and with a very poorly hidden bad mood.

“It’s alright,” Namjoon replied, showing you his cup of coffee, “I stopped by the café next-door, so I just got here myself,” he said and then realized, “oh! I didn’t get you anything, I’m sorry. I didn’t know what—”

“Oh, no, there’s no need,” you plopped down into a seat opposite him. “I had a quick cup before I left the dorm. Thanks for thinking of me, though.”

“Yeah, of course,” he nodded and, taking a sip of his beverage, gave you a look that he’d hoped appeared as nonchalant and not at all suspicious – even though it was – and, as soon as he placed his cup down on the table between you, he inquired somewhat awkwardly, “are you okay?”

You were busy taking your backpack off and putting it on a chair next to you, so his question took you off guard.

“Hmm?” you turned to give him a look. “I’m fine, why? Is it about being late? I was just—”

“No, no, it’s just that—well, nevermind. I thought you looked upset,” he said and then regretted ever bringing it up. His perception had gotten him labeled as creepy several times before. “Sorry if that’s out of line for me to say.”

“No, it’s, uh—” you looked down, unsure if pouring your heart out to someone who was virtually a stranger to you was such a great idea since you obviously sucked at making – or, well, remaking – friends. “I am somewhat upset, I guess. I got into a fight with—with a friend before I left. But I promise it won’t interfere with my work!”

“Ah. Sorry to hear that,” Namjoon said and he sounded genuine, which was nice, considering he didn’t have to try so hard for someone who was just his partner for a Sociology project.

“Yeah,” you spoke and allowed the quiet atmosphere of the library on this early Saturday morning to engulf you both before finally saying, “anyway. Do you have the literature list, perhaps? I seem to have misplaced mine.”

“I have it on my phone,” he said and, in an attempt to sit up straight and pull his phone out from his back pocket at the same time, he spilled some of his drink on the table. “Oh, shit, uh—sorry about that.”

“It’s fine,” you told him, reacting immediately and reaching for a pack of tissues you always carried in the outer pocket of your backpack. You extended it for him. “Here.”

“Thank you,” he took one out and wiped his own hand first before cleaning the drink off the table.

“Is your hand okay?” you asked. “The coffee seems to be hot.”

“It’ll be fine,” he said with an awkward laugh. He’d already showcased enough of his inability to function as a normal human, he didn’t want you to have to deal with the stinging pain of his palm, too. “So, anyway, as I was saying, I have the list on my phone. I can send it to you and then we can split up to find the books faster.”

“Okay. That sounds great!”

And it really was great because, aside from being somewhat clumsy – he spilled his coffee again when he was pushing his chair back to get up from his seat and then dropped his phone as he was attempting to clean the new puddle – Namjoon was also an honest, dedicated worker and you appreciated that. You’d already had to work on many projects with peers who were more than happy to let you do all the work.

“I love the library at a time like this,” Namjoon told you from the other side of the book shelf as you two began to freely roam the near-empty library, browsing for books. “Not crowded with people, I mean.”

“Yeah, I love it, too,” you agreed. “But I don’t get to see it often, to be honest. I’m one to jump on the bandwagon and come here when everyone else comes.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, usually, I’m like that, too. But I started coming on weekends recently. It’s blissfully empty here, especially in the morning.”

“Everyone’s probably hungover,” you observed. “Parental Advisory had one of their usual ragers last night.”

“Ah, yes,” Namjoon nodded and then, somehow hesitantly, asked, “why weren’t you there?”

He made it sound as though you were supposed to be there and, for a minute, you wondered if your very few public conversations with Jungkook ended up bringing more attention to you and him than you’d realized.

“I—well, I don’t really go to those things,” you admitted, “it’s not really for me. I was home, binging on TV shows instead.”

He laughed – not mockingly but rather, understandably. Like he could relate.

“That’s my usual weekend, too,” he said then, confirming your thoughts and you gave him a smile through the gap between the books on the shelves. “I’ve been catching up on the movies I’ve missed during mid-terms.”

“Oh?” you picked one book up to check the edition and then put it back after realizing it wasn’t the right one. “Did you watch anything last night?”

“I tried to give the Kristen Stewart movie a shot,” he replied, dragging his finger on the spines of the books as he looked for the one he needed. “But it didn’t do it for me.”

“Underwater?” you asked. You had dragged Inna to see this movie in the theater with you. “I didn’t like that one, either. Even though Kristen Stewart was, predictably, great.”

“Oh, you’ve seen it, too?” he seemed surprised as he stopped and glanced at you over the shelves.

“Yeah, horror movies are much more my thing than campus parties,” you said.

“Really?” now he was properly intrigued. “Mine, too.”

You stopped browsing as well and your eyes met even if your bodies were separated by shelves of books. Not wanting to make this awkward, Namjoon didn’t let his gaze linger for too long before he looked back at his phone and continued his search for books.

“What would you say were your Top 3 horror movies of the last few years?” he asked, not just to keep the conversation going, but also because he was genuinely curious. He hadn’t met a lot of other people who were into horror.

“Only three?” you put your hands on your hips, deep in thought. “Okay. I’d choose Get Out, Us… and Midsommar.”

Namjoon wrinkled his nose at this. “Midsommar? Really?”

“Yeah,” you looked at him in confusion. “Why? It was good!”

“Well, it wasn’t bad,” he said, “but it just… I don’t know, it didn’t have enough horror elements for me. You do have good taste, though. Get Out is definitely one of the few late-decade films worthy of its’ horror genre.”

You couldn’t deny that but felt like you had an addition, “I actually quite liked Hereditary, too. It was different from what I usually watch.”

“Is that the one with the actress from The Sixth Sense?” he asked as he pulled a book from the shelf nearby to check the cover.

He was truly proving to be a project partner sent from heavens as you squealed, forgetting the library rules for a minute, “Toni Collette! Yes!”

He turned around, surprised by your excited tone.

“You liked The Sixth Sense?” he asked with a laugh, then.

“Loved it,” you said, still overwhelmed by the realization that you two seemed to share the same taste in movies. “It’s one of the best movies out there, in my opinion.”

“I think it might just be,” he agreed. “I’ve never seen Hereditary, though.”

You stopped walking and turned to him with wide eyes. “No. Are you serious? It’s terrible! I mean, terrible as in, I had to look away from the screen several times and I’m not one that gets fidgety during horror movies. That really proves how good it is.”

“Ah, yes, as the rating for horror movies goes – boring, decent, bad, terrible,” he counted with his fingers as you both laughed. “No, I don’t know, I just somehow never got around to watch it.”

“I have it on my computer,” you found yourself saying, “if we wrap this project up quickly enough, we could watch it. If you’d like.”

“I’d love that,” he said, smiling, and then stopped himself, “although, I don’t think the library allows that sort of activity here.”

“Oh. No, I guess not,” you thought about it for a moment and then came up with a plan, “well, are you free on Monday? We could work on the project at my dorm and watch the movie then. My roommate has classes in the afternoon, so it’ll be quiet.”

You hadn’t even realized that you were inviting a guy you’d almost literally just met over to your room and neither had Namjoon as he considered your offer – trying to remember his own schedule for Monday – and then nodded. 

Truthfully, he didn’t even consider that there could have been some concealed intentions behind your invitation – he genuinely wanted to watch this movie with you since it seemed to have left an impression on you.

“Okay, yeah,” he said finally. “Monday sounds good. I’ll bring my books.”

“Great!” you’d have clapped your hands together if you weren’t holding three books and your phone. “I’ll bring the movie.”

Shortly, the two of you had finished your search for the books for the project and Namjoon excused himself – apparently, his drunk roommate had lost his keys and couldn’t get home – agreeing to meet you at your dorm on Monday.

You didn’t even realize it until you sat down by the table to put the books into your backpack but discussing your favorite movies with Namjoon had helped you forget all about your fight with Jungkook. Smiling solemnly to yourself, you concluded that you were actually feeling surprisingly well right now in comparison to how disheveled you’d been when you first arrived here.

Deciding that it was your choice how to feel about your second falling-out with Jungkook, you chose to move past it with surprising swiftness. If a good conversation was what it would take for you to forget about him, then you were just going to have to find more interesting people to talk to. Inna, once she sobered up, would work perfectly.

You’d have probably succeeded at this plan if it weren’t for the two girls that just arrived to the library, sunglasses and paper cups of coffee in hand. You merely glanced at them, choosing not to say hi even though you thought you’d seen them around the dormitory, as they sat down a few seats away from you.

“Okay, listen, why does it matter that he left early?” one of them was saying as you pulled the zipper of your backpack, opening it up. “Everyone still knows that you went home with Jungkook last night.”

That’s when you froze, focusing all of your energy into not turning around to look at them again. 

One of these girls was the girl whose room Jungkook had left this morning.

“Yeah, but so what?” she replied to her friend. You knew you had to keep putting the books into your backpack or else you’d look weird just sitting here, obviously listening. But moving with minimal noise, so you’d still be able to hear them, was difficult. “Nothing happened between us.”

“I mean, not nothing,” her friend countered and then hesitated, “you did kiss, right?”

“Yeah, but—I don’t know. We kind of did,” her friend said and you found yourself drowning in waves of hotness. You decided you should probably go if you wanted to still have a chance at the swift-moving-on you’d planned. “But it was really more me, kissing him. He didn’t even—he was just there, you know what I mean?”

“Was he drunk?”

“No—well, yeah, we both were,” she giggled. You mentally gagged as you hurriedly stuffed the books into your bag. “But he was sober enough to recognize where I lived.”

“He knew where you lived? Girl, that’s good!” her friend clapped her hands together.

“No, but he didn’t, he just—he knew someone in the building,” she said. You sat up straight suddenly and the two girls stopped talking. Trying to play it cool, you coughed nervously and pushed your chair back, standing up. They carried on, “anyway, I think he just went with me because he wanted to visit that friend who lived there. But he tripped over the door on our way in, and I said that maybe we should stop at my place first, I could get him a drink or something. He said, ‘yeah,’ so we went and… he fell asleep basically as soon as he entered my room.”

“What? Seriously?” her friend asked as you zipped up your bag.

“Yeah,” the girl said. “I sat him down on my bed, left to pick up some snacks from the mini-fridge, and when I came back, he was full-on snoring.”

“Shit. Maybe he’s sick or something.”

The girl wasn’t so sure. “Or maybe he’s just not into me.”

Choosing not to listen anymore or else they’d have to notice you loitering, you picked up your backpack and headed for the exit. Your mind was buzzing and even the walk across campus to your dormitory didn’t help make it stop.

Apparently, Jungkook hadn’t slept with the girl that brought him home – he just let you assume he had. Not that you’d given him a chance to deny it, to be fair, accusing him of sleeping around one second and drinking himself blind the next.

It was clear that you’d overreacted and, in a moment of weakness, you considered calling him to apologize. But then you stopped and reconsidered – he’d told you it wasn’t your business to worry about his drinking. He’d told you his late-night phone call meant nothing and that he could barely even remember it.

So, maybe the argument in the hallway meant nothing to him, too. Maybe you were the only one still thinking about it while Jungkook was already off, doing whatever he did Saturday mornings because, God knew, moving on came easy to him.

Deciding that it was time you listened to him when he told you not to get involved in his decisions, you exhaled shakily and put your phone back in your pocket. 

There was no point to apologize to him about anything.

It was over.

keep reading | masterlist

#jungkook #bts #jeon jungkook #bts reactions #bts fanfiction #bts angst #angst #bts imagines #bts scenarios #jungkook fanfiction #fanfiction #jeon jungkook fanfiction #fanfic #bts fanfic #jungkook fanfic #college au #bts college au #bts au #jungkook college au #jungkook au

[puckyeahobx]

they tried to sweep us into the cracks in the wall

not my gif

a/n: i really hope you guys aren’t getting tired of my rafe apologist behavior because it’s just gonna keep coming. this one is a little long but i really like how it turned out! i just hope rafe gets some form of redemption arc or SOMETHING because he truly is just a product of his toxic, abusive environment and i know he’s good at heart. (it helps that drew is my dream man tho) *title inspired by chapstick by hippo campus*

summary: there’s a huge storm in the obx one night and y/n is stuck at the diner she works tirelessly at. little does she know that her beloved diner is about to become refuge for the last person she’d ever dream of feeling empathy for.

warnings: none! fluff overload 

word count: 7.6k (meep)

You had been working at this cafe by the beach for a couple of years now, ever since you had turned 16. You needed the money to save for college and get the hell out of your house and, one day, the Outer Banks. It’s not that you didn’t love it there, because of course you did. It was home after all but you just knew that you were meant for more. But, it had been almost four years at this cafe, two at the closest community college, and things weren’t looking good on the whole “meant for more” front. Lost as ever, you just kind of took every day as it came and tried to keep a smile on your face as you did so. It wasn’t a particularly hard life, nor was it ridiculously painful, but you couldn’t help but think of what sixteen year old Y/N would have thought of you four years older in the same shitty apron and clunky work shoes.

Much like your life hadn’t changed much in the last four years, the cafe hadn’t changed since before you were born. The same old people came in on the same days at the same times, which was good because it meant you got to know them really well, usually meaning bigger tips for you, but it was kind of a slap in the face with the whole complacency thing. You were the youngest people ever in that building, besides Mildred’s granddaughter Celia who came in for brunch every Sunday at 10:45 (right after mass), and since this is where you spent pretty much all your time, your dating life was also suffering. This obviously wasn’t the most pressing variable in the situation, but it was a variable all the same and it wasn’t like you could pretend like you didn’t notice. Because you did. Every time a love song from the 60’s came on the cafe playlist you noticed. Whenever Ester and Charles came in for their Monday morning coffees and Thursday evening dinners, you noticed. Sometimes you’d be doing nothing at all and you’d notice. It was kind of impossible to ignore. You weren’t one to obsess over boys because, frankly, there weren’t any you were interested in. This was a small island, you knew your options and you were far from impressed. Sure some of them were attractive, but that usually also meant they had rocks for brains and that was just not something you were willing to indulge just because you were desperate for a warm body. This was your life for right now and you were just going to have to be ok with it. And you were. For the most part.

The good thing is that you didn’t hate your job. Food service wasn’t glamorous but the cafe was sort of like a second home to you, and since you had been there for so long the owners really trusted you. The couple that owned the place weren’t as young as they were when they opened it 25 years ago so any chance they got to hand the keys over to you for the night, they took gladly. Tonight was one of those nights. It was pouring outside as you started the closing duties. Sweeping, wiping down the tables, polishing the glassware, typical restaurant stuff. It was actually kind of relaxing. 

You were on your fourth set of mugs when you were startled by the bell above the front door jingled delightfully. It was only 9 PM so you didn’t technically close for another hour, but your usual crowd tapped out at around 7:30. But, then you realized that this customer was a part of your usual crowd. Oh no, this 6’4” twenty something in board shorts and a half-buttoned shirt was far from that. He was soaked from head to toe, his horrific Sperry’s squelching as he made his way toward the counter, looking around. He couldn’t see you from your spot hidden around the corner to the kitchen back by the dishwasher, but you could see him bright and clear.

“Hello? Is there anyone here?” His tall body and broad shoulders did not match the apprehensive tone of his voice, and it certainly was a far cry from the way you had heard him speak before. 

You stepped out from around the corner wordlessly, your towel and mug still in hand. He jumped in surprise before you could say anything. 

“Jesus Christ!”

You jumped back at his mini outburst, “You’re the one that asked if anyone was here!”

He rest his hands on the counter and huffed out a laugh, “Uh, yeah. Sorry,” he looked up, his hair (as well as the rest of him) completely soaking wet and dripping all over your freshly mopped floors, and his eyes closed in on you, “Do I know you?”

“We, uh, we went to school together. Class of 2018. You’re uh Rafe Cameron, right?” You tried to be casual, but you knew exactly who he was. Rafe Cameron: public deviant and resident party boy of Figure Eight. Needless to say you never ran in the same circle, but it was impossible not to know who he was. Some may have called in infamy.

Straightening up he smacked a hand to his forehead and then started pointing at you, snapping. “Yes duh! And you’re-” more snapping, “God it’s been so long….Something with an ‘M’?”

You knew he had never known your name, but you kind of liked that he was pretending. “It’s Y/F/N Y/L/N. I think we had geometry together sophomore year.”

“That must be why I don’t remember you, I never went to that class. Mrs. Reynolds was a bitch.”

Normally you would have scoffed and rolled your eyes at a man calling a woman a bitch but in this instance he was absolutely correct. “She was the worst,” you laughed nervously. 

There was a beat of awkward silence when you remembered what you were being paid for, “Oh so did you, um, did you want something to eat?”

He looked at you like you were speaking a foreign language until he also seemed to remember what your job was, “What? Oh, uh, no. Not really.”

“Ok...do you want coffee or anything?” You asked, confused. 

“I actually only came in because this was the only place within like ten miles that had its lights on. You do know there’s a tropical storm coming, right?” 

You did not know there was a tropical storm coming. At around 7 you turned the radio off and took aux, simultaneously cutting off any and all emergency weather reports. You could tell that the storm was rough, but it was rare for a tropical storm this time of year.

“Is that why you’re soaking wet? You got that bad just from walking inside here?”

He started to rub the back of his neck and looked down at the ground, “No, actually, I got this bad from riding my bike for the last hour.”

Wanting to avoid another awkward pause you blurted out the first thing that came to mind, “Well that’s pretty stupid.” You immediately covered your mouth with your free hand, a hot, crimson blush creeping up your neck and taking refuge all across your cheeks. The awkward pause would have been favorable.

However, instead of flipping you off and calling you a dumb slut like he and his friends had been known to do in high school, he looked back up at you and laughed. You hoped it was with you instead of at you, so you forced a laugh back. It was hard not to, his face completely changed when he laughed. It was as if all of his features shifted into something softer, rounder, open. You had gone to school with Rafe Cameron your whole life and never before would you have ever dared to describe him as warm, but that’s exactly what the person laughing on the other side of the counter was. It was almost off-putting. 

“Yeah, it was pretty fucking stupid. But, in my defense, it wasn’t raining when I got on my bike. And I didn’t have much of a choice.” The last sentence fell off his tongue a little harder, a little darker. 

“What happened?” You weren’t sure why tonight was the night you had decided to speak on impulse, but you were really starting to question why lobotomies were frowned upon. It seemed like you could use one. 

He clearly didn’t want to answer, with the way he sighed and focused his attention on the cup of coffee stirrers on the counter in front of him, but he did anyway. “You know how parents are. The old man was just sick of looking at me tonight, I guess.” His tone was casual, but his gaze on the coffee stirrers was anything but. Happy people don’t look at inanimate objects like that.

You let his omission sit in the air for a moment, making sure you didn’t say anything stupid again before settling on the one thing you knew to be a sure fire antidote. “I think you should drink some hot cocoa.”

He looked up at you and tried to wave the suggestion off, “Nah it’s ok. This storm will be over any minute now and then I’ll head out. Besides, you’re cleaning and I’m interrupting you.” He went to turn around and sit in some of the chairs but you had already turned on the machine. 

“Don’t be stupid, this storm is going to stick around for awhile. You might as well get comfortable.” The hot cocoa finished and you topped it off with whipped cream and brought it to his spot at the table closest to the counter.

He looked from the mug to you and back again, doing that thing with his neck again. “This is really nice, Y/N, but, uh, I don’t have any money.”

You scoffed and walked away, “Yeah, ok, Mr. Tannyhill.”

He got a little quieter, “No, uh, I’m serious. My dad cut me off. None of my cards work.” You turned around and saw him looking down at his shoes. His broad frame slouching over onto itself, making him look almost small. 

“Don’t worry about it. I was never going to make you pay for it anyway. Just promise I can have a sip, yeah?” You tried to keep the conversation light so he didn’t freak about the amount of honesty he was sharing with you. Why was he being so honest? Why was he talking to you at all? You suppose it would have been awkward if he had just walked in, not ordered anything, and sat down without a word, but that still didn’t explain the brutal honesty about his homelife.

He smiled at you and laughed, “Yeah, I promise. You can have as many sips as you want.” 

You returned a soft smile back and pointed to the kitchen, “I, uh, I have some other stuff in the back I need to finish up real quick. Make yourself at home, I guess.” And you turned around quickly, hoping he couldn’t see the heat rising to your cheeks, and made your way back into the safety of the dishroom.

Back in the safety of the dishroom you had time to actually process what was happening for the first time all night. There you were, desperate for something in your life to start, and then all of a sudden something jolted you awake. Maybe you were being dramatic for the sake of entertainment, but as a big believer in the universe and the purposeful things it sends our way, you were not about to take this for granted. He was being so kind - so very the opposite of the Rafe you had heard the stories about for years and years. But there was more to it, the kindness didn’t even seem like an active choice. He just was. From the way he tentatively looked around for another soul in the storm, to the guilty look on his face when he couldn’t pay for the drink you had made for him (it was true, by the way. You really were never going to make him pay for it. His surprise made you wonder when was the last time he had been shown a random act of kindness like that. You felt your heart hurting for him), he was just kind and scared and considerate. Although, you might have just been romanticizing the one interaction you had had with a guy in God knows how long. It didn’t help that his shirt was almost all the way unbuttoned and completely soaked through. You weren’t even letting yourself think about the way his hair was stuck to his forehead and in his eyes, because if you thought about it you were afraid you might offer up your hand in marriage.

All this not thinking about his hair had really distracted you from your cleaning, so you were even further behind. You still had four racks of mugs to wash and dry as well as three containers of silverware to sort. Normally, you would have been by now. But normally, there wasn’t a soaking wet boy in your cafe. 

Just when you were almost done not thinking about him, you heard his voice coming from somewhere much closer than the table by the window. “Um, do you need any help?” He asked from the doorway. 

You jumped, almost dropping the mug in your hand.

“We should probably stop sneaking up on each other, you might end up breaking a mug,” He chuckled as he walked towards you, tugging a dry towel off the rack by the door. “So, where do we start?”

You stared blankly back at him, not trusting your brain to come up with something intelligent to say. 

He chuckled offhandedly at your agape mouth, taking the wet mug from your hands and drying it before setting it on the rack with the rest, “Take a picture, it’ll last longer. And, even better, it might just restore my image,” He paused and held his hands out in front of him with a grand gesture, “‘Outer Banks Playboy and Coke Addict Rafe Cameron Attempts Manual Labor’ That’ll be a hit for sure. Do you have any more washed mugs or should I do that too?”

Snapping out of your trance, you cleared your throat and pulled out a rack of freshly washed mugs and set them in front of you both. He was standing so close to you that you could practically feel the heat radiating off of him through his soaked shirt. 

“You know, we have extra uniform shirts in the back. I could get you one,” you said, trying to sound casual.

“A job offer, huh? I’m impressing you that much already?”

You felt yourself start to blush again, “No, uh, I just meant because you’re probably cold. It’s not good to stay in wet clothes. If you don’t want one that’s fine I just thought-”

He stopped your train of thought when he rested a hand on top of the one you had been using to scrub the same spot on the mug you had been scrubbing since you started talking, “I’d really appreciate that, Y/N. Now, set the poor mug down. It never did anything to you,” it could have been teasing, but it honestly didn’t sound like anything other than him trying to ease the tension you were so obviously feeling. 

You nervously laughed and walked out of the kitchen to get the shirt, trying to avoid eye contact. Returning with what you hoped was the right size, you stepped into the kitchen still not looking at him, “I didn’t know what size you would want, but it was between this and a XS and that just seemed unrealistic.”

When you finally looked up you fully almost passed out. There was Rafe Cameron, in your cafe dish room, topless. He was standing over the drain on the ground, wringing out his other shirt. His biceps tensed with each twist of his arms and you swear you heard yourself gulp. He looked up at you as you finished talking, straightening up and giving you a full view of him. While you had run in different circles in high school, you weren’t blind. And you definitely weren’t stupid. Rafe had always been good-looking. This wasn’t a shock. It was completely a context thing. But that didn’t change the fact that suddenly your mouth had gone dry as you tried to somehow drink in the image of his entire body without coming off as some freak with zero social skills.

“Just toss it here, thanks,” he caught it with one hand (sexy) and slipped it over his head, doing that thing where boys shake out their hair after putting a shirt on, and smoothing it out over his chest and stomach. “Fits like a damn glove.” He shot back another one of those uncharacteristically enthused smiles before setting his wet shirt on top of the washing machine and getting back to work on the mugs. “Are you just gonna stand there, Y/L/N or are you gonna help me?”

You slowly made your way back over to him, too nervous to make any sudden movements. What if you just blinked for too long and suddenly he was gone? Finally getting back to work, you stood further away from him this time

“I don’t bite,” he whispered to you as he leaned in close to your ear. 

Laughing nervously you scooted to the side a little closer, “Sorry. I’m just, surprised, that’s all.”

“Not everyday someone so good looking turns up at your door and offers you free labor?” 

“I was more so thinking about it being you specifically, the ‘Outer Banks Playboy’ and all. This doesn’t really seem your speed,” you shrugged as you placed another dry mug on the rack.

He sighed, “Yeah, well, the outer banks playboy hasn’t really done me any favors recently. I think I’d much rather move at this speed.”

You scoffed, “I hate to break it to ya buddy but the speed you’re referring to might as well be a standstill. Nothing about this place has changed in the last 25 years and that includes the customers. I’d take Playboy over Groundhogs day any time. Much more glamorous.”

“I’m not so sure about glamorous, Y/N...you did hear me say that I’m completely broke, right? Doesn’t really scream luxury.”

You faltered, surprised that he brought this up again on his own accord. “I hope you don’t mind me asking,” You started after a pause, “But what happened that was so bad that your dad kicked you out in the middle of a tropical storm?”

Stopping his motions completely, he set the halfway dried mug down and sighed, closing his eyes, “To be honest, this happens like every week. Nothing really happens, it's just like, he remembers I exist and picks something to be mad about. This week it was because I didn’t go to college, one of his personal favorites,” He laughed in spite of himself and shook his head, focusing back on the mug, “The one thing that changed was that I couldn’t take it anymore. I just got on my bike and left. I’ve been staying at Top’s since but then his parents kicked me out after Ward told some lies about how useless I was and how they shouldn’t enable me...maybe they weren’t lies, but it’s still fucked.”

You had long since forgotten the mug you were supposed to be drying, too focused on looking up at him to make sure he wasn’t going to crack at any moment. He didn’t seem emotional about all this but that just made you even more nervous. You reached out to set your hand on top of his gently, a sign of camaraderie. “Rafe, that- that is so fucked up. I’m so sorry. I had heard stories about Ward but that...wow…”

“Pretty fucking unbelievable, huh?” He scoffed, “What a stand up guy. I haven’t even done anything to piss him off in months. He didn’t even notice that I stopped doing blow…”

You tried not to show any visible signs of that news shaking you to your core - you thought the coke addict thing had been a joke. 

He shook his head and started working on the mug again, finishing off the last in your guys’ stock. “I don’t really know why I’m telling you all of this. I’d be super fucking weirded out if I were you...sorry about that.”

“I don’t mind,” You said sweetly, tossing your used towel in the hamper. “I don’t get a lot of company around here, so I take what I can get. Daddy issues be damned.”

He let out another one of those honest-to-God laughs again which you were relieved by. It was amazing how easy being with him was considering everything you had thought you had known about him. Some people really do change after high school, huh. 

“You’re funny,” he remarked as he finished up laughing, swinging his towel over his shoulder and running his hands through his hair, “So...what’s next boss?”

“I still have some silverware to bag up but you really don’t have to help me, I’m a big girl I can handle it myself. Besides, you’ve had a long day of being homeless.” You joked, grabbing the silverware and setting up to sort them. He made no sign of moving. You rolled your eyes, “Rafe, I’m serious. I can get this done in like twenty minutes,” and turned away from him to focus on the task at hand.

Almost as soon as you were done talking though, he was already right beside you, “But if I help we can be done in ten. What kind of asshole would I be to let the beautiful girl I burdened with my presence work while I sat and did nothing?” And, with that, he pulled out another tray of silverware and got to sorting. All you could do was smile to yourself and try not to look at him. If you did you were sure you’d embarrass yourself with the blush and giant smile stretched across your face. This truly seemed like a dream. Too good to be true. It was no passionate affair, but it was more than enough for you. As you finished the silverware (he was right, it did take ten minutes), you found yourself hoping that the storm was raging even harder than before, with no signs of stopping. 

Once you finished the last chore of the night, it was time to face the fact that it was too unsafe to travel anywhere for the time being. It was creeping further into the night and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t tired, but you would seriously be damned if you did anything to miss out on the absolute miracle unfolding before you. So, you tried to plow through it regardless of how completely exhausted you were. 

Rafe was in the middle of trying to build a pyramid out of the menu cards from the tables while you sat opposite of him, rotating through the same three apps on your phone like you had been for the last 45 minutes when you let out the most dramatic yawn of your life. 

The pyramid toppled over and Rafe sighed, “This is stupid. We need to talk about a game plan.”

“What-what do you mean?” You struggled to ask through your second yawn.

“You’re clearly exhausted so we should probably decide who is sleeping where since I doubt there’s going to be any chance I’m getting back on that bike any time within the next eight hours,” He paused to survey the small cafe, clearly trying to come up with a solution. “There’s a booth over in that corner that looks like it might work, and the stools at the counter have some cushions we could remove for pillows….I’m sure my shirt is probably dry by now for you to use as a blanket…”

“First of all, you can keep your shirt. Really, I’ll be fine,” You pretended to be annoyed but truthfully, the thought of curling up with something of his made you want to sob. “Second, I can just sleep on the floor. I’m the one that cleans it so I don’t really mind.”

He was already up and gathering the cushions off the stool, “Just shut up and let me be a gentleman. It’s handled.” And, before you could say no, he was arranging a couple of cushions on the booth, fluffing them for dramatics. “It’s beautiful.” Truthfully, it was a 25 year old glorified couch cushion with two paper thin cushions resting on top of it. But sure, beautiful would work. 

“Well this is very sweet but I can’t let my guest sleep on the floor…”

“Guests are usually invited, I don’t think I count. Now! Into bed you go. You’ve had a long day.” He gestures towards the booth.

“Where are you going to sleep?” You asked tentatively, hoping he’d say right next you.

He shifted his weight back and forth between the heels and balls of his feet, “Erm, probably in that corner with the rug. Don’t worry, I saved a stool cushion for myself though.”

“This is so stupid-”

He put a finger on your lips and shushed you, your eyes surely popping out of your skull. Once he was sure you were done talking, he rested both of his hands on your shoulders, easing you down onto the booth. Convinced he had cast some sort of spell, you didn’t put up a resistance and sat down, still looking up at him with a stunned expression.

“What’s stupid is you refusing kindness from Rafe Cameron. People aren’t going to believe you when you tell them so you might as well milk it for all its worth, sweetheart,” His voice was a little breathier than before and your mouth seemingly had gone dry because of it. 

Sweetheart. Shit. 

When you didn’t say anything, he squeezed one of your shoulders and laughed to himself, “I’m trying this new thing where I put good in because I heard that’s how you get good out. How am I doing so far?”

You tried to speak but nothing came out at first which made you want to crawl in hole and die of embarrassment, but then you cleared your throat and nodded, “Um...yeah! So far so good.”

He smiled and straightened up (you already missed the feeling of his hands on your shoulders, on you period), “That’s what I like to hear. Well...I’m gonna turn off the lights and head over to my corner.” He paused for a second before turning around and then again before he got to the lights, this time turning back towards you, “Thank you, uh, again, for being so cool. Sorry for ruining your night.”

He turned the lights off.

You heard yourself halfway whispering “This has been one of the best nights of my life” before your eyes started to close on their own accord.

“Mine too,” you heard from an even quieter voice as something linen was draped gently across your back and shoulders. 

And then it was quiet, and you fell asleep praying to God you wouldn’t wake up in your bed in the morning. 

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

When you woke up suddenly, jolting straight up in bed - well, booth - after a particularly loud thunder clap you truly had no idea where you were or whose shirt was draped over your shoulder. It wasn’t until you heard a voice from a disembodied lump in the other corner that the memories of the previous four-ish hours hit you like a truck.

“You snore.”

It was pitch dark but you knew you were red as a beet. Death seemed preferable.

“Don’t worry, it’s the cute kind. Like the little ones, not the chainsaw ones.” There was a tenderness in his voice that would have made you fall over if you weren’t already sitting down.

“Is that why you’re still up? Because I was being loud? I’m so sorry-”

You heard him shift and groan, his body adjusting against the stone floors, “No, no. I wouldn’t have been able to sleep anyway. Too much going on up here, ya know,” he paused, “I’m uh pointing at my head...it’s dark.”

You let out a laugh and laid back against the cushion, “I kinda figured.”

“Yeah that was stupid I don’t know why I felt the need to clarify,” he laughed back.

A comfortable silence fell over you two for a moment once the laughter died out. 

Before you could stop yourself, you whispered “Do you want to talk about it?”

He sighed and shifted again, “I’ve already kind of talked your ear off I think.”

“I don’t mind.” 

When he didn’t respond immediately you started to get nervous that you had overstepped. You were just about to tell him to forget it, that he didn’t owe you any sort of explanation, when you heard what sounded like a sniffle. Rafe Cameron was fucking crying.

“It’s just uh,” you could tell he was trying to keep his voice even and your heart shattered, “I’m just tired of being the bad guy, I guess. I just wish I could do the right thing, ya know?” He paused, “Do you ever just- just you know, wish you could change everything about yourself?”

You turned on the booth towards the direction of his voice and sighed, “Every day of my life.”

He let out a wet, pathetic laugh, “Yeah. It sucks.”

Another pause, this time not so quiet as you heard him try to catch his breath. 

“Rafe?” 

“Yeah?” He sounded nervous.

“For what it’s worth, I don’t think you’re a bad guy.” The fondness you had discovered that you had for him was seemingly filling you up completely. Every corner of your body was full of it. You hoped he could hear it. You hoped he believed you. 

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he said through another wet laugh, “But you might be the only one.”

This time, you didn’t say anything. Instead, you grabbed his shirt and the cushions he had used to make your bed and walked to where his voice was. The light from the security lamp on the corner of the building filtered through just barely so you can see the outline of his trembling body. There was a broken boy at your feet and you set the cushions down beside him, draping the shirt over him like he had for you and laid down next to him. It was intimate, your front pressed against his back as you held him through the cries he still was hoping you couldn’t hear, but that was it. You didn’t need or want anything besides him being able to feel the tenderness coming from you. 

After a few moments he gave, turning to face you as he rested his head on your chest and let out a real sob. He grabbed onto you as if you could get up and go at any moment and your fingers threaded through his hair gently, doing anything you could think of to soothe him. He kept mumbling apologies to you but you just shushed him and held on tighter, trying not to let your own tears fall. 

“I’m so sorry, Y/N,” he sobbed into your chest, your work shirt becoming soaked.

“You have nothing to be sorry for. Nothing at all.” 

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

You don’t remember falling asleep, but when you woke up the events of the night before immediately popped in your head. Partly because they were arguably the most exciting things to happen to you in years, but also because it was sort of hard to forget with there was a sleeping boy on top of you. 

His arms were wrapped around you and half on your side, half on your back, and fully uncomfortable. The stone had not been kind to your back, and the weight of 6’4” Rafe Cameron didn’t really help, but hell would freeze over before you dared move and disturb the peace before you. His eyelashes were so long they rested on the top of his cheek as he snored just the littlest bit, his bottom lip pouting out as he did so. The storm had caused his hair to get soaking wet just for it to dry chaotically around his forehead. It wasn’t his normal slicked back look, but rather unkempt and surfer-like. It was falling on his forehead perfectly and every time you breathed it shifted just the tiniest bit. 

By some miracle it was a Sunday which meant you didn’t open until 10 am and judging by the way the sun was barely creeping above the ocean, you guessed it was probably somewhere between 7 and 8. You knew that eventually you both would have to move, but not yet. Please, God. Not yet. Because if he moved, that meant he would leave, and you weren’t prepared to cope with that kind of loss so early in the morning. Or ever, possibly. 

It was almost embarrassing how much you cared about this boy that you were almost certain was a sociopath twenty four hours ago. But now it was as if everything had ever known had changed. Everything seemed brand new: The sun, the stone beneath your spine, the shape of his lips. This might have been some fluke that he would pretend never happened, but you knew in your heart that nothing could ever be the same for you after this. What a crushing blow to know that your life was able to change without your permission. 

Before you could get too philosophical before noon, your worst fear was confirmed as you felt him shift. It was endearing to see him be so human in those first few moments of awake-ness. He removed himself from your skin, resting up on one of his elbows, as he wiped his eyes and tried to piece together exactly what had happened to make him end up in this very position. After he had looked around and decided he was in no mortal danger, his tired eyes fixed on you. They were still a little puffy from all of the crying, but they hadn’t lost the softness you caught yourself getting lost in. 

“Good morning,” His voice was gravel in the morning and you jotted that down as a fun fact to bury deep in your memory in case you never got to hear it again. 

“Good morning,” You couldn’t even bother to be embarrassed by how small your voice sounded. He was goddamn breathtaking this early in the morning. 

He looked around again, shaking his head slightly as if to shake off the exhaustion, “What time even is it?”

“I’m not sure, my phone is dead, but I’m going to guess sometime before 8.”

To your surprise, his elbow dropped and he rested himself right back against you, nuzzling slightly, “Too early. Need sleep.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle as you apprehensively threaded your fingers through his hair, “I can’t argue with that logic, but the cafe does open in two hours and I think my smell might offend some of the customers.”

He put his face against your chest and sniffed slightly before resting his cheek again, “You smell great. Screw the customers.”

You wanted to stay there all day but there was just no way. If it wasn’t Fran and Neil banging on the door at 10 AM sharp like they do every Sunday, it was going to be your parents sending out a search party. You may be 20, but you still lived under their roof and they never let you forget it.  “Rafe…”

Rolling over onto his back he sighed, “I know, I know. I should probably go.” He started to get up when you grabbed his shoulder and pushed him back down. 

“No! No that’s, uh, that’s not what I meant. I mean, you don’t have to go anywhere. You can hang out here all day if you want for all I care. It’s a free country!” You were rambling. “I just need to get some clean clothes and shower before this six hour shift, that’s all.”

“Y/N, I’m not going to stay here while you go home. I think I’ve overstayed my welcome.” He started to get up again and this time you didn’t stop him, conceding to defeat. You were already burying this whole night deep in the recesses of your mind where the memories of it couldn’t hurt you when he held his hand out, “Need help up? That stone is a bitch.”

Once he had helped you up you both just sort of stopped and stared at each other for a moment before he cleared his throat and started to look around, “Besides, I uh have some things I need to take care of anyway.”

You nodded and crossed your over your chest, “Yeah, yeah I get it. Good luck, with everything.”

He nodded awkwardly back at you, “Thanks, I’ll, uh, need it,” He tried to laugh but it sounded so forced it just made you even sadder.

You were about to respond when he leant down and gave you the quickest kiss on the cheek known to man. Another awkward nod and he was turning on his heels towards the door. “I’ll see you around?” He asked as he swung the door open.

“You know where to find me.”

And with that, he was out the door and one his bike. You didn’t know where he was going, but it was away, and that was just enough to break your heart. 

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

The rest of the day was torture. Your usual Sunday morning customers were not as charming as they usually were, the sun wasn’t bouncing off the coastline as it usually did, and the mundaneness of your life wasn’t as easy to ignore as it once was. After he had left you set the cushions back where they belonged and got into your car and headed home. Before you left though, you saw his shirt laying on the floor where your two bodies had shared sleep and you took it with you as you left. You knew it was best to forget that this had ever happened, but you’d do that after the smell of him mixed with the rain faded from the cotton. Upon returning home you were lectured by your parents for not telling them where you were, and during the middle of a storm, for crying out loud! But nothing they said had any meaning. You hated yourself for how melodramatic you felt, but you couldn’t help it. What were you supposed to do after a night like that? Move on? Seemed unrealistic, in all honesty. 

You got ready for work and managed to trudge through the work day until close again. The cafe closed early on Sundays, thank God, so by 6:30 you were locking the doors and were back in the kitchen sorting silverware drying mugs (both of which made you want to cry whether you wanted to admit it or not) when you heard a bang on the glass doors out front. Scared out of your mind, you grabbed a dirty knife and slowly turned the corner. But when you saw the person on the other side of the door, the knife was forgotten as you dropped it and hurtled toward the lock. 

As soon as Rafe saw you his face broke open, his smile just amplified by the sunsetting behind him. He was in different clothes now, but his hair looked the same and he looked so much happier than the last time you saw him. You fumbled with the lock until you finally got it, swinging the door open and letting in a giant current of ocean spray, wildflowers and him, him, him. 

You couldn’t wipe the smile off your face but you tried to come off as casual anyway, “Back so soon? We’re closed you know...This time it actually is an imposition. If this is just your master plan to get free hot chocolate you are sorely mistaken sir.”

He waited for you to stop rambling to ask politely, that smile still all over his face, “Can I come in?”

You wordlessly moved out of the way as he stepped in and turned back to you. 

“So what do I owe to this great pleasure? Did you forget something-”

But before you could get the whole sarcastic remark out, your lips were being crushed by something soft and desperate. His hands cupped either side of your face as he kissed you wildly. Your hands immediately found the nape of his neck and you leaned in even closer to him, trying to make it clear that he could wield you any way he wanted. 

He pulled a part far too soon, his breath completely uneven in a way that made you feel like you were dreaming, “Uh yeah, actually. That. I forgot that.” 

His hands were still on your face, yours still in his hair, “Well what took you so long then?” You laughed, just as breathless as him. 

“I was too busy trying to convince my dad that I was a good person. It took a couple of hours, but I don’t think he hates me anymore. He reopened all of my cards and is letting me live in the guest house-”

“That’s great Rafe!”

“On one condition...” He sounded nervous, but the faintest trace of a smile still danced across his lips.

Your voice lowered, “I’m nervous.”

“I have to get a job…” He paused waiting for you to catch on, but you just stared blankly back at him. You were still reeling from that kiss. “And I guess I was hoping that this very cafe might be hiring?”

Your smile got even wider and your whole body felt like it was glowing, “You know what I think we are,” You all but giggled.

His hands fell to your hips where he squeezed slightly, laughter bubbling off his tongue, “Perfect! When can I interview?”

“Right now!” You enthusiastically pushed him into the chair behind him and he fell back less than gracefully. “Who is the best employee at this cafe?”

“Hmmmmm I don’t know, Y/N, you did give away free hot chocolate...That doesn’t seem very business conscious.”

“Do you want the job or not?” Your eyebrows raised at him as a warning. 

He laughed again and looked up at you again and grabbed your hands, pulling you between his legs, “I think you are not only the best employee at this cafe, but the best looking employee at any cafe that has ever been built.”

You scoffed and threw one of his hands off yours, pushing his shoulder. 

“So did I get the job?”

You looked down at him and smiled, unable to even pretend to be annoyed, “Well, Mr. Cameron, I have reviewed the facts and it looks like you’ll be the perfect fit. Luckily for you, flattery will get you everywhere.”

He smirked at you and pulled you into his lap, “Oh yeah? I like the sound of that.” His voice was slightly teasing but there was no mistaking his hot breath against your neck.

“Get your mind out of the gutter! I was strictly speaking professionally.” The blush was creeping all over your body when he pulled away. 

“So was I, boss. What do you take me for?” He feigned hurt and you saw right through it.

Deciding to tease him right back, you raised an eyebrow and asked, “Do you seriously want me to answer that?” 

With that he scoffed and rolled your eyes at you, giving up on your games. You laughed in his face and wrapped your arms back around his neck, assuring him you were just teasing. It didn’t take much convincing because soon he had forgiven you, his lips back on yours in an instant. 

You went to sleep that night thanking your lucky stars for that worn down cafe and the tropical storm that brought him to you, still not being able to believe your luck. Sleep came for you as images of his smile fluttered past your eyelids, a smile permanently tattooed on your lips. 

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron fanfiction #obx #outer banks #rafemaybank wrote this #rafe cameron fluff

[lemondoddle]

The Incident

ao3 link

It was Thursday afternoon and Jon was hiding in his office, pretending that he wasn’t avoiding Martin. Well. Alright. He was avoiding Martin a little bit, but it’s not like he was avoiding him out of malice or irritation, he just… can’t really look at him right now, which doesn’t exactly sound better. Look, the whole mess had started because Martin had suddenly become a lot more...tactile around Jon. It’s not that Martin wasn’t a touchy-feely person in general- Jon noticed Martin’s friendly touches with Sasha and listened to rave reviews about his hugs from Tim- it just seemed so sudden and unlikely for Martin to extend that to Jon. He assumed that technically being Martin’s superior (along with being a bit of an ass if he’s honest with himself) would have deterred the man from being so friendly, and yet...

  It was little things at first; a hand on the shoulder to get Jon’s attention, seemingly not being aware if their hands brushed while he handed out tea, and on one particularly distracting occasion, a large but feather-light hand placed on Jon’s back as he squeezed past him in the breakroom. Each time left Jon still feeling warmth in the areas Martin had made contact, as if he was still there. Nothing he couldn’t shake off and ignore to fall back into his work though. At least- it was like that until The Incident.

The Incident had occurred just minutes ago.

Jon had been walking through the stacks of the archives looking for a specific statement that might have been related to the one he’d just recorded. He would describe making his way through the shelves as “a bit lost in thought” while others might say “dead to the world”. Either way, his attention was preoccupied and therefore did not notice Martin making his way from the other end. The thing about the stacks is that there is very little space in between shelves even for one person, much less two. Martin did his best to stay out of the way, as he often seemed to do, but inevitably bumped against Jon as he made his way past. Jon jolted back, snapping out of his trance, twisted to face the sudden contact and immediately slammed his back into the shelving unit behind him somewhat violently. Upon impact, some of the file boxes haloing Jon began to wobble and tip forward. Martin took notice and lunged forward with an “Oh!”, splaying his arms out to stabilise the boxes. Once the commotion settled and Jon was aware of his surroundings, he desperately wished he wasn’t as he took in the scene in front of him. Pinned against the shelf with Martin in incredibly close proximity, arms on either side of Jon’s head. None of which was helped by their disparage in height leading to Jon being nearly face-to-chest with the man.

It took several agonizingly long seconds to process what on earth just happened before either of them started to move. “Oh christ- I’m so sorry Jon I didn’t mean to startle you-” Martin sputtered, face flushing an impressive shade of pink as he backed away quickly as he could while still being mindful of the shelves. As he did so his hands rested feather-light on Jon’s shoulders for just a moment before falling away, but Jon felt that phantom heat all the same and had to take yet another moment to compose himself.  

“It’s, uh, it’s fine Martin. I was a bit zoned out there, I had no idea you were there.” Though not quite as red as Martin, Jon’s face still burned as he desperately avoided eye contact. While the shock and mortification dissipated, Jon’s mind lingered on that small touch and took note of another feeling, familiar from his previous moments of contact with Martin that he couldn’t quite place. There was something else there, an underlying emotion lurking after each of the brief touches Jon received, but only after the contact had ceased. Relief didn’t feel quite right. Coldness? No, it was more- wait.

Loss. Longing. A desire for the contact to return and to stay.

Fucking Hell.

At this realization coming on with all the grace and tenderness of a freight train, Jon did his best to spit out an excuse and promptly sped out from the stacks, refusing to look back and silently thankful for always having been a fast walker. He snaked through the bullpen back to his office and caught a glimpse of Tim and Sasha, who were fairly in view of the whole scene and most likely having an oscar-worthy dialogue through eyebrow and facial expressions alone. Jon somewhat succeeded in not slamming the door shut before collapsing into his chair, throwing his glasses off and pressing his hands so hard into his face he’d be concerned of bruising in any other circumstance.

So, there he was. squirrelled away in his office and wishing he could deny himself as easily as he does the statements that surround him. As if taking on the archaic archives mess in a position he was unqualified for wasn’t enough, now he’s got a traitorous heart to boot. Great. It just had to be Martin of all people hadn’t it? Might as well be his luck to fall for the one person he’s been the biggest ass to. What on earth was he going to do now? He was only good at ignoring his feelings when he didn’t look too closely at them, but now that he has unwillingly confronted them he doubted they’ll be easy to push down again. Before Jon could get even farther down his thought spiral though, there was a knock at his door.

“Jon? Are you alright in there?” Martin’s muffled voice could be heard through the door.

 Uh oh. He was in no way recovered enough to be facing anyone at the moment, let alone the source of all these… feelings. Jon froze like a deer in headlights (or as Tim would say, a deer in the headlights of lo- nope nope shut that thought down immediately. focus.). It seems as though Jon’s indecisive silence was enough of an answer for Martin, who called out again.

“Jon? I’m coming in there, okay?” 

Shit. Act natural. Jon scrambled around his desk for a few seconds and managed to shove his glasses back on and grab hold of a statement copy and a pen to pretend like he was doing something as Martin timidly stepped through the door. “Hey, I just wanted to check that you were okay after I knocked into you, you looked pretty spooked back there if I’m being honest.” Jon didn’t even have it in him to pull a face at Martin’s use of the word “spooky” as he fumbled for a sufficient answer.

“H-honestly it’s okay Martin, not the first time I've been startled due to focusing on something, that’s not what I was worried about.” It seemed like a perfectly reasonable response, that is until Jon replayed the last sentence in his head and realized his mistake.

“Really? Then what was?” Martin’s face scrunched up a bit while he recalled their encounter, which only seemed to deepen the furrow in his brow. “Oh, jeez Jon you should have told me that I was being too touchy with you if it made you uncomfortable!” His hands fluttered to reach out in an apology before seemingly catching himself and withdrawing again. Jon wished that implication would have brought relief, however he found panic spiking yet again and a desperate need to correct it as he rose from his chair.

“No no Martin i- it’s fine I don’t mind when you, ah-” he stopped short. This was all getting to be a little too much for his brain right now.

“Really? Because you don’t sound terribly convincing at the moment..”

“Yes, really! Look-” he reached out to Martin to prove his point. “See? Completely fine.”

Martin’s face turned from slightly concerned to wide-eyed and rapidly reddening. “Um...Jon?” he squeaked out.

“Yes? what is it?” Jon finally looked down at where he reached to Martin and briefly wondered what Elias’ strategy was in hiring a head archivist who lacked a brain.Turns out that Jon hadn’t settled for just a hand resting on the arm, oh no, instead he opted for taking Martin’s hand in his. So there they stood in Jon’s office. Holding hands. Jon wondered what the odds of lighting striking him were while standing in a basement.

“O...kay.. Um, do you think you maybe need to sit down again?” Jon would have liked to be irritated at the way Martin was speaking to him as though he was an elderly particularly off their rocker, but he had to admit that the rapid string of events has done quite a number on his composure, so he conceded and moved back to sit down. “Uh, J-Jon?” 

“Hm? Oh-” Realizing that his hand was still gripping Martin’s, Jon finally pulled his hand away and sat down. Martin let him settle down for a moment before grabbing another chair and pulling it to his side to sit by Jon.

“...Right. Now,can I ask what’s actually going on, Jon? Because even before what happened today you've still acted odd when I would touch you, but I had just kinda shrugged it off before, thought it was just you being you, I guess. But seriously, if it makes you uncomfortable I’ll gladly stop! You just need to tell me.”

 “Martin, I can assure you that how I have reacted has not been because of you specifically,” He hoped Martin couldn’t tell how bad of a liar he was, “I apologize for worrying you, but you don’t have to change how you interact with me. I-i don’t mind.”

Martin stared at Jon while the words sunk in before he tentatively reached his hand out and placed it gently (always so gently) on Jon’s arm. “So. is this, okay?” Jon once again stilled and did his best to sound sure but not too eager.

“Yes.”

“A-and...this?” Martin’s other arm reached out to rest on Jon’s other arm as well, mirroring the touch from earlier. “This is okay too?” His eyes were locked onto Jon’s, face in an intense yet unreadable expression. Jon felt his own hands moving of their own accord to lay on Martin’s arms, only trusting himself to nod as they stared into each other’s eyes. Jon’s brain was already frazzled at this point but he could have almost sworn that the space between their faces was shrinking and inching together, closer, closer…

“-Hey Jon if you’re done being weird I finished the follow-up on the goldfish statement if you w- uuuuuhhhhh…” Tim’s voice rang loud and clear as he barged in but quickly stopped short at the sight in front of him. The two flinched away from each other instantly, Jon smacking his elbow on the desk and Martin nearly knocking off the contents resting on top of it.

“CHRIST Tim!! Knock! Please!!” Martin squawked, face turning bright red that, combined with his freckles, made him look like a rather embarrassed strawberry. Jon was caught between glowering at Tim and avoiding eye contact with him at all, still rubbing his sore elbow. Tim’s face on the other hand was transitioning from bewilderment to an unreasonably cheeky grin while he caught on to the situation.

“My, my! So sorry to interrupt the newlyweds, how ever rude of me!” If Tim’s smile got any wider it could have been statement worthy. “Come to think of it, I just remembered some important case notes I want to check over with Sasha, it’s very important she hears it. Well then, I’ll just leave you two to it then, eh?” And with a dramatic wink, Tim left almost as quickly as he entered. Jon and Martin stared at the office door for a few moments waiting for their heart rates to settle when Martin broke the silence.

“I should uh, go out and check on them before they get too loud about it.”

“Right…”

Martin looked back to Jon once more and, after a moment’s hesitation, quickly grabbed Jon by the hand and gave a light squeeze, offering a shy smile before quickly heading out of the office.

 Jon, left staring slack-jawed at the door once more, decided what his next move as Head Archivist would be; dig out his phone and earbuds, pull up an ancient playlist, lay on the floor and maybe think a little too much about hands and warmth. 

#lane speaks #look!!! i kept my word on finishing the fic for the finale!! kinda!!! #its the same day so im counting it #anyways have a cheesy and tropey and slightly out of character for the setting fic bc tma finale who??? #i only know gay shenanigens #tma #the magnus archives #writing #fics #jonmartin

[bestillmyslashyheart]

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2/?

Alex spent almost two months undercover before he was able to make any kind of real contact with his targets. The Bureau had set him up with a minimum wage job selling car parts. His new ‘boss’ Forrest had gotten caught making sales off the books and was leveraging his cooperation for a reduced sentence. He was easy enough on the eyes but Alex didn’t particularly like the man and he knew Forrest would really rather see the back of him then have to put up with him for one more shift. Unfortunately for them both, making contact with the Evans gang was harder than Alex had anticipated.

They ran a shitty little shop out of an old building down the street from their garage. It carried overpriced necessities that rarely sold and boasted a cafe that had a truly terrible selection of food. Jenna Cameron seemed to run it and Alex was half convinced she was using him to test out new ways of covertly poisoning people. He stopped by every few days for something small and to try and find one halfway decent thing on the menu. Alex spent about five minutes trying awkwardly to flirt with her the first day before she shut him down.

“Be honest,” she had mercifully cut him off, “when was the last time you flirted with a woman?”

Alex hadn’t bothered playing dumb. “I was just trying to be friendly,” he denied. 

Jenna hummed mockingly. “Try something else.”

So Alex had. Jenna was never busy when he stopped by so he could usually wrangle her attention away from her phone for a few minutes of idle chat. It wasn’t much, was in fact very little, but it wasn’t nothing. 

It was more than he had with his other four targets. Until the day Michael Guerin and Noah Bracken showed up during his visit. 

Both men ignored him at first. Noah tossed Jenna an absentminded hello as he wandered to the back of the store. Michael gave Alex a cursory look before summarily ignoring him in favor of leering at Jenna.

“Be honest Cameron,” he stretched across the counter, the pose allowing his jeans to slip down his hips enough that Alex got a glimpse of a strip of tanned golden skin. “What are my odds?” He fluttered his eyelashes and Alex felt a tug in his gut. Fuck.

“Well,” Jenna’s voice took on a distinctly flirty tone as she leaned across the counter until her face was an inch away from Michael’s. Her top slid down to display her cleavage but Michael’s eyes never wavered from hers. “She thinks you’re a jerk.” Alex blinked in surprise. “And that you’re bad in bed.”

Michael’s jaw dropped. “Did you correct her?” He sounded genuinely offended.

Jenna rolled her eyes as she straightened up. “You’re an asshole Guerin and you know it.”

“Well yeah sure but I’m not bad in bed. I’m great in bed,” Michael scoffed. He stood up too and Alex lamented the fact that the action caused his shirt to slip down and hide the stretch of skin Alex had adamantly not been ogling. 

“If you say so.”

“Cameron! Come on! You can’t let her ruin my reputation!” Michael nearly whined.

Jenna laughed. She turned to grab a pair of beers from the small fridge under the counter. “She didn’t give you that reputation Michael. And I’m not gonna bother correcting her.”

“But it’s wrong.”

“So?” Jenna popped the tops off and handed one to Michael and one to Alex. The motion drew Michael’s attention to him. He raked his eyes up and down Alex’s body, first assessing, and then again, this time appreciating. Michael slid onto the stool next to Alex.

“Hi.” This close, his eyes were a warm honey brown and his curls caught the sunlight in a way that made them glow. Not that Alex was looking. His mission parameters did not include getting personally involved with one of his targets. “Who are you?” He grinned and that tug in Alex’s gut got worse. 

“Alex,” he supplied.

“Alex,” Michael repeated, his tongue curling around his name like he was savoring the sound of it. “Michael.”

“So I’ve heard.”

Michael’s face darkened. “You shouldn’t believe everything you hear.”

Alex couldn’t help but smile as he tipped his beer towards Jenna. “She just said it. Why, is there somewhere else I should have heard it? Or something else I should have heard about you?”

“Possibly. But why listen to other people when you can find out yourself?” Alex choked on his next sip when Michael leaned closer and put his hand on Alex’s knee.

Jenna smacked Michael’s shoulder. “Could you pretend to have some shame?”

Michael leaned back and pretended to think. Alex briefly mourned the loss of his hand. “Shame’s boring.”

“Jenna!” A shout from the back sounded before anyone could say anything else. A second later, the back door crashed open, knocking over a shelf, and Noah stormed in. He held up a fist full of papers and shook it angrily. “What the hell is this bullshit?!” 

He stormed over to the counter, a look on his face that Alex was all too familiar with, and Alex didn’t hesitate. He stood up and put himself between Noah and Jenna, uncaring, that there was a counter already between them. “Calm down,” he said quietly.

Noah had ignored him at first, seemingly looking straight through him to Jenna behind him, but now he turned his eyes on Alex. It was a cold stare that sent chills up Alex’s spine but Alex didn’t waver. It had been a long time since he backed down from a fight. “Who the fuck are you?” Noah demanded. 

Alex shrugged. “No one. Just think you should calm down before you talk about whatever your deal is.”

“Alex, it’s fine,” Jenna said from behind. She sounded exasperated but not scared. It soothed some of Alex’s worry but not all of it. Not enough. 

In front of him, Noah’s stare turned colder. Alex had seconds to calculate it before Noah jerked his head forward into Alex’s nose. Pain bloomed across Alex’s face and he inhaled sharply to try and contain his cry. “Fuck off. This ain’t your business.”

Alex punched him in the face.

They each got a few hits in before Jenna got between them and forced them apart. The second he spotted her, Alex backed off, unwilling to chance hitting her by accident but Noah swung at him one more time. He was rewarded for it by Jenna twisting his arm behind his back and forcing him to his knees. “That’s enough,” she stated calmly. She waited until Noah nodded before letting him go. 

“As for you,” she turned to Alex, “I don’t need anyone to step in for me.”

“Understood.” Alex wiped at his mouth and spat out a small bit of blood. One of Noah’s hits had busted the inside of his cheek against his teeth and his nose was still bleeding. Other than that, he was fine. Noah, on the other hand, was cradling his wrist and stepping gingerly from the kick Alex got at his knee. 

“So,” a new voice said coolly. “Who is this?”

Alex turned to see both of the Evans twins behind him. Max gave Alex and Noah a quick appraisal before settling in a stool next to Michael and stealing his beer. Alex blinked in surprise, just now realizing that Michael hadn’t moved at all during the encounter. He still didn’t move, his eyes fixed on Alex.

“I asked who you were.” Isobel was much closer now. Alex hadn’t noticed her move, too caught up in the sight of Michael’s splayed legs. He cursed the distraction when he focused on her again only to find her scarcely a foot from his face, her heels making her a few inches taller. She arched one eyebrow in question and Alex hurried to answer.

“Alex.” The ma’am caught in his throat.

“He works over at Forrest’s,” Jenna added. “Stops by for lunch a couple times a week.” She ushered Noah onto a stool and handed him a cold beer to press against his face. He put it against his wrist instead.

“Our food sucks,” Isobel announced.

“It’s shit,” Alex agreed readily. “Still trying to find something that stands a chance of not being poisoned.” He heard a snort from the bar but he didn’t look over to see who it was.

“So why keep coming back?” Isobel tilted her head slightly and stared at him like she could read the answer right out of his head.

“It’s two blocks from work and it’s cheap,” Alex admitted. “Forrest pays shit and I don’t feel like blowing all of it on lunch.”

“That’s a shame,” Isobel muses. “You should have appreciated it more.”

Alex furrowed his brow. “Sorry?”

“Jenna,” she called over to the others. “Tell Forrest he needs to hire a new guy. His old one isn’t working out.” Isobel turned away, summarily dismissing him.

“Wait, what?” Alex reached for her. He froze a hair's breadth away when all four people sitting at the bar stood up in reaction. Alex slowly pulled back and lifted his hands to show he meant no harm. “You can’t get me fired.”

Isobel smirked. “I already did. Now get the fuck out of here.”

Alex hesitated but when no one else said anything he turned and left.

Behind him, he heard a smack and short cry of pain that sounded like it came from Noah. “Why are you getting into fights?” Isobel asked. “You never win any of them.”

Alex had to turn the corner before he heard Noah’s reply.

---

Forrest was with a customer when Alex got back to the shop. Alex lowered his face to try and hide the blood as he ducked through to the back but the quiet ‘oh my god’ from the woman told him he hadn’t succeeded.

“What did you do?” Forrest hissed a moment later. Behind him, Alex saw the woman exit the store, leaving them alone.

“Noah Bracken’s an ass,” Alex replied calmly.

Forrest scoffed. “No shit. But that doesn’t mean you get in a fist fight with the guy.”

“It’s fine,” Alex assured him.

“No it isn’t,” Forrest argued. “I’ve got to let you go.”

Alex huffed. “Then go to jail.”

Forrest slammed the door closed and stepped in close. “I’m not going to jail, Alex, but I can’t just ignore Isobel Evans when she tells me to fire the guy who messed up her crew. You’re going to have to figure something else out.”

“Tell her it’s hard to find good help these days or something. I don’t care. But I’m not going anywhere.”

Alex’s nose was still bleeding when he swiped at it again so he shoved past Forrest to find a bathroom to clean up in. Behind him, Forrest let out a loud groan. “I really hate you,” he told Alex sincerely. “You’re gonna get me killed.”

“I really don’t give a shit,” Alex replied, equally sincere. He was pretty sure the Evans’ wouldn’t actually kill him. It wasn’t their style.

#malex fic #rnm #my fic #previous parts are under my fic tag

[apricotzel]

You wouldn’t know it from looking at him, but Oliver was quite a fidgety person.

For someone who always acted so charismatic and outgoing, it was easy to miss the ways he moved his hands or his feet when something he said didn’t go over quite so well. In the small moments when he actually cared about what the person had to say, and the gap between words leaving his mouth and the person responding. These gaps lead to tapping of fingers against thighs, crossed arms, and nails gently moving across fingers. Small things that could fly under an unperceptive radar. Unfortunately, all the people he did this around usually cared about him enough to notice.

First off, there’s his mom.

He got better at it, as he got older, but he remembers being six or seven and hands entangled together whenever his mom spoke to him in a tone that wasnt a lighthearted joking. It wasn’t that he was afraid of her, he just cared what she thought of him. Always has. Time moved on and he became more and more relaxed around her, the the fidgeting hands slowed. Never went away, they’ve never gone away. But they’ve been quieter. They were a bit louder with his brother. Seven years younger, and Oliver wanted to be something of a role model. A cool older brother, someone who was there for him. Didn’t fidget with his fingers, but tapped. Gently, lightly, a feather touch that was almost not there. Usually two fingers, pointer and middle, tapping away to a silent beat. On his thighs, on a table, on a steering wheel of a car.

Oliver was never really able to get rid of that fidget. He never really wanted to.

And so Oliver fidgeted. Crossing his arms when he talked to important authority figures (like a second grade teacher). Tapping his foot against the floor or fingers against the side of his leg absentmindedly when he got lost thought. Cracking his knuckles when he spoke to someone he maybe wasn’t buddy-buddy with, and shaking those hands out a couple of times if he was about to do something important and didn’t want to fuck it up. He was always moving, in one way or another, always around people he cared about, and who cared about him back.

And then there was Benny.

Benjamin he corrects himself. As wonderful as that nickname would be, it’s not for Oliver to use. No matter how much he wished it was.

Benjamin was, hands down, the most oblivious person Oliver had ever met.

Oliver hadn’t openly fretted and been this antsy until he dreamt up that reality where he asked this guy in his chemistry class that he had a crush on if he wanted to grab lunch sometime (and was harshly rejected, mind you. a ‘no, thank you’ that at the time felt like a death sentence).

But Benjamin didn’t notice at all. Oliver didn’t know if he was thankful or offended, maybe Benjamin just assumed Oliver was always like this.

Regardless, there was lots of shaking hands and scratching necks than Oliver was used to. There was also a lot of finger intertwining. That was a new one, Oliver noted. He would run his fingers over each other a few times before entangling them, crossing them over until his hands were gently placed in his lap like he was waiting patiently for something.

He wished he could say he didn’t know where that one cane from. Most times he fidgets subconsciously, unaware of when or where new habits come up. Sometimes he gets a clue. He picked up tapping out of his brother constantly pretending he was playing the drums. He crosses his arms because he thought it made him look smart when he was younger.

The entangling Oliver remembers clearly, because he remembers how shitty he felt at the time. Benjamin was sitting next to him on the bed, going over notes Ms Hills gave them. (On Lucid things. Not second grade semicolons. Though, Oliver couldn’t judge him if it was semicolon notes. C’mon, who actually knows how to use those things?) Oliver was next to him, not close but not far, fidgeting and thinking of his dream list. They were an arms length away. Oliver knows this because he remembers thinking that if he leaned over slightly, he could grab Benjamin’s hand, and they could both just hold hands in the middle with ease and comfort.

Oliver didn’t know why this thought occurred to him, or where it came from. Sure, sure, Benjamin was cute. Oliver wasn’t a coward- he could admit that. But Benjamin was also deeply in love with a fake (or maybe real? Oliver isn’t quite sure) fiancée he was desperately trying to get back to. Wow, Oliver sure knows how to pick them. But hand holding was out of the question. No matter how scared or anxious or worried or sad or just plain lonely he was- or even how the both of them were- it wouldn’t happen.

But now the thought was there. And y’know how you become conscious of your own breathing and then you can’t stop thinking about it? Well, first of all now you are aware of your own breathing so suck it lol, and second of all this was like that. Oliver was just painfully aware of how empty and cold his hands were. So he did what he did best. Occupied them. Slid his fingers over each other in patterns and repeating motions, before they moved without his thinking, and his hands clasped each other. It wasn’t what he wanted, but his hands weren’t empty anymore at least.

He stays like that for a while, until Benjamin decides its time for bed and they both lie down respectively. Another thought crosses Oliver’s mind, so brief and fleeting that he shoves it away at full force. He picks at his nail beds for a second as he stares at Benjamin. Then, Oliver hugs himself, and turns away.

#LUCIDS #wakeup call #i wrote this at 1 am with one of my eyes closed #nicholas if you somehow see this..look away #oliver lucids #benjamin lucids #taobao #the adventures of benjamin and oliver #if you didnt pick it up the last thought was Oliver wanted to hug Benjamin

[heavymetalover]

Heresy (Michael Langdon x fem reader)

Summary: You’re a witch visiting the Hawthorne School for Exceptional Young Men, aiding to your fallen Supreme, Cordelia, when suddenly engaging in a spontaneous rendezvous with the Boy Wonder himself, Michael Langdon.

Warnings: smut, dirty talk, light choking, fingering, oral sex, vaginal sex, dom/sub, hickies, rough sex, daddy kink.

Word count: 4.1k

A/N: back with another one shot after a depressive episode hahaaaaa fuck

feel free to ask me stuff, i may get to a request if i have time. also i needa follow more ahs/cody blogs since im slowly morphing back into an ahs blog so ill try to follow everyone back! anyways 

enjoy:)

~~~~

 Ever since your arrival at Hawthorne, you’ve been enamored with the talk of the town. Mr. Bigshot Michael Langdon. You came with Cordelia, the plane ride made you nauseated. Not from the immoderate turbulence, but from the thought of your Supreme falling. You all had doubts, thought that Michael was just another powerful warlock, nothing too menacing; but when Michael brought back your sisters from the dead, something Cordelia couldn’t even do, you knew he was a threat.

Michael is one of the few people on this Earth you’ve met with unbreakable confidence. He holds his head high, a cunning smirk enduringly secured on his full pink lips. Yet something about him is also so child-like. His power excites him and he’s always quick to engage in conversation about himself; almost giddy with his effervescent wit, yet beautifully controlled.

You don’t know what made you want to engage with this man, the most you’ve ever done with him is shake his hand. There was a moment he brushed against you, you felt a hard bulge in his pants lightly brush against your ass, his big hand squeezing your shoulder as he wedged himself past you, lingering slightly and feeling as if he purposely was pushing his pelvis against you. You dismissed your suspicions of this minor interaction, explaining it away as a whimsical delusion plagued by your hormonal, juvenile brain. Although, you wanted more than anything to believe he was coming onto you, you were here to support the witches. Your sisters. Not the desperate, power-driven warlocks.

It’s late in the evening, Cordelia passed out on the couch in the common area while the other witches attempt to nurse her to health, a few of them nearly falling asleep next to her. For some odd reason, your eyes are resisting sleep tonight. You’re carelessly flipping through a book, eyes grazing over the tiny words. Your mind is preoccupied with something else, someone else. Constantly glancing around the room just in hopes you’d catch a glimpse of his golden curls reflecting the candlelight, or even his black cloak dramatically flowing behind him, something, anything to feed your hunger.

You presume a few hours have passed now; the whole school has gone silent except for a thumping bass in the distance. Once you fixate on the noise, your eyebrows knit in confusion. You thought you were the last person awake. You shut the book you’ve been neglecting and set it back on the shelf, prudently pursing the bass-y melody. Your heels echoing in the empty halls, stopping dead in your tracks when you come to the hall where the music originates. You walk through the arch into the rich, golden hallways lit up by flickering candles. Hard rock music blaring from a closed door, but it becomes obvious who’s room it is as you get closer. You can recognize his scent from a mile away. The music comes from Michael’s room.

You ball your fist, ready to pound his door and tell him to turn down his music, but pause before you can make contact with the door. You hear low groans over the music, momentarily mistaking them to be apart of the song, but soon realizing it’s Michael’s voice when he grunts out a loud “fuck!”

Your jaw drops, just hearing his moans on the other end of the door makes your heart sink. With little hesitation, you press your ear against the door, your earring hitting the polished wood and making a louder clink than you expected. Michael doesn’t seem to notice, continuing his low moans from inside the room.

You initially came with the intention of telling him off, giving him a much-needed reality check that the world doesn’t revolve around him. But you’re compelled to put all of that on hold and keep listening, laying your palm against his wooden door and resting on it, catching yourself pretending it’s Michael’s sturdy, defined body. You know you shouldn’t be so thirsty for him; he exudes arrogance out of his pores, exhausting and intoxicating you all at once. You’d never admit it, but buried deep down, you know you like that about him. You like his hubris, it makes you fantasize about how possessive he’d be when fucking you, how he’d humiliate you.

You run your hand down the door panel and press your cheek harder against the wood. Your other hand reaching underneath your short, lacey black dress. The scent of his cologne is strong enough to have tainted the door. You bask in the gritty, manly pheromones, starting to rub your aching clit in small circles. Your lips grazing the door as you quicken your pace, listening to his loud music and touching yourself to the rhythm. You can see why he listens to it; it’s even helping you get more into the mood.

You’re practically kissing the door when you almost fall flat onto the floor by somebody swinging it open. You regain your balance and collect yourself, feeling your face burning red with embarrassment. Michael’s icy blue eyes scope the situation for a moment, landing on you, then the door, then your hand on your crotch. You pull it away after Michael’s already found it. Shit. He clears his throat. “Y/n,” he talks to you slow, as if you were a toddler, “what the fuck?”

Your mind sets aside his condescending tone for a moment to revel in the fact that he knows your name; though you mentally beat yourself up right after for being so desperate and putting your dignity on the backburner. It takes you a split second to spew out your reply, “I-I could ask you the same.” You bite your tongue in hopes he didn’t linger too much on your stumble. “I could hear your music all the way from the common room, people are trying to sleep.”

“And why aren’t you?” he leans both his arms against the doorframe, looking so lackadaisical and impossibly sexy. You hate him for it.

“I was watching over Cordelia,” you lie, although you wish it was true. You know the only reason is because of him, because your thoughts always come back to his beautiful, smug face.

“I don’t believe you,” he says with a slight shake to his head, his lively curls bobbing with each movement.

You know you should just leave the situation now and give him one last nudge to turn down his music, but something inside you urges you to entertain his question. “Why don’t you believe me?” you ask, bouncing back and forth on the tiny heels of your stilettos. “What else would I be doing?” you wish you could swallow the words back up as soon as they leave your mouth.

He squints his eyes at you as if you had just asked the dumbest question on the planet. “Listening to me,” he shoots back, “and…” His eyes trail down to your crotch and he raises a brow. He doesn’t audibly declare your actions, as if saying the words aloud will frame the situation to be even more perverted than it already is.

“And touching myself,” you finish his sentence, taking a step closer to him.

There’s a certain energy to him, a sinister overtone even when a stupid grin spreads across his face. “You’re a nasty little witch, aren’t you?” he asks, keeping his voice low.

The tension becomes thicker with each pause, you feel your breathing getting uneven, mouth watering, a numbness to your fingertips. Michael looks completely unphased, still holding himself with the utmost confidence. “Maybe that’s for you to decide,” you reply gingerly, “sir.”

He inches himself closer to you until his nose barely brushes the tip of yours. “I think you are,” he whispers. You gulp down all the excess water in your mouth, just looking at him makes you hungry for more. He aggressively takes a chunk of your hair and pulls your head back, the candles in the hallway burn out. Did you do that?

He gives a measly scoff at your powers before turning back to you. Michael leans closer, his lips shave yours ever so slightly. Hooded eyes surveying every inch of your face, pulling tighter and smiling at your wince in pain. “You want me?” he asks, lips lugging against yours, but rejecting the satisfaction of a kiss.

“Yes,” you let out a breathy whisper. “I do, sir.” An attempt to kiss him results in your hair being mercilessly tugged again. It hurt to the point you felt a burning behind your eyes, tears threatening to appear, but you wouldn’t dare tell him to stop. At this point, you’d do anything Michael wanted you to do, be anything he wanted you to be.

He drags the back of his moist tongue down your neck and stops at the base, laying his lips down and lightly sinking his teeth into you, sucking up the salty sweat on your skin. You unexpectedly moan at his ardor, eyes darting around the hall for witnesses. He sucks vigorously, eliciting a surprised gasp from you each time he sucks harder. Deciding he’s done when your neck feels on fire, his mouth parts from your flesh with a delicious smack.

He releases his tight grasp from your hair, now clutching the back of your neck with a death grip, squeezing like he owns your body. A light groan dies on his lips as he comes back to your face, lips touching again. “I smelt you as soon as you came to my door, I know the smell of a witch well.” Neither of you make an effort to pull away, he uses one of his slender arms to caress the side of your body, moving along your curves. “I know the smell of a drenched cunt, too.” His hand finds your pussy and to his avail, he’s correct.

Sliding your panties to the slide, he thumbs your core. You grab his toned arm for balance as he touches your sensitive clit, rubbing it slowly with ease. “You eavesdropped on me fucking myself, huh?” his tone turns rough. “Invading my privacy…” he continues through gritted teeth as if he was holding back on cussing you out completely. He rubs you harder and faster, your face contorting as you grab onto him tighter. You bite your tongue to hold back screams, almost forgetting that you were standing outside of his room, but the thrill of getting caught turns you on even more. You can feel the wetness dripping down your thighs. “You like invading my privacy,” he starts again, rubbing harder than ever. You feel yourself getting pushed to the edge, biting your tongue so hard you draw blood. “Say it,” he demands.

“I like invading your… f-fuck! Y-your privacy,” it takes all your power to form a coherent sentence. Your pussy convulses under his fingers and he takes them away, leaving an agonizing throbbing in your clit.

He pulls you by your wrist into his room, shutting the door behind him. His lips automatically connect to yours, aggressively tongue-fucking your face, barely stopping to take a breath. “Is this what you wanted?” he asks breathlessly. “You want to be used like a whore?”

You smile at his crudeness; his dirty talk sends chills throughout your core. “Yes, daddy,” you respond softly, returning to his kisses. He grins against your kiss at this little nickname. A childish whimper escaping your lips when his pants rub against your unfinished cunt.

He pulls away to tug his black shirt over his head, you take the moment apart to slip off your tight dress. “I was hoping you’d stop by after I pushed myself into you,” he grins. A wave of relief passes through you when you realize that moment you shared with him wasn’t a product fabricated by being overly imaginative. “I knew your body would be mine the moment I saw you in that tight little dress.”

“I wore it just for you,” you speak your words with a sugary sweetness to match your frenzied desperation for him to fill you up. “My body is all yours.”

“I know,” he sneers. He pushes you onto the bed, towering over you as he claws off your panties. His skin slightly glistened in sweat, intimately lit by the dim lighting in his room. You’ve never seen someone look so goddamn sexy. He runs a hand through his perfect golden waved hair before settling himself between your legs. The first contact he makes is licking up your hot cunt before reintroducing his fingers. It won’t take much more to make you come since he started you off in the hall.

Now that you’re in the comfort of his room, you let all your moans escape as loud as you want. “Fuck, Michael!” you yell, hoping the music is loud enough to mask your screams. His tongue pulses against your dripping pussy as his slim fingers work your clit again. You shut your eyes as tight as you can and pull at the sheets of his bed, feeling the vibration of his moans against your cunt and the cadence of the song, everything turns you on.

Just not enough.

I need more.

Nothing seems to satisfy.

I said, I don’t want it.

I just need it.

To breathe, to feel, to know I’m alive.

Michael’s finger slides inside your pussy, pulsing to his own rhythm, speeding up before you can adjust to his intensity. He adds another finger flicking up inside your pussy, tickling your g-spot with each tap. “Fu-” you can’t even release your cursing. “Right there, right there,” you breathe, not sure your words are even audible. Michael begins pacing his tongue over your ripened clit, continuing to fuck you with his long fingers and rub your slit with his thumb, making sure every nerve is stimulated.

You yank his sheets, trying to sit up and watch him devour you, but dropping back onto the bed in defeat. “S-so good,” you cry. He speeds up even more and you yelp. He snickers at your titillation, sending a flood of heat against your cunt. “I’m,” is the only word you can get out before fauceting a stream of clear liquid from your hole.

Michael leans back, letting your pussy release all of the built-up tension. His face scrunches up inquisitively as you come all over his bed. Once you’re done leaking and completely out of breath, Michael glances at you in disbelief. “Wow,” is the only word that can cross his lips before licking up the excess filth that splashed onto your thighs. He climbs on top of you to plant a kiss on your begging lips, you taste your salty juices in his mouth. He parts from the kiss and you lick yourself off of your lips. “That’s my dirty girl,” he praises.

He takes both of your arms and pulls you to sit up on his bed. You’re so lost in ecstasy that you can’t even process Michael slipping his pants down in front of you and the enormous protrusion occupying his boxers. You get thrown back into the fire when his lengthy erection springs out and slaps your cheek. Your brain reacts as if programmed to be his little sex toy. You grab his cock in your hands and shove it down your throat. “Show me how grateful you are that I let you come,” he rocks his hips into your face. You grab his hips to push his dick even further into your mouth, working past your gags and pushing as deep as you can. Every time he thrusts you feel yourself choke on his length, “You like the way I fuck your face, huh? You like how I treat you like a dirty hole?”

You pull him out of your mouth, inhaling the smell of his cologne and spitting on the pink tip of his hard cock. You haven’t seen a dick this big outside of porn, maybe not even in porn. You stroke his length, giving yourself time to recover before shoving him back down your throat. You lick up his balls and he groans, beginning to reposition your head for sucking.

You open your mouth and he shoves himself back in, plunging to the back of your throat. You feel your mouth coat his dick with saliva, choking back on his precum and slurping back all of the juices. You run your hand up and down his shaft, feeling like you’re only able to guzzle down half of his dick. You pull it out of your mouth to spit on his glazed cock, continuing to jerk his shaft. You go back to sucking, bobbing your head up and down as fast as you can and releasing his cock to spit on it. He throws his head back as you continue mouth fucking him. “Goddamn!” he shouts, rocking himself into you even harder. You gag on his cock, tears streaming down your cheeks, he loves this. “Let me see your eyes,” he requests. You look up at him, blinking out your tears. “Fuck me,” he sighs before pulling himself out of your mouth, a white substance oozing from his hole.

You fight to catch your breath as he’s already repositioning you. Pushing you onto all fours and spitting on your cunt before entering. “I can’t wait to stretch out those tight little walls,” he says, teasing his cock up and down your folds. “Say it’s okay,” he begs, his cock pressed against your hole. Your heart skips when he says this. You nod your head, too in shock to conjure an answer. “I want to hear you say it,” he presses.

You gulp down your nervousness, trying not to appear stunned by his need for approval. “I want you to stretch out my walls, daddy,” you finally answer, using your hands to spread your pussy wide for him. “Fuck me until I can’t walk,” you plead, wiggling your tailbone and pushing his erection into your cunt.

This is admission enough for him, he inserts the head and you feel your whole-body tremble. His cock is so thick, you can really feel your pussy stretching for him. He grabs your hips and slowly starts adding some of his length. You tense up and grab his arm, he stops immediately. “Just relax, relax baby,” he reassures you.

You take a deep breath in and he pushes himself into you on exhale, placing a hand on the small of your back as he goes deeper… and deeper and deeper, as if his dick is bottomless. You find yourself pulling at his sheets again, more tears forming in your eyes. He starts rocking his hips, cramming his large cock into your tight pussy. Each push begins loosening you up, your pain turning into pleasure as he inserts more of himself into you. “Good girl,” he flatters, giving a small smack to your ass and making you jump.

Both of you moaning in pleasure, fucking to the rhythm of the song playing. The instruments enveloping you and you push yourself even more against his dick, wanting to feel all of him inside you. “Give it all to me,” you demand, pushing him deeper inside of you. You both sigh with how deep he’s getting. “Fuck me, daddy,” you hear yourself wailing like a child.

“M’yeah?” he breathes, taking it as a challenge. In an instant, he executes your request, shoving himself balls deep, filling your guts with his thick length. Taken aback, you accidentally knock out all the lights in his room with a squeal, leaving behind a single candle on the opposite side of his room. The wind gets knocked out of you; breath unsteady. You can’t summon any words to your lips, just incessant choked sobs that wither away at the back of your throat.

He keeps pounding himself into you, his balls slapping your clit and sending goosebumps throughout your body. “You like being your coven’s dirty slut?” he spits, giving another hard slap to your ass. You can’t bring yourself to answer him. He drills so deep into you that you can feel him hammering your cervix. You can’t take him anymore and autonomously shift yourself away from him with a raucous scream, crawling away from his thick cock, but Michael chases. He clicks his tongue. “Don’t run away from it, baby,” he teases as you keep shifting.

You stop crawling away once you reach the edge of his bed, his cock sitting idly inside your tight pussy as he catches up. He breaks the lull and starts pumping into you quickly again, this time pinning your arms behind your back. “No more running away,” he taunts. You feel your pussy spasming with each plunge, your muscles adjusting to his fat cock, but they never seem to process it. You can’t stop moaning, screaming for more. You roll your eyes back and drop your head in defeat, taking the hard pounding to your cunt. “That’s it, baby,” he sighs. “Take all of daddy’s cock like a good slut.”

He guides himself into you, salaciously smacking into your round ass with each thrust. You feel like your whole body is crumbling under his touch, one more move and you’d be pure dust. Your heartbeat quickened, body shaking, numbness in your legs, you know you’re close to coming. You close your eyes shut, clenching your jaw, stifled moans escaping animalistically from the back of your throat. You squeeze one of Michael’s arms as he continues holding your hands behind your back. Papers fly off his desk, the music volume fluctuates, you can’t believe how strong your powers are becoming under him.

“C’mon, baby,” he continues assaulting your cunt with hard thrusts, “come for me. Come for daddy.” He wraps a large hand around your throat, hitching your breath, and directs your body to be flush against his. Your back against his chest, creating friction as he keeps with the same fervor. His lips against your ear, “Who’s your Supreme now, baby?”

The thought of Cordelia decaying on the couch in the common space right now crosses your mind, but being under Michael’s influence sends dark thoughts rushing in your head. Who cares? “You, Michael. You’re my new Supreme,” you answer with a strangled sob.

He pushes you back onto the bed, burying your head into his mattress. You suck up his scent through the fabric; drooling onto his sheets while being fucked senseless, you love the way he uses you. “That’s right, baby,” he affirms, “I’m the fucking Supreme.”

He gives another smack, and with that, a trembling throughout your entire body. “Michael, I’m coming!” you scream, trying to lift yourself up, but he keeps pushing you down. “Michael, I’m-!” you get cut off by the unyielding orgasm overtaking your body. Your mouth hangs open, eyes rolled back, fingers digging into his sheets. The lower half of your body surrenders to the orgasm gushing juices from your already-soaking cunt.

Michael sneers over you coming before him, but he’s close to release too. You flip onto your back and he fondles your breasts, throwing his head back and letting out a deep sigh. His skin turns a sickeningly pale white, his eyes meet yours, completely blacked out. He leans down to give you a quick kiss on the lips, his skin burning hot. Why aren’t you scared?

Although you were certain you had lost feeling between your legs from orgasm, when he thrusts himself into you, the hardest he has yet, you can’t help but let out a little yelp. You feel his hot seed spilling into your cunt, he takes himself out of you, smearing his come into your folds with the tip of his cock. You don’t even give yourself the opportunity to dwell on what happened to Michael during orgasm, why he looked so evil. You write it off as maybe-it’s-a-warlock-thing.

He collapses next to you, skin returning to it’s usual light tan and eyes reverting to a deep blue. So blue that you can fall right into them. Oh, your mind wanders, how will you ever hide this from Cordelia? Or worse, how could you explain yourself to her? Face her at this time?

Michael rests his palm on your cheek, swaying your gaze towards him and snapping you out of your daze. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head about Cordelia,” he assures you. Fuck, he was listening.

He plants a soft kiss on your lips, much more loving than anything else he’s done with you tonight. “Cordelia is falling. Remember, I’m your Supreme now… and you don’t have to worry about a thing.”

#hello #another music inspired smutty fanfic lol whats new #xavier fic prob coming soon oop #michael langdon #ahs apocalypse #michael langdon x reader #american horror story #apocalypse #smut #hawthorne michael #xavier plympton #ahs imagine #michael langdon smut #ahs #michael langdon x fem reader #ahs fanfic #michael langdon one shot #michael langdon imagine #imagine

[ourplaceinthecosmosphff]

Chapter 20. Courage

‘Her courage was her crown and she wore it like a Queen.' Atticus

When I walked inside after waving goodbye to Adrien, Harry and Lourdes were still in the kitchen. They looked at me, as if waiting for an idea of what came next.

“Well, I, for one, need a drink.” I said, trying my best to give them a smile.

Harry got to his feet and poured us some wine.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Lourdes asked.

“I don’t think we can.” I told her. “I don’t know what happens next. All we can do is wait.”

She avoided my eyes, and mumbled, “I know how much you love that.”

“Shut up.” I said, grabbing the glass Harry offered and drinking most of it in one sip. “Distractions, right? That’s what I need.” I said, looking at him.

“Oh, Harry! Do you have Amazon or iTunes or something?” Lourdes asked, excitedly.

“I think I have both. Why?”

“I know what we should watch!” She smiled, jumping up and going to his TV. “It’ll get your mind off things!”

Half an hour and half a bottle of wine later, we were watching Frozen.

“How do I know this song?!” I asked, confused and entertained at once, as Elsa let go of her fears on the screen.

“Some songs are so popular they are just downloaded into our subconscious without us noticing.” Lourdes said, but I wasn’t hearing her.

I was singing Let it Go.

Harry laughed. “I think you’re drunk.”

“I’m not drunk.” I complained, more than contested. “Sadly. I’m just… slightly buzzed.” I said, going right back into singing the words I somehow knew.

“I wish I knew what being drunk feels like.” Lourdes said. “It looks fun.”

“…Let it go–I’m not drunk.” I corrected, mid song.

“It’s not all it's cracked up to be.” Harry sighed.

I scoffed. “Says the guy who–”

“You don’t need to finish that sentence.” He said, making me laugh.

To Lourdes, I explained, deflated. “He’s right, though. Really, it just makes you make dumb mistakes.”

She looked at Harry, “Like dressing up as a nazi?”

“Lourdes!” I admonished, completely sober now.

“No, no…” Harry said, soothing. “It’s fine. She’s not wrong. But, sadly, no. That wasn’t a drunk mistake. It was just… a mistake.”

She looked away from him. “Do you regret it?”

“Of course.” He answered, without a second beat. “Every day. But I was… dumb. Young. Privileged. Completely unaware of what it truly meant. I just… I thought it would be funny. I was an idiot.”

On the screen, Elsa wasn’t bothered by the cold. I drank more wine.

“How about this, Lou?” I proposed. “When you’re… seventeen I’ll let you try wine.”

“Seventeen?!” She asked, surprised.

“…and eleven months.”

“Eleven–are you serious?!” She rolled her eyes.

“Yes, I’ll get you drunk before your birthday, in a responsible way, in a safe and controlled environment.”

“Ugh.” She complained, and then talked to me in French. “Like you waited until you were eighteen.”

“Excuse me? Yes, I did.” I replied, also in French.

“Really? What about the time when you came home from–?”

“Okay, but that was an accident!”

“Okay, my French is not that good!” Harry complained. “What did you say?”

Lourdes gave me a smug look.

“Nothing.” I said.

“Really?” She chuckled.

“Shut up and watch the movie.”

She sighed, “Okay, what’s up your butt?”

“Nothing.” I shrugged.

As I sat in the middle, I saw from the corners of my eyes as she exchanged a look with Harry.

“Truth or dare?” He asked.

I sighed. “Truth.”

“What’s up your butt?”

I gave him an annoyed look, but he just grinned at my sister. I looked away.

“Adrien just gave me a lot to think about, I guess.”

“I think he was right.” Lourdes said, sitting up, pausing the movie. “Not about everything, like going to America. That’s dumb. But about you.”

“You think I have power, too?” I asked, half hope, half skepticism.

“I know you do.” She shrugged. “But that’s not new, you’ve always had.”

I scoffed. “Excuse me?!”

“Mags, I don’t know what family you’ve been living with, but the rest of us know you as the perfect one we need to live up to.”

“That’s-” I started, but gave up with a sigh.

After all, in one of the last times I had spoken to Louis, he had told me I let our parents do whatever they wanted with me and my life. So, of course my parents saw me as the one who always said yes. Who never questioned. No wonder they thought it was okay to not tell me anything. No wonder they were so upset I had ‘ran away’. And, if that is who I was, it made sense that that’s how my siblings and cousins saw me.

“I don’t want that to be true.” I told them.

“Why not?” She asked. “It’s a compliment. Sort of.”

Harry reached over to the bottle of wine, and refilled my glass. I took a long sip.

“Even if it is true,” I started, “doesn’t that mean they can do what they want, and therefore they hold the power? And not me?”

“Not really.” Harry said. “Because they’ve grown dependent on you always being there. Especially now.”

“Now I’m the heir?” I asked, whispery. Almost afraid if I said it too loudly he would leave, as if he didn’t already know that.

“Yes.” He said, avoiding my eyes. “A death that alters the line of succession is a big deal. It’s a big change. People grow used to a royal family, they see us as newborns, they watch us grow up. For someone they expected to watch grow old and become king to die so young, I imagine it shakes up the entire collective mindspace of the whole country… Not to mention the ways it can affect politics and all the people who may try to take advantage of it. They may not have told you much yet, but they’ll need to start showing you off soon, to reassure the public that the family is still there, and that the throne is secure. Just because we’re ceremonial doesn’t mean they don’t need us. Unfortunately.”

The silence that followed wasn’t bad or uncomfortable. The twinkly lights and wine helped.

“Truth or dare?” Lourdes asked.

I looked at her, surprised.

“What? Apparently that’s the only way you answer questions now.”

I exchanged an amused look with Harry, who looked down, grinning.

“Dare.” I chose, defiantly.

She rolled her eyes.

“Fine.” She said. “I dare you to let me try your wine.”

“Fuck off.” I said. Harry laughed. “Don’t think I forgot about the smoking and cutting class bullshit. I’m not rewarding your behavior.”

“Just a sip!” She justified. “You just said that it’s healthy to let kids try these things at home, in a controlled environment!”

“Oh, so now you’re a kid again.” I grinned, sarcastic. “I thought you were a teenager.”

“I’m just saying,” she argued, “you want me to go after it myself? Who’s to say what I might get into?”

“Oh, my God.”

Harry laughed harder. 

“You know, to be fair,” he tried, “I wasn’t allowed to drink and I still did it way earlier than I probably should. Maybe if I had been allowed to taste it at home the whole mystique of it wouldn’t have wheeled me in.”

“Who’s side are you on?!” I asked, as Lourdes nodded enthusiastically. I sighed. “Fine. One sip!” I told her, pointing a threatening finger. “And with one condition.”

“Maman and Papa never find out.” She guessed.

“We take this to our graves.” I told her, serious. Then, I looked at Harry, who tried to suppress his grin and made the motion of locking his mouth shut and throwing away the key.

I sighed, grabbed my wine glass and passed it to her. “Slowly!” I warned.

She sat up, excitedly, and changed positions so she was facing the both of us, sitting on her knees and closing her eyes as she held the cup with both hands.

“I need to enjoy it the most, so... Okay, I’m going to pretend I’m a fancy adult who just came home from... practice--” Harry and I tried to suppress a laugh. “I’ve been practicing for my… third Olympics where I will, once again, win gold, of course.”

“Of course.” Harry nodded, amused.

“…and my hot, live-in boyfriend, who happens to be a… what’s a hot sport?” She opened her eyes, staring off into the distance.

I laughed.

“Does he have to be an athlete, as well?” Harry asked.

“I’m not going to just date anybody.” She replied, all seriousness. “I need to respect a boy to make him my boyfriend.”

“Hear, hear.” I agreed.

Harry smiled. “That’s fair. How about gymnastics?”

She pouted. “Male gymnasts are all… tiny.”

“Swimmer!” I chimed in, excitedly. “All swimmers are hot!”

“That’s good.” She agreed, before her smile fell. “Oh, but that's the summer Olympics.”

“So, that just means your schedules don’t conflict with each other!” I argued. “He’ll be free to go to your competitions, and vice, versa.”

She smiled. “Okay! That’s good. Awesome, okay, so!”

I smiled, and leaned back into Harry, mindlessly. He seemed to take in a sharp breath as my head laid on his shoulder, before he slowly moved his arm up and passed it around me. I leaned into his embrace, feeling his skin and clothes warm up parts of me I hadn’t realized were cold. We watched Lourdes daydream.

“So, I come home from practice and my hot, live-in, swimmer boyfriend is cooking us dinner, and–”

“Oh, boy, you really need to lower your expectations.” I mumbled.

Harry sighed. “I forget what a rare breed I am.”

I scoffed, as Lourdes giggled. “You can’t cook!”

He looked mock-outraged. “Yes, I can!”

“Harry, you couldn’t even flip a pancake without burning yourself.” I argued. “You didn’t even have oregano!”

“Okay, I may not be a great Chef, but–!”

“Chef?! It’s just oregano!”

“…I know enough not to starve!”

“Okay, I’ll lower my expectations!” Lourdes interrupted. “Hot swimmer has ordered us delivery. I thank him, and he hands me a glass of wine…”

She dreamily closed her eyes and brought the glass to her lips. Almost immediately after she drank, she spit it back into the glass, making us break into laughter as we watched.

“Disgusting!” I accused.

“This is awful!” She complained. “Why is it so bitter?!”

“Oh, my God!” Harry said in between laughter, his head back, a hand to his ribs.

“That’s really expensive wine!” I added.

“How do you drink this?!” She asked, smelling the cup, before trying it again, making the same face.

“Ew, Lourdes, no!” I complained, taking the glass from her. “Disgusting!”

“Yikes.” She complained.

“Yeah, remember this next time someone offers you alcohol.”

--- ---- ---

    We fell asleep right there – with the end credits of the movie rolling up, in the living room blanket covered stone floors. Lourdes curled up to the side, her blonde hair sprawling out around her, hugging a couch pillow. Behind her, I still had Harry’s arm around me.

His eyes were closed, peace all over his face. I pulled the duvet over us, snuggling into him and ready to embrace sleep. I let my arm rest across his stomach, on the side of his waist. As his shirt was wrinkled up, I could feel his skin under my fingertips, so I stretched my hand under it.

He was so warm, and his stomach moved up and down slowly as he breathed. Slowly, I brought my hand up across his stomach, feeling his pecs on my palm.

It now felt too warm for the duvet, but I remained completely still, hidden underneath it, with nothing but the screen and the twinkly lights illuminating us in the darkness.

I felt a chill over all of my skin; it felt too personal, too risky, but I couldn’t bring myself to get away. Resting in his embrace, his shoulder under my head, his face right above mine, his breath lightly breezing over my hair, and his warm skin on my palms… it was exactly where I felt I needed to be.

So I raised my hand higher, slowly, just a little more, to hover over his heart. His breath grew heavier, and his arm tightened around me. I felt his lips on my forehead and his heart under my hand beat so fast it was almost worrying.

On my forehead, his lips whispered so low I wasn’t sure I had imagined it. “It’s yours.” He said.

I moved my head only slightly to his direction, so he knew I was listening.

“What is?” I asked, matching his tone.

Instead of replying, he just moved his other hand – the one not around me – to touch my arm under his shirt, slowly making its way up until his hand was above mine, above his heart. His finger tapped my hand, twice. I didn’t need words, the gesture said enough.

His heart, it said. His heart was mine.

“But you know that, already.” He whispered.

I could barely breathe, and the duvet felt almost unbearable now as my skin grew hotter.

But I couldn’t answer. All I could do was stretch my fingers up to intertwine my fingers with his.

I thought it was the end of it. I thought we would just sleep now, and I would wake up tomorrow struggling to understand if it had been a dream or not. Then he spoke again, just as quietly as before, but slower, so I could make out every word.

“Don’t marry him.”

“…What?” I looked up higher; it felt like if I couldn’t see his eyes, it might not be real.

He looked down at me, under his lashes; the twinkly lights made his hair look golden.

“Don’t marry him.” He repeated.

Again, I couldn’t answer. So he rested his lips on my forehead again, and we let the hours tick by.

Both of us took a long time to fall asleep.

--- ---- ---

When I woke up, we were still on the floor under the twinkly lights of the blanket fort. Lourdes was facing away from me, her knees almost to her chest. In the middle, I still had my head on Harry’s chest, and his arm around my shoulders felt warm, but the noise echoing around the house was anything but.

He moved his arm delicately from under me, and I grunted a complaint, mindlessly.

“Sorry.” He whispered. “The phone.”

He stumbled to his feet, crawling out of the fort slowly, and walking, crooked, to the phone mounted on the wall in the hallway, in front of the stairs.

“Hello?” He said, on a low tone; his voice guttural from sleep. “Who? What do you–? Are you sure? Yes, I know who– I just–” He sighed. “How soon…? Okay, okay. Thanks.”

He returned the phone to the wall and soon he was kneeling in front of the fort again.

“Hey.” He touched my arm, gently. “Mary, wake up.”

“Good morning.” I tried to smile. “What’s going on?”

His face was serious. “We have another visitor.”

Behind me, Lourdes grunted. “Tell them I’m not going home, Harry, especially if they insist on waking me up.”

Harry’s eyes were on mine. “It’s your father.”

I sat up, “What?”

“We’ve been through this with your mom, already.” He started. “I’m not joking, he had to be signed on at the gates. He’ll be here in a minute.”

I recalled Adrien saying he would send someone ‘with power’. Surely, he couldn’t have meant–

“What do I do?!” Harry asked. “Send him away?!”

“When you say our father,” Lourdes asked, crawling up from behind me, “surely you don’t mean–?”

“Forgive me, do you have another one?! Because I’ve only met the King one.”

“Oh, God.” She mumbled, just as I forced myself to get up. “Oh, God, Maggie–”

“Okay,” I started, “Okay.”

“Should I send him away?” Harry asked.

“Maggie, the fort!” Lourdes aggressively whispered, hurriedly pulling the blankets and twinkly lights down.

“I can just send him away, like with the others!” Harry repeated, whispery still. Behind him, the pole holding the fort up hit the floor with a dull thud.

“One of you, help me!” Lourdes whispered at us, pulling the chord of the twinkly lights out of the outlet and trying to ball up all of the blankets and pillows.

There was a knock on the door. We all froze in place.

“Oh, God.” I shuddered.

“Maggie.” Harry said, holding on to my arms gently. It was the first time he used the nickname only my family used for me. “Do you want me to send him away?”

“You can’t send him away!” Lourdes whispered, now so low I could barely hear her. “He’s the king and you barely know him!”

“It’s my house, I can do what I want.” Harry replied, awfully calm. “Margueritte?”

I took in a deep breath in and one deep breath out, and then there was another knock on the door.

“I have to speak to him.”

His hands traveled down my bare arms until my hands, which he held firmly. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want.”

I smiled, sadly, down at our hands. His touch was so soft.

“That’s not true.” I said, shaking my head.

He stepped closer to me. “Yes, it is.”

My eyes felt heavy, my throat felt tight. I wanted nothing but to lay down inside our blanket fort into his arms and stay there forever.

“I’m the Crown Princess of Savoy.” I looked at him, allowing the words to break us apart as I knew they would the moment my brother died. “There’s a lot I have to do that I don’t want.”

He looked like he was going to protest, and I wasn’t sure how much of it I could take. So I pulled my hands from his and walked to the door.

My father was wearing a high neck wool shirt, black, and a khaki blazer over it. He was clean shaven, as always, and his receding hair was now so gray it was almost impossible to tell it had once been blond.

He seemed surprised I opened the door, or that was just the smile he gave me; a tentative, surprised small smile. He let out an almost imperceptive sigh before saying, softly,

“Bonjour, Margueritte.”

“Papa.” I replied, feeling breathless. “Bonjour.”

His eyes then examined every piece of me and I was, at once, fully conscious that I was still wearing Harry’s sweatpants and shirt. As we had just woken up from sleeping on the floor after a late night, my face was probably still swollen, my hair a mess, my eyes dirty.

“Tu as l'air bien.” He decided, diplomatic. “Confortable.”

‘You look well. Comfortable.’

“Nous venons de nous réveiller.” I justified, embarrassed, feeling my cheeks redden. ‘We just woke up.’

He nodded. “May I come in?”

I started to open the door, but closed it again.

“It’s not my house.” I explained. “I–”

“Of course!” Harry shouted from inside. “Entrez, s'il-vous-plaît!”

I looked down at the floor as I opened the door and stepped aside to let him in.

It felt so weird. Like intruding and being intruded on at the same time. I felt an urge to apologize, but I couldn’t decide to whom. To Harry for bringing him all of this? To my father for not being dressed?

As he walked inside, taking the house in slowly, I hurriedly let my hair down and brushed it with my fingers, putting it back up with all its loose strands on a ponytail.

The sofa was still facing the back wall, and the coffee table was pushed against the bookshelf. The TV was back to its place of origin, but the chord was clearly hanging to the side. Surprisingly, the blankets, pillows and twinkly lights were gone.

“Your Royal Highness.” My father shook Harry’s hand, with almost no accent. “How do you do?”

“Your Majesty, sir.” Harry bowed his head. “I’m well, thank you. And yourself?”

“Good. The flight was good.” He nodded.

The small talk was killing me. Harry, however, stood tall and confident, one hand firmly shaking my father’s, the other casually in his sweatpants’ pocket. He also had sleep all over his face.

“Is my other daughter around?” My father asked, casually. “Or is she still asleep?”

“I’m here!” Lourdes called from the stairs. Two seconds later, she jumped as if having leapt over the last two steps. “Papa, bienvenue!”

She was in jeans and my sweater, slightly too big for her, but in a stylish way. Her hair was brushed down and, though her face still looked a little swollen as well, she overall looked as though she had been up for a while.

She kissed his cheeks and he held her in place, hands in her shoulders. He spoke in French,

“I am very angry with you.”

Her face fell. “I wasn’t smoking!”

“I know that, and we will talk about it at home.” He replied. “But running away? Not answering your phone? We were worried!”

“It’s hardly running away when you sent me here.” She justified. “And I was with Maggie! In a palace! I couldn’t be safer!”

They went on like this, in French, as he berated her and she tried to justify herself. I caught Harry’s eyes behind them, and tried to give him an apologetic, humorous, if awkward look. But he looked away.

“Papa?” I called after a while of this, trying to be brave, remembering Harry’s French wasn’t so good. “Maybe we should speak in English? As we are in England. And in Harry’s house.”

They all looked at me, all somewhat surprised.

“Of course.” He said, smiling at him. “Sir, I am sorry to trespass even more on your hospitality. Is there a place where I would be able to speak to my daughter with some privacy?”

Harry thought on it for a second, looking around the living room. Lourdes gave me a silent, desperate look.

“Why don’t you talk here?” Harry proposed. “I have been meaning to show Lourdes to the gallery in Kensington, anyway. It’s closed to the public today, so it should be safe. What do you say, Lou?”

Dad’s eyebrow twitched at the nickname, perceptible only to those who knew him enough.

Lourdes looked at each of us and sighed.

“Sure.” She said, rolling her eyes. “Why not?”

Harry followed her to the door.

“Thank you.” I told him as he passed by me.

He smiled in acknowledgement, but didn’t look at me.

They left.

I could hear each of my heartbeats as I looked back at my father. He walked over to the armchair and looked at me, smiling sadly.

“I can wait until you get changed.” He said.

I nodded and had to stop myself from running out of the room. At the stairs, I realized Harry and my sister had just shoved all of the blankets and pillows out of sight. They were crammed in the small space precariously, only a tiny passage through in the corner where Lourdes probably made her way up and down to change.

I schooled my face to not react to it and attempted to climb up as quietly as possible, hoping my father wouldn’t make his way to this end of the room and see it.

In the guest room, Lourdes’ pajamas were on the floor. I picked them up and put them on the bed, as well as my bag, quickly emptying its contents to find clothes that felt appropriate. My dress for the wedding was wrinkled, so I would have to make do with jeans and the simple blouse I had on in the train.

As I got dressed, I was overcome with shame again. Why did I feel so embarrassed at wearing pajamas or not having formal day clothes? How was I to know he was coming? And why were my clothes not good enough if they were mine? If I liked them?

I was reminded of Louis, lecturing me about dressing up the way mom wanted me to. I stopped myself just before pulling out the shirt; Harry’s shirt. I had told my brother I would stand up for myself and my own fashion choices, but now I had to stand up for a lot more. For being heard and for being told the truth. For being allowed to do something with my life other than look pretty in pictures. I had to.

I took in a deep breath and kept Harry’s shirt on. Then, I washed my face, brushed my teeth, and went back downstairs.

Dad was standing in front of the bookcase holding a picture frame in his hand, the same one Lourdes had noticed when she arrived.

He made no comments of the clothes I was wearing; instead, he returned the photo to the shelf and said, as he walked back to the armchair.

“I knew her, you know?” He started in French. “The late Princess of Wales.”

“Yes, I remember.” I said. “I was there when she visited Savoy with Prince Charles.”

He seemed confused. “Right. That must have soon before she passed.”

“It was.”

“You won’t remember this, Maggie, but we were actually in Britain when it happened.” He sat down, crossing his legs and sitting back, leisurely. “We went to–”

“I do remember it, Papa.” I interrupted. “That was the first time I met Harry.”

He suppressed his surprise better this time, nodding.

“He was a good kid. Bright, charming, smart… It was a terribly traumatizing event to happen to such a young child.”

I grabbed a chair from the kitchen table and placed it across the room from him, in front of the still turned sofa.

“Which is what I imagine made him into such a problematic young fellow.”

“Should we talk about us now?” I asked.

As anxious as I was to have this conversation with my father, I was more impatient at his tone regarding Harry.

“We are.” He replied, gravely. “I can’t pinpoint anything else that might have brought you to this, Margueritte.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Henry. What is it? What did he say to you to get you here? To get you to do this?”

My mouth dropped open, and I, for one second, was almost amused.

“Are–? Are you serious?!”

“I understand he is charming and fun, Margueritte, a lot of men are, particularly to pretty girls like you–”

“Wow, Papa–”

“But he is older than you, and he has a reputation, which has not been manufactured with no cause.” He insisted. “He’s wrong for you even before we focus on the fact that he is a foreign royal.”

“Do you hear yourself?!” I asked, choked. “Harry is not the problem, Papa! He has nothing to do with this!”

“My daughter,” he started, enunciating the word loudly, “my firstborn, the little girl I raised, would never have done something this outrageous! Goodness, Margueritte, you’re a good girl! You’re kind and respectful, and you have always put others before yourself! You were always a good student, you went to Harvard, for goodness’ sake!” He took in a heavy breath, “To just disappear like this with no effort to alleviate our minds! Do you have any idea how worried we were?! What went through my head when they came into my office to tell me they had no idea where you were?!”

He uncrossed his legs, sitting up now, restless, fidgeting with his hands.

“I have sat through so many security meetings discussing the risk assessments for each of you, having to hear from expert after expert what are the most likely horrible things to happen to you, and having to decide what the best way to protect you is! And to suddenly be told that the two security officers who were meant to keep you safe simply lost track of you in a foreign country!”

His voice was raising with each word, until the last one, which he shouted, finally getting to his feet, restless.

“Did you even spare a single thought to your mother and me?! We could barely sleep for three days, we were in and out of meetings with the staff trying to decide what was the best way to go about the situation,” he went on, now walking up and down the living room, “Should we contact the police? Interpol? Ask the Scotland Yard to intervene?! So many people trying to show us what the best resolution would be, to then be told you were just… sleeping over at Kensington, walking right in of your own free will as if it’s a holiday!”

He ran a hand through his hair, nervously; a far cry from the composet monarch he was in public.

“And not one call… Not one call going through…” he mumbled. “It’s alright, I tried to tell them. She probably had an issue with her phone. It must be a misunderstanding… Marie-Margueritte would never be this dismissive and disrespectful!” he shouted, again. “And to then have Auguste’s account of how he was treated when he was merely trying to make sure of your wellbeing. Do you think that is an appropriate way to treat your private secretary?! You’re a Crown Princess, Margueritte! You have a responsibility to the people whose job revolves around making you the best future monarch you can be! Do you understand that?!”

My palms were aching, burning, as I scratched them with my nails, tightly holding my hands in fists as I took in deep breath after deep breath.

“Not to even speak of the disrespect towards your mother! To not even see her, after she made the whole trip here?! To allow your… Harry,” he said, with contempt, “to treat her as… as–!”

“He was nothing but polite and kind to maman.” I interrupted, speaking for the first time, my voice barely a shaky whisper. “She was the one who changed the tone of the conversation, Harry did nothing but be honest about why she wasn’t allowed to go upstairs, and he was still polite at that.”

“And why didn’t you see her, Margueritte?! If you had a problem, why didn’t you come home and speak to us about it?! Is this fun for you? Is this what the plan was the whole time?! Because I’ll tell you this, I have never yelled at any of you kids like this, never since you were born!” He sighed. “What is the point? Tell me?!”

He removed his blazer, methodically, slowly, breathing heavily still.

“And Christopher!” he added, shouting. “What are we to tell him?! As far as I understand he left for Canada thinking his girlfriend was going home and all was normal, how are we to explain to him this little holiday you took at another men’s house?! You think he’ll enjoy this information?! Or did you just assume your mother and I would lie for you?!”

“Christopher is my problem, not yours.” I said, shaky. Hands hurting, still. “And I’ll tell him what–”

“I don’t think you understand, Margueritte!” He interrupted, walking over, and sitting again, leaning into his knees to look me in the eyes. “Whatever is your problem, is our problem, too! You’ll be Queen to Savoy one day, you don’t get the privilege of privacy, anymore! Or you think it’s not a big deal that Christopher will be the country’s consort one day?! You think that’s something we can just worry about later?!”

I tried taking another calming, deep breath, but I couldn’t anymore. It was as if my throat was also tighter from the anxiety and anger.

“Do you even know how many threats we’ve received since you became Crown Princess?!” He asked, whispery now. “Do you even realize the amount of detail and accurate information that has to be in a threat for it to be deemed credible?! Do you even know how close you could have come to coming to serious harm in the way here when you were completely alone?!”

“No!” I interrupted, using all of the strength left in me to raise my voice enough so he would hear. “I don’t! I don’t know any of it! Do you know why?!”

I waited, looking at him, but, confused, he seemed to have no response.

“Because you don’t tell me anything!” I told him. “None of you! And that was fine, Papa, when I was a child, or when I was just someone who would never be needed to work for the Crown, but from the moment Louis died I knew my life had changed completely, and I kept waiting for someone to tell me how and what to do, but no one did! Even when I asked! And I asked, and asked! Almost every day I asked, and I was dismissed and condescended to, by almost every single person in the Palace, including you and Auguste, who is supposed to work for me, somehow!”

I ran my hands down my jeans, trying to assuage the burn of the scratches there.

“You talked to me when it was about quitting my job to give the press something to talk about,” I started, “and to make sure I knew I had no choice in what my own staff was, but that was it. I was never given any… choice, any direction.”

“Alright.” He nodded, sitting back again. “Alright, then what do you want, Margueritte? What is it about your life that is so upsetting now?!”

“You do not get to say it like that anymore!” I shook my head. “You don’t get to make me feel like my feelings don’t matter, Papa. If you do, this conversation is over right now.”

“When have I ever–?!”

“You always do that!” I interrupted. “At first it was about me being too young to have any real issues, it was about being too pushy or demanding, when all I wanted was some power over my own life!”

“Margueritte, if sometimes I am harsh, it’s because I don’t think you understand what your life really is.”

“I know I am privileged!” I assured. “I am very aware of that, but that was never the problem. No, the problem is that you, and maman as well, got used to me always being accommodating of whatever it is you needed! We need a child for a photo opportunity, well, Margueritte can catch up with school later, by herself, let’s pull her from class to bring her to an event, then! Well, we need to improve female registration for military service, Margueirtte would attract a lot of girls, I’m sure she wouldn’t mind postponing university a year!”

“Are you saying we made you do those things?” He asked, sounding truly concerned. “You were always given a choice, Margueritte. That was always important to us!”

“But is it a choice when the people asking are the most important people in my life?!” I asked, eyes watering. “When the people asking are the two people I love the most in the world? The two people I could see working so hard to do a good job for the entire country and to be as good to us as they could be?! How could I say no when saying no was upsetting to you? How could I say no to anything when I knew there was so little I could actually do to help!”

He looked down, hands fidgeting again. But I powered through, thinking of Louis; thinking of the promise I had made to stand up to myself.

“The truth is I think you got used to me being the easiest answer to whatever problem you had. Always.” I said, trying to sound calmer. “Even when I was in America! If there was a scandal, like with uncle’s divorce, and you needed someone to put in front of a camera to draw attention to it, you never had an issue asking me to come home, and I never said no, because I felt too guilty.”

I felt a single tear fall from my eye.

“I used to feel guilty that I didn’t want this life, when you had no choice, when Louis had no choice.” I confessed. “And then, when he died, I felt so guilty about inheriting his title that I couldn’t say no to anything. Even if I didn’t want to quit my job in such a public way. Even if I didn’t want to fire Cadie. Or Joyce.”

I dried my cheek with one hand, taking a deep breath. Dad hadn’t moved, yet.

“You got used to me being easy, dad. To not fighting. To not trying too hard to stand out, to accepting anything you needed. Even if it was about my life. My choices. My staff. My clothes?!”

“When have I ever policed your clothes, Margueritte?!” He asked, hoarse.

“You may not have done it, but you didn’t try to stop it, either.” I replied. “And I can’t go on like that, Papa. I can’t go on letting you, and Maman, and Montennon or Auguste or whoever, make me into a paper doll Crown Princess, to be dressed up and sent away to look nice for a picture, that’s not who I am. I can’t do that anymore.”

He nodded, slowly, seeming alarmingly calm.

“I’m the Crown Princess now, and I accept that.” I told him. “Mostly because I don’t have a choice, but I accept it regardless. But if I am to do this, then things can’t be the way they’ve always been… I can’t just say yes, and you can’t just dismiss me when I say no. I need to be allowed to ask questions, and I need actual answers. If I’m to learn what I need to learn, then I need the staff to see me as the heir, as their future monarch, not as good, obedient Princess Margueritte, and they won’t as long as you still treat me as the good daughter you’re trying to protect, or the one you pull out when you need help because you know I won’t complain!”

He took in a deep breath, biting his lip; his hand scratched his chin, and he looked at the center table behind me, thoughtfully.

“I’m sorry I disappeared.” I told him. “I honestly am, but I would do it again. Because I didn’t know what else to do… and let’s be honest, why should I be home? It’s not like I have been doing a lot of work. I don’t have a job anymore, and the work I wanted to do was quickly shut down by Auguste.”

He sighed, exhausted. “There’s a lot going on that you don’t know, Margueritte.”

“Then tell me!” I said, louder than intended. “That is my point!”

“There are things you’re not ready for.” He shook his head. “This job isn’t as simple as you seem to think it is. You can’t be ready one day after someone dies unexpectedly.”

“I didn’t expect to be ready in one day!” I assured him. “I wanted to learn. I just wanted to know there was some sort of plan that didn’t include telling me to avoid the news and just go enjoy my day.”

“That is not what happened–”

“That is exactly what happened!” I contradicted.

“Do you think maybe we just wanted to give you time to grieve for your brother?” He asked.

“I did.” I nodded, enthusiastically. “More than that, I assumed you needed time for that. I assumed it just felt too hurtful to see me in his place when he had just died.”

I looked away, tears falling from my eyes again when my voice broke.

“But months passed, Papa.” I went on. “Months. Then the year was done. And nothing. And fine, if I’m to do nothing, then I’ll do nothing. But why should I quit my job, then?! If I can’t have an active part in this role, then why should I be home, doing nothing, every day?! Should I spend every day just waiting for the moment you’ll need me for another photo opportunity?!”

“It’s much more than that, Margueritte.”

“Good.” I nodded. “That’s good, then tell me what it is!”

We sat in silence, looking away from each other as I tried to dry my tears as soon as they fell.

“I realize that it’s hard…” I started. “I miss him every day. I cry every day. I think about all the things he won’t be here for, every day… And I can only imagine what it’s like for you, having raised him for this job his whole life and now to not only be unable to see him do it, but to have to accept me into it. But, Papa, you need to understand that I did not want this.”

“…You don’t think I know that?!”

“I honestly don’t know!” I shrugged, crying. “But I can understand that it can feel like… like a betrayal to Lou. For me to have his title now. I feel it, too. But I think he would know, surely he would know that I did not wish for this!” 

I tried to dry my tears again, as they fell more freely now.

“For the rest of my life, every time I wear that crown, every time I am addressed as Crown Princess, or Queen, I will be reminded of the fact that my brother should be here.”

I stood up, and walked over to the bathroom near the stairs. I washed my face with cold water, trying to take in deep breaths, trying to think of the promise I made to Louis. Trying to fight the desire to tell my father I would just do whatever he wanted as long as this ended.

When I came back, he was using a handkerchief to dry his own cheeks.

“Do you remember…?” He started, sniffling slightly. “On the train ride to London last year, for the tour, when you asked me to promise you that would be allowed the space and time you needed to focus on your own life?”

The memory was like a dream from a lifetime ago; I nodded, as I sat back down on my chair.

“When your brother died,” he started, so calm and in such a low tone now that I could barely hear him. “My first thought, after him, was you. It was the heartbreaking realization that I would not be able to keep my promise.”

He definitely stifled a sniff, now.

“I have spent so much time feeling guilty over bringing you and your brother and sister into this family, Margueritte.” He admitted. “I have loved you every single day of your lives, but there hasn’t been one day that I don’t fear you’ll resent me for bringing you into a world where you have no real free will. No expectation of privacy… So, when I knew how much I would have to ask of you… All I wanted to do was try and keep your life from changing too much. I figured, if I can keep you out of the conversations that need to happen, if I can keep you just informed enough, then you can go about your life, and those changes won’t feel so disruptive. I just… I didn’t want you to have to give up anything.”

“But that is not your choice.” I told him. “It’s not your choice, either, Papa… You don’t think I know that?”

“I was afraid, chèrie.” He told me, apologetic. “I was afraid you’d blame me. And you’d be right to do it.”

“This is not your fault.” I said, louder. “Keeping me out of the loop on conversations about my life, that was your choice. And it was a bad one. But the changes that need to happen, those are not your choice. I know that.”

He nodded, almost reluctantly. 

“We can’t bring him back.” I said. “And we can’t stop my life from changing, it already has. But you can help me. You can help me be… good at this. Good enough that Louis would be proud of me.”

He nodded, took in a deep breath and ran his hand down his face, staring into the floor. He had never looked more tired. I sat back on my chair, hands in my lap, no longer closed in fists. I tried to calm my breathing, and to allow him time to decide where we should go next.

“Okay.” He said, after a while, nodding. “So, you want to be included.”

I sat up. “Yes.”

“Okay.” He nodded again. “I’ll make sure you’re more included going forward.”

“That’s not good enough.”

He sighed. “I don’t know what that means, Margueritte.”

“I want a meeting.” I said, bracing myself, trying to ignore the painful anxiety ache in my stomach. “With the whole staff, mine and whomever from yours needs to be there. I want… to be told, item by item, everything that needs to be different now. I want to understand why it needs to be different. I want to choose a new security team, to be headed by Joyce.”

“Joyce has been transferred, Margueritte.”

“Then transfer her back.” I insisted. “And Cadie, too.”

“Margueritte.” He sighed. “If you’re serious about understanding what your new role is, and I think you are, you’ll have to be prepared to accept that there are things that are out of your control. Sometimes, staff issues are one of them.”

“Then you can explain that to me… at the meeting. With our staff there, including Cadie.”

He sighed again. “You can’t fire Auguste.”

“We can discuss it in the meeting.” I repeated. “It’s more professional.”

He grinned, scratching his nose. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“The staff will need time to prepare material for a meeting this… itemized.”

“Okay.” I nodded. “It’s pretty early now, how about tomorrow night? That should give them time to prepare.”

He looked at his watch. “…I suppose.”

“Good.” I nodded. “Then it’s settled. Tomorrow. Six?”

He let out a long sigh, and nodded as he got to his feet. “You will have to be home. Will you be home?”

I gulped, looking around the room, already missing it. Realizing I would have to leave Harry’s clothes behind, pack up my bag, and travel back to being five hours away from him. Realizing I would have to sleep alone again. 

But I had been right before. I had to do a lot that I didn’t want to.

“I will.”

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[A/N: Extra long, meaty chapter! WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THAT ‘DONT MARRY HIM’ MOMENT???? And MM finally standing up for herself??? But now she has to leaaaaaaave??????????? Let me know what you think??? Thank you SO MUCH for reading, I cant thank you enough! What do you want to see next? <3 ]

#Princeharryff #prince harry fanfic #prince harry fanfiction #princeharryfanfiction #Princeharryfanfic #prince harry #brf #modern royalty au #modern royalty fanfic #fanfiction #OPITCphff #chapters

[rosesvioletshardy]

can we do it? - billy/four - chapter 5

okay it’s here. and sorry it took so long i was busy and i just started school so updates are going to be even slower even though you guys don’t read this

but this is a long one and i really hope you enjoy it

summary: one team, seven people, two lovers. things are about to get crazy and zero and four don’t know if they can manage to do it.

masterlist

# of words: 4,628

warnings: fluff, angst, mentions of anxiety attacks, throw up??, implied smut

taglist: open

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Four and Zero pretended like nothing happened when One came back but still managed to see each other in private and would usually wait until One fell asleep before they went to see each other. Zero had let go almost all of the anxiety and anxious thoughts of them being caught together every time they felt like they were going to be caught. Four felt the same way but he never showed it because he wanted to make sure that Zero didn't see another side of him that he wasn’t ready to show her yet just like he wasn’t fully ready to tell her about his past time from that one night. 

Over the next few days, they have done nothing but go over how they were going to fix up a coup to get Rovach’s brother. Zero and Five were going to be in the lobby, Four was going to try and sneak in as One broke the windows with his inventions, Two and Three were going to be the ones taking out any guards and getting Murat, and Seven was apparently going to hang on a construction bridge to scope everything out and help them out and get them in under the radar.

The night before they left, they were told to pack a bag since they were going to leave first thing in the morning so they had time to get everything ready by the evening. Zero was packing everything she was going to wear while there as well as her equipment before she heard a knock on her door. As she opened her door, she was pushed back into her trailer with a smile when she realized who it was.

“I’ve missed you.” he told her hugging her

“You saw me an hour ago but i missed you too.” she told him, pulling back and looking into his green eyes. The two walked over to her bed and laid down facing each other as they just admired one another. They took in a moment to study their faces, as she studied his facial features, the way his scare blended into his eyebrow. It felt nice to just lay there in silence and just admire each other before she spoke up.

“Are you ready for tomorrow?”

“I’m a little scared, but i feel like with me with you i  know i’ll do good.” he admitted tracing her face with his fingers

“You got this. Which reminds me.” she said getting up and walking over to her desk and taking something out that he couldn’t identify as he sat up

“I’ve created a separate headset for us to talk in. You’ll have your regular one with everyone else and me, but this one, it’s just me.” she explains to him giving him the earpiece as he took it from her fingers. 

He stared at it for a bit before giving her a hug. He didn’t know why he was feeling this but for some reason he knew that something bad was going to happen again. Zero hugged him back with a confused look on her face but accepted it and gave a small peck to the exposed part of his neck. The two went back to laying next to each other and held each other as if it was going to be the last time they were to ever see each other again.  They didn’t know how long they were going to keep it a secret before one figured out but they knew they were going to have to tell him as soon it was over. They were both disobeying his orders and wanted none of them to get involved but he knew he should know better. Zero knew some about his life until he cut it off. She wanted to yell at his face for what she knew but it would make everything much worse than it already was.

The following morning, she had felt Four move out of her arms so he could go back before One had started knocking on doors to wake everyone up for the plane ride. He gave her a kiss on the forehead before heading out back to his trailer to finish packing.

By late afternoon they had managed to get everything they had needed and walked to the jet. Seven was still unsure about his place in the team and why he wasn’t a six. It made sense for it to be a six since it went after five and they were in numerical order under him.

“Hey One! You ever plan on calling me Six?”

“Nope!” one yelled back as the team smiled.

“Hey, i know we don’t get to ask-”

“Then don’t” three interrupted him

“Anyways, who is One? Like who is he?” seven finished looking over to his team 

“A rich guy who snapped” five said 

“Yeah, but how did you meet him?” 

“We didn’t. He met us. In really weird ways.” Four told him

“Perfect timing kind of weird.” two imputed

“Zero, c’mon. You're the computer girl. You must know who is and such” seven pleaded

“I do, but I'm not allowed to say. I knew him even before he faked his death” Zero told him looking over

“But did you tell your lover boy next to you?” he said smiling at the two of them

“Keep it down. And no. I didn’t tell him as much as I wanted to but he knows the rules and so do we.” Zero said grabbing Fours pinky and hooking it with hers

“Okay how did you all meet him just give me like a small gist at least.” he asked 

“Fine, i was exposing some people, got caught, went to jail for a bit, he found me, faked my death in my cell before a hearing, and now i’m here.” 

“Can’t believe i’m saying this. I worked for the CIA, captured Murat in Uzbekistan and had him delivered, reluctantly, Rovach. After that, he found me through some “intelligent contacts” which i’m guessing is just Zero.” two explained smiling over at her

“I used to be a hitman. Killed a little girl's dad right in front of her without me knowing. Still feel the guilt everyday.” three explained bowing his head down

“Went on a mission to get a very expensive necklace, didn't make it across the building, so my ex took the necklace out of my mouth where I was holding it and I dropped who knows how many stories into a random building before I woke up and found one almost killing me with a fake gun set up. Nearly wanted to kill him.” four explained before taking squeezing Zero’s hand to calm down as his jaw clenched. She remembered the day too as they fought, just not in full detail as she used to.

“I was conducting a surgery, and things started to escalate when they began to have a seizure. Felt like it was my fault when they died since they didn’t get the right amount of the anesthesia and almost quit right there on the job. When I went home, the next day, he was there and knew what had happened.”

“Jesus christ you guys had some fucked up lives. Never thought I’d meet a family more screwed up than mine.” seven said

“Hey, no. don’t say that. He hates the word “family”. I don’t know. I think he never had one, but our dear, sweet Zero won’t tell us if he did or not.”

“I’m just going to let you guys figure it out so one or more of you can win that bet you have going on” Zero said 

“And if you’re ever left behind in a mission...he’s not going to come back for you.” Five imputed

“We deltas didn’t operate like that. Things are gonna have to change. I promise you that.” Seven finished

“Finally, I thought I was going to do this mission by myself and leave you all here.” One said sitting on the steps

“Seven, you’re going to be my co-pilot. Let’s go.”

The group rolled their eyes as they entered the jet and put their stuff above them in the departments. Before they reached the jet, four and zero had let go of their hands once One came into the view and decided to sit opposite of each other with Five on the couch, and Two and Three on the other set of chairs. 

The ride to Hong Kong was quiet. Everyone was busy doing their own thing. Four and Zero talked for a while but whispered even though their relationship was something that was known to the people near them and continued to talk up until Four fell asleep. She noticed how his eyebrow will sometimes twitch and his face will scrunch up which was something she never noticed the first few times they had slept together. Three looked like he was about to die and whispered silent prayers, Two glanced up at him every now and then, and Five was reading one of her books that she brought along. 

After almost 17 hours of flying, they woke up to Seven on the intercom telling them to buckle up since they were below radar. As they buckled up, Zero softly kicked Four’s food to wake him up, but when she noticed he was still sleeping, she got up and went over to him and gave him a kiss on the cheek which caused his eyes to flutter open.

“Hey, we need to buckle up. I guess we’re already here.”

“5 more minutes please.” he grumbled fixing his makeshift pillow that was his jacket he had on earlier

“Later. C’mon.” she asked again causing him to ignore her again. 

 “How about after this mission, if we don’t die, I'll do something you’ll like.” she whispered into his ear causing him to open his eyes and go wide eyed and make his cheeks turn red causing her to giggle before she looked over and saw what looked like Three having a panic attack.

“You good there Three?” she asked him concerned 

“Yeah. I usually looked at the stewardess to see if I should be scared.”

“Flight attendant” two corrected him with an annoyed look on her face

“You can look at me” she finished looking over to him

“Oh, darling, you could be on fire and you would have the same creepy blank expression on your face. No offense.” Three stated before finishing

“You what sucks? If we were to crash, no one would ever know or care. We would have no impact on anything. Like we never existed” three finished yelling the last sentence to One

“I mean, don’t the pilots get parachutes with them?” Zero asked 

“Uh I can hear you and if you’re going to shit your pants, there’s a bathroom in the back. And Zero we do have parachutes but who knows maybe we’ll remember you maybe we won’t” One said over the intercom system. 

When they arrived, they noticed it was still too early for them to actually do anything and had to blend in until it was time for the mission. They ended up walking around trying to find a place to eat before settling at one place. When they ordered, everyone became invested into Two and Three’s relationship as they started to mess around

“So, how long has this been going on?” Seven asked, going over to the table with his beer.

“Yeah, I've been wondering the same thing. Florence?” Five asked curiously looking over at Two as they stayed silent

“No, Vegas.” Seven smirked as they all agreed

“So, you guys know about us?” three asked as they all stared at him

“Well, we do now, dumbass” Five told him ask Two gave him an ‘are you kidding me” look  

“Pretty much. but we’ve had our suspicions.” seven said

“Well, I guess it’s not against the rules, right?” Two asked before One answered

“It depends. So, are you guys fucking or making love?”

This caused Zero to start over thinking again about her and Four’s relationship and where it firmly stood. Was it just going to be something to help them pleasure themselves without a label or was it a true relationship? Four looked over and saw her freeze up and stopped eating to grab her hand under the table and looked over to her subtly and asked her if she was okay with just the look on his face. The most she could do was nod as he rubbed his thumb over her knuckles before they broke hands and went back to eating.

“What’s the difference?” Three asked him

“We’re fucking.” two said with a straight face as three looked heartbroken

“Good. Hey, who’s this honey badger?” one asked pointing to the guy who joined them

“Oh, I’m Raymond” he said

Zero didn’t hear the rest of the conversation and could only focus on messing with her noodles before she felt a sudden urge to go throw up and ran to the bathroom. Everyone watched as she ran before One finished talking to Raymond and Five and Two went over to where she was. She knew she wasn’t pregnant because they had still been safe the few times they’ve had sex, but she couldn’t think of another reason why she would throw up everything she’s had in the past 24 hours. When Two and Five entered, they found her sitting down next to the toilet, already sweat covering her face. Zero saw the two women and got up and walked over to the sink and began to wash her face. She knew what they were going to say and she shook her head as Five rubbed her back. Crouched over the sink for a couple more minutes, she took a few deep breaths before she was ready to head back out. The guys all looked over to Zero when she walked back and went to her spot next to Four. They looked over to the two other women who shrugged as if they didn’t know anything that was happening. 

Nighttime came and everyone was ready for the mission. They all felt some sort of anxiety inside of them but pushed it away knowing that they weren’t going to mess up this time. Smoothing down her dress one more time, Zero left the room with Five as they were ready. She felt a little better from earlier that day, but Five still demanded a test when they were done. She felt like she was like an older sister to her, the one who made sure she was okay whether it be mentally or physically. They all had to take separate cars to get to the building while Seven, Four, and One went off to different locations near the area. Four nodded when Zero gave him asking if he had his earpiece that differed from the others.

As they entered the building, they noticed there weren't that many people in the lobby besides a few guards and a couple of businessmen. Five and Zero sat down far from each other so they didn’t raise any suspicion while Five began to read a magazine and Zero pretended to do work on her laptop so she could make sure they weren’t being caught on any cameras and diverged them. 

“How’s it looking down there?” Zero mumbled 

“Well seems quiet. Four looks afraid.”

“I’m not afraid.” four snapped back glaring at one

“Well good luck.”

“Saying good luck is bad luck”

“I take it back then”

“Taking it back is even worse luck.” Four told One as he started to get annoyed and told him to leave

“It’s time for you to go now if you want to make it.”

“Go, go, go, go, go. Good luck” One said at the same time as Zero

“Do you want me to die? wanker.” 

“Did you kiss your mother with that mouth?” seven joked

Five looked up at Zero and she nodded 

“It’s time.” she said as they heard the sound of an engine roaring meaning that Two and Three have arrived.

“This is great, One. it’s a little scary up here but it’s fine.” Seven said as One started to move the bridge

“Nah, this is the fun part. Don’t be a pussy Seven.” Four said

“Not all of us aren’t scared of heights.”

“Yeah, I got the gun, smartass. Remember that.” Seven joked as Five and Zero smiled 

“One, you’re going to fast, you need to slow it down a bit.” Zero told him discreetly. She began to feel her anxiety set in as she started to tap her finger on her computer. Five looked up and saw what she was doing before getting worried again. Zero shook her and only gave her signal by showing the number four meaning she was worried for him. Five nodded and understood but still kept their eyes on her as they both put on their gas masks while Zero packed up and Five got up to go ready the gas.

“You know, laughter is life. Just kidding. I stole that from my old dentist’s office. Along with a shit ton of nitrous.” she said as Two and Three got ready

“One, laughing gas is working. Fuck.” Zero said as she saw a manager she thought, get to the phone and call the police before disconnecting the signals as Five went over to knock him out

“Zero, were cops called?!” She yelled to her

“Cops?” One asked

“I blocked all signals to avoid phone calls so they wouldn’t get through! They must’ve had an emergency that didn’t require one. We have 13 minutes. FUCK!” Zero yelled packing all of her stuff up

“Zip lines secured.”

“Zero, there’s movement everywhere. Four of them at the rooftop.” Seven said as Four tried to look for an escape plan

“Four i’m sorry but you’re going to have to go into the pool.” Zero said as she saw there wasn’t a way out until they all left. Four got in and slowly moved angles to make sure he wasn’t seen 

“You got targets coming. Eye level” One told him as Four saw and went underwater. Zero was listening and she didn’t know whether or not how long he would be there as she switched to their walkies

“Four? Four? Can you hear me?” she asked nervously hoping he would respond soon until seven spoke up saying that he needed to be underwater for thirty seconds which made her worry more.  She knew he wasn’t going to be able to hold his breath long after he said he’s had trouble doing it underwater. Zero looked at her watch and saw that thirty seconds have passed so far and that he still hasn’t responded.

“Four freeze. He’s right above you.” One told him

“For fucks sake, One. He’s going to drown. Seven do something.” Zero said as she started to pace.

“Seven, don’t do anything. The mission will be compromised.”

“One, let me drop ‘em. This is what I do.” Seven told him back

“One, he has been under for 120 now. Four, go to the glass and Seven shoot the glass” Zero told him not caring about what One thought.

“Gotcha. Four, move right.” Seven said as he shot the glass and gave him some air to breathe as Zero calmed down as Three began to flirt with Two forgetting that they had mics

“It’s a little over the top, guys.” One said trying to get him to focus as they found out Three was on laughing gas.

At this point Zero and Five were in the car waiting for the rest of them to finish so they could get out and leave with Murat. Zero saw that Four was finally on the side of the building setting up some traps to get inside. She was going to talk to him privately before One interrupted her and began to ask him stupid questions. 

“Is it fun up there? Doing all right?” 

“Anyone ever asked you dumb questions when you’re 90 stories up?” 

“No need to climb angry Tarzan.”

“Mate, you’re really ruining my flow right now, you know that?”

“Just get the high intensity speakers placed. Targets are all grouped in the kitchen.” Seven interrupted

“Have you guys ever… you ever been to an American movie theater? Between 1983 and 2015?” One asked all of them

“Almost every weekend with my family since I was a kid before this shit.” Zero said

“No need to be aggressive” 

“No, I just pirate them on my phone.” Four answered

“That’s just an asshole move.” one told him. “Get ready to pull those triggers everyone” 

As soon as he pressed the button, the familiar tone of the THX noise went blasting as Two and three started to shoot while Four went to go get Murat. So far everything was going smoothly and they hadn’t had any interruptions up until three decided to pick up another guys gun causing Seven to shoot him in the mask. Thankfully, it’s bulletproof.

“This is going great. Everything is just fine.” One said

“You guys have to get out quick. There are more guys headed towards you. Four, you need to go now, head to One. we have a minute left”

More and more guys continued to come towards them as they tried to leave making it harder for them to get Murat out of the building and across the other. All that was heard was gunshots and glass crashing before sirens were heard and police arrived. Five and Zero had managed to get out and pretend they were innocent as One started to scale another bridge commenting on the height.

“We’re out of time and you guys are fucking around up there?”

“We’re stuck in the stairwell, Zero, is there anyway down?”

“No. this place is already full of police. Your only other option is the zipline.”

“Guys. i have a bad idea.”

“What do you mean “bad idea”?” no, you’re supposed to have good ideas.” one told seven

“Like, a really bad idea. One, remember when i said some shit was going to go bad? This is that shit. You guys might want to grab onto something.” Seven told them shooting the pool caused it to spill into the penthouse and ruin everything and almost drowning the team while Zero and Five got a car for them to drive away in as they soon got down.

“Oh how I miss therapy. My therapist would’ve loved hearing a story like this.” Zero said as she looked around hoping to find someone on the team until she heard his voice

“Three bullets. That’s all i have” 

“Four, come on. We’re moving.” One told him

“ Just go. I’m not going to make it. They cut the zip line.” he said as the color from Zero’s face drained causing her to speak up

“Four. you can get out i found-”

“No. it’s just bad luck. It happens.” 

Everyone except for Four had made it to the elevator to get down and get into the car with Murat in the back and Three driving while four was trying his best to escape. Zero was looking for ways he could escape while talking to him and telling him where to go.

“Four, listen to me. Please don’t do this your way. I’m telling you a safer way.”

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m coming. What did I promise you? I promised you that we were in this together and i won’t let anything happen.” he said before getting cut off by a gunshot near him as she looked up to find hi running across the construction site as the rest of the team came

“What is this?” one asked

“Three blew the budget on the Ferrari. This is the best we could do.”

“Oh god. We are not having a good night.” One said as they all got in now waiting for Four.

 A few minutes passed with three driving until a guy landed on them and three running him over as police chased them and cornered him. Zero couldn’t focus as to the conversation that was happening and only focusing on him getting out alive. She looked out the window to see that there was no way out for Four as he hid to avoid the railings that were failing and almost killing them.

“I made it across. Southwest side. Where are you guys? NO!” they all heard in their coms until he yelled and got hit by the huge dude and fell out the window onto a panel 

“Stop the car.” Seven said 

“Don’t stop the car. We’re leaving him” one retorted back

“One. please. Three, stop the fucking car.” Zero exclaimed on the verge of tears knowing what was going to happen

“He’s on his own.”

“Stop the car.”

“Don’t stop the car.” everyone yelled at once until zero, one, and seven all put out a gun to point at three on whether on he should stop the car or not, which he did

“I’m sorry. She cocked it on me first.” Three told one as zero looked over at Seven

“I’m not doing this again. I’m going to see another person I love die as I sit and do nothing. Seven?” she said as he nodded and got out of the car

“He’s in the net up there.”

Seven set up his sniper against the car and began to aim. Zero started to pace back and forth again debating on whether she should contact him. One couldn’t believe what was happening. Even after their talk, she still went around and went with him. She knew she would have another talk, but she couldn’t see another person she loves die right in front of her eyes.

“Four, we’re coming to get you. You’re going to be fine. You’re going to be okay.” she said as four got caught up in the net as he started to get choked. She started to bite her nails as Seven shot the guy. 

“Carvers.” was all he said.

“Cleavers.”  one finished

Four came down to where they all were and Zero jumped right at him giving him the tightest hug she could. All he could do was return the favor and put his face into her neck wanting to cry after thinking he was going to die. 

The ride back was quiet. Four and Zero sat next to each other holding hands as she had her head on his shoulder and One glared at them through the mirror knowing that they broke his rules. He was also mad at Seven for doing what he did, but he understood that he couldn’t leave another man behind. No one didn’t even make a noise, unless it was Murat telling them it was a bad idea with what they just did. 

When they got back to where they were staying, everyone went to their own rooms, except for Four and Zero, hoping that One didn’t see them. As soon as the door closed, Four fell to the floor and broke down. She sat next to him and began to hold him as he just cried and let go everything he has been holding since he almost died. She began to caress him, whispering in his ear that he was safe and he wasn’t going to get hurt anymore before taking his hand and holding it, kissing his tattooed knuckles. They stayed like that for a few more minutes until they decided they needed to sleep. As soon as his head hit the pillow, he was knocked out and Zero held him, assuring him that he was safe and couldn’t get hurt anymore as he became less tense.

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[katehuntington]

Title: In Bad Waters - part nine Word count: ±3300 words Episode summary: Still in possession of the Winchesters’ belongings, Zoë meets up with the hunters on her next case. When it turns out to be a little more complicated than anticipated, she accepts their help in order to make an important deadline. Part nine summary: After splitting up, each hunter has their own part to play in order to solve the case. But when Sam has a vision, things go south real quick. Episode warnings: Dark! NSFW, 18+ only! Descriptions of domestic violence/child abuse. Drug use/addiction. Angst, gore, violence, character death. Description of blood, injury and medical procedures/resuscitation. Swearing, alcoholism. Supernatural creatures/entities, mentions of demon possession. Descriptions of torture and murder, drowning. Illegal/criminal practices. Mentions of nightmares and flashbacks. Author’s note: Beta’d by @winchest09​​​​​​ and @deanwanddamons​​​​​​. Thanks, girls! Gif isn’t mine. If you are the creator or know who made it, please tell me so I can credit you.

Supernatural: The Sullivan Series Masterlist

S1E02 “In Bad Waters” Masterlist

     Bored out of her skull, Zoë flips the page of her newspaper for the third time, pretending to read it. She found a good spot on the terrace of a Pizza Hut restaurant. Traffic drives by on Highway 412 constantly, but from her table she has a clear view of a house on Magnolia Drive. Taylor Dawlson, Laura’s former teacher, lives in the suburban home.

     It’s 14:30 and Zoë has been guarding the Dawlson residence for over an hour now, but nothing has happened so far. She hasn’t had a call from the boys yet either, so she presumes everything is quiet at the Shire place, and Dean is probably talking to doctor Hughes.

     Taylor Dawlson is home, busy maintaining the household while keeping her daughter entertained. The husband, whose name is Jeff, is working the lawn at the moment, a sprinkler system watering the pink magnolias by the white wooden fence. On the table in front of her, next to the slice of pepperoni pizza, Zoë installed her Macbook, which shows some information about the Dawlson family, just so that she knows who she’s dealing with. Taylor is a teacher at the Woodrow Wilson Elementary School, Jeff is into sportswear and merchandise. They’ve been married for seven years  and have a three year old daughter named Lesley. No criminal records on the parents, nothing out of the ordinary. Just a happy family, living in a normal neighborhood, right next to a church. One thing doesn’t show up on her screen, though, and it’s something the huntress knows for a fact; the mother happened to be in one of her flashbacks.

     She lets out a bored sigh and takes another bite of her pizza, but then feels her phone vibrating in her pocket. Quickly, she takes out her Nokia and checks the screen; it’s Sam.      “What’s up?” She yawns.      “Your stake out is that exciting, huh?” Sam responds sarcastically.

     Sam is comfortable in the driver’s seat of the Chevrolet Impala, which he parked across the street of the Shire residence, located on Reynolds Park Road. He has the window rolled down and rests his elbow on the door as he holds his phone to his ear. The streets are almost empty in this neighborhood just outside the downtown area of Paragould. A beautiful house by the lake seems like a fairytale to live in, and yet this place was the setting for violence and abuse for many years.

     “It’s like watching a documentary on snails,” she comments, after which she bites off a piece of pizza.      Sam can hear her chewing food and furrows his brow. “Are you eating again?”      “Dude, you sound like my dietician,” Zoë responds with her mouth full.      Sam chuckles and realizes how stern he must have sounded. “Burgers again?”      “No, I like a bit of variation in my cuisine,” she claims, putting up a snooty voice. “I’m having Italian right now.”      “Let me guess: pizza?”      Zoë laughs. “Pizza Hut to be precise.”

     “How do you do it?” Sam wonders, still chuckling.      “Do what?”      “Eat so much, without… well, you know--” he starts carefully, instantly regretting it. He’s on thin ice.      Zoë can’t help but grin, deciding to mess with him. “- getting big? Are you fucking kidding me, Sam? Someone who had a long term relationship should know this; clothes, weight and age are the forbidden subjects.”      Quickly, Sam sets things straight. “I’m sorry, I just think it’s extraordinary.”      “What? The weirdness of women or the fact that I eat so much?” she jokes.

     Sam chuckles, now that he can detect the trace of mockery in her voice.  “Seriously, though. How can you consume so much food and still look - you know - like you do?”      “Because I kick ass,” she answers, sassy.      Her response might have come out rapidly, for a brief moment there, Zoë analyzed that sentence. Was Sam’s remark a compliment or a flirt? She’s not sure what to think of it, but presumes the flirtation wasn’t intentional, considering he’s clearly still struggling to deal with his ex-girlfriend’s death. And come on, she has given him a pretty hard time; she’s been anything but charming.

     Zoë changes the subject before an awkward silence follows. “How’s it going over there?”      Sam glances through his windshield at the two individuals up at the house. “Nothing out of the ordinary. Mrs. Shire seems to mourn by cleaning up the entire house and her son is sitting by the lake, just staring out over the water,” Sam describes.      “The guy was an asshole, but he was still their family,” she realizes, after which a beep sounds in her ear; she has a different call coming in.       “Gonna put you on hold for a sec, Sam,” she notifies the hunter, and pushes the green button on her phone. “Sullivan.”

     “Doc ain’t talking.”      Dean walks down the stairs of the Arkansas Methodist Medical Center. He unbuttons his blazer and loosens his tie.      Zoë narrows her eyes, even though the recipient on the other end of the line can’t see it. “What do you mean, he isn’t talking?”      “He got all nervous when I started asking questions. There’s no way I can get a word out of his mouth. But he does know something, alright,” Dean explains.

     “Did you try everything?” she checks, questioning Dean’s interrogation skills.      “Well, I didn’t torture him, if that’s what you’re asking. I didn’t tell him the truth either,” he admits.      Zoë realizes it’s a good thing he didn’t reveal his true identity. If Dean starts talking about killer ghosts and the guy freaks out, they might have a serious problem, considering that they are identified as FBI. A call to their chief at the Bureau will ultimately result in a blown cover, which will not make solving any future case any easier.

     “You have the death report, right?” she threatens with a tone.      “Who the fuck do you think I am? Of course I have the death report,” Dean ensures cockily, as he takes out the report from his inside pocket. “Stole it from his file case. Piece of cake.”      Zoë doesn’t bother to compliment him for his deed. “Anything interesting in there?”      “Not really,” Dean presses his phone between his ear and shoulder and leafs through the pages, which contain a lot of medical talk that he doesn’t understand one bit. “It says that Laura Shire was brought in by her father around 11 PM, yada yada. Cause of death…” Dean pauses as he reads the line again and halts. “Didn’t you say that both dear daddy and Van Dyke broke their neck?” he recalls, looking up from the file.      “Yeah.”      “Laura broke hers too. Robert Shire claimed she fell down the stairs.”       Zoë scoffs. “Well that’s complete utter bullshit.”

     “One other thing,” he points out as he continues his way down the street. “Shire wasn’t just a colleague, he was his boss. Guess who the second signature on Laura’s death report belongs to.”      “Shire himself?” she assumes, stunned.      “The one and only.”      “But he’s a family member of the victim, he should have been excluded from the examination!” Zoë exclaims in disbelief.      “That’s why he got Hughes to do the autopsy. All they needed was his signature as Chief of Staff.”      The huntress gets the point now and rolls her eyes skyward. “Which makes the report valid.”      “So, what now?” Dean questions, his current mission having been completed.      “Hughes played a part in this cover up, so he might be her next candidate,” Zoë ponders, glancing at the Dawlson residence, where it’s still quiet. “There is no way you can keep an eye on him in that hospital, is there?”      “We don’t need to. Laura only attacks when her victim is alone, right?” Dean mentions.

     Zoë thinks about that for a second, her mind going over the first two murders. She didn’t notice it before, but he’s right. There were people in the house when Shire and Van Dyke were killed, but never in the same room.      “Now that you mention it. As long as the doc stays amongst people, he’ll be safe. When does he get off?”      “Already checked that; not until 6 PM,” Dean informs.      “Good, so we don’t have to worry about him until six,” she concludes, trying to think of a plan.      “Everything nice and quiet over there?” Dean wonders.      “I’m wasting my time. I’m not sure if Laura would target her anyhow.”      Dean walks into the parking lot of the Kentucky Fried Chicken only blocks away from the hospital. “And Sam?”      “Do I look like a fucking mailman to you? Why don’t you ask him yourself?” she returns annoyed.

     He enters the KFC and takes a look at the menu, even though he always goes for the classic. When Dean ignores her remark, the silence however ignites a reaction from the huntress nonetheless.      “You two had a fight or somethin’?”      “Sort of,” he admits with a mutter.      “Ah, brotherly love. What did you fight about?” Zoë asks nosy.      “That’s none of your business,” Dean returns defensive, stunned by her boldness. “Damn, you’re not curious at all, are you?”      “I’m not curious. I just want to know everything.” She shrugs, her correction sassy. “C’mon, spill it.”

     Dean sighs somewhat agitated. He doesn’t owe her an explanation, but he figures that once she knows, she might stop poking him. He keeps it as short as possible, though. “It was about Dad. Sam and I have different ideas on how to find him.”

     Surprisingly, there’s no smart counter that follows up his words. Instead, Zoë swallows back a mean remark and decides not to respond for their own good. They are finally having a conversation without yelling at each other, and although the fighting doesn’t bother her since she has no interest in becoming friends with the older Winchester, she’d rather keep it civil. Like it or not, she can use their help, so now would not be the best time to counter the hunter.

     Dean breaks the deadly silence. “Still there?”      Zoë clears her throat. “Yeah, sorry. Got distracted.”      “Want some chicken?” he jokes, as if he could teleport it to her place.      She laughs, guessing where he is. “Where are you? KFC?”      “Ahuh,” he confirms, and turns to the guy behind the counter. “One bucket of chicken wings, please.”      “Is that all?” Zoë comments.      “You’re right,” he agrees, looking back at the restaurant worker. “Could you add a Crispy Colonel Sandwich and a coke?”

     He pays for his second lunch of the day and tells the employee to keep the change.      “Did you eat?” Dean asks Zoë, as he walks out to the terrace and settles down in the sun.      She smiles at her phone. Apparently they have found common grounds.      “Yeah, pizza,” she mentions. “Which reminds me, I still have Sam on hold. If you wanna crash some place, feel free to break into my motel room.”      “Alrighty, you didn’t boobytrap it, did ya?” he checks first.      “Unless you’re a demon or a ghost you’re free to waltz in,” Zoë replies, referring to the demon trapping pentagram under the doormat and the salt lines in the windowsills.      “Room number?”      “Seventeen. Don’t break anything.”

     With those words, she disconnected her call with Dean and returns to Sam. “I’m back,” she lets him know.      But there’s not a sound on the other line. He didn’t hang up on her, she can still hear static.      “Sam? You there?”      Then she hears Sam’s voice, but it’s not comforting. A painful moan sounds from the other side of the line.      “Sam, answer me! What’s going on?” Zoë calls out, sensing something is wrong.      Sam groans. “I’m here.”

     He has the palm of his hand pressed against his forehead, eyes shut firmly. He doesn’t know what just happened to him, but a stabbing pain in his head almost knocks him out cold. The images that flashed before his eyes a moment ago remain on display, but he cannot place any of them. Visions in his sleep are one thing, but he has never experienced them during the day before.      “What’s happening?”      He hears Zoë’s voice and presses his Blackberry against his ear. “I - I think I just had a vision.”      Zoë’s eyes grow large. It has started. “What did you see?”      Sam looks up, stunned. By the sound of her words, she experienced this too. “You had one of those while awake?”      “That’s not important right now. What did you see?” she repeats firmly.      Sam thinks back, trying to recover the recollections behind closed eyes. “I saw a house, white woodwork,” he remembers. “A woman inside is terrified, screaming, and I heard a child’s voice, saying ‘You didn’t stop it’.”

     Zoë’s eyes drift from her laptop screen to the house across the street; the Dawlson home has white woodwork. Her eyes widen as she realizes what might be going on.      “It’s Laura. What else did you see, Sam?!” she pressures while getting up so abruptly, that her chair tumbles over.      “A guy mowing the lawn, sprinklers... and a church, right next to the house,” he recalls, concentrating on possible clues.

     Zoë’s runs down the terrace, leaving her Macbook behind on the table. As fast as she can she crosses the street and is barely missed by a car, but she doesn’t have eyes for it. Her eyes are fixated on the front door and she knows; Laura is here.      “Get to Magnolia Drive, now!” she orders Sam, putting away her phone right after.      Adrenaline rushes through her body as she grabs the doorknob, but the door seems to be jammed. She pulls as hard as she can, but there’s no movement whatsoever.

     “Hey! What do you think you are doing?” Jeff Dawlson exclaims at the intruder. He left his lawnmower on the grass and now approaches her with large steps.      “Your wife’s in danger! We need to get inside the house,” she tells the man straight forward.      The facial expression of the tall man changes from mad to worried, his gaze shifting to his home. “Who are you?”      “Jeff, I don’t have time to explain! We need to get in the house!” Zoë cries out, losing her cool.

     She puts her shoulder into it and tries to lift the door from his hinges, but it won’t budge. Frustrated, she looks around for another way in.     Jeff hastens to the back door, but returns soon after, panicking. “I can’t get the back door to open! My daughter is in there too!”      The huntress curses, ramming into the door again. Laura is doing this, she’s shutting them out so that she can work over her victim without being interrupted. It’s amazing how fast this little ten year old developed into the monster she is now. This isn’t a ghost problem anymore, this is a poltergeist.      Without hesitation, Zoë draws her gun from behind her waistband and aims for the kitchen window. She pulls the trigger, but instead of breaking the glass, the shell flings back as if it just hit bullet proof glass.

     “Taylor!” Jeff calls his wife's name, desperately.      But they don’t hear a sound, not even a horrific scream and Zoë wonders if that is a good sign. Not willing to give up, she creates some distance between her and the door and drives her shoulder into the wood again and again, until she feels sore to the bone.      “Goddamnit! Let us in!” she yells, furiously.

     In the meantime, Jeff got his hands on a shovel and starts hitting the windows, but none of them break. While he keeps calling out for his wife and daughter, Zoë hears the roar of a V8 engine coming around the corner. With screeching tires Sam stops the car and jumps out, rushing for the trunk.      Without pausing her efforts to get in, Zoë calls out. “You better have a bright idea, Sam!”      With two loaded shotguns in his hands he runs up the lawn, but stops in his tracks when he glances at the window. “Zoë?”

     She looks over her shoulder and sees the staggered expression on his face, triggering her to back up glances at the second story. In front of the window stands a young girl, but the sight is anything but endearing. This time she isn’t the sad little innocent kid, she looks terrifying. Here eyes seem to have sunken deep into their sockets, blood and bruises cover her pale body. Her head is tilted to the right in an unnatural way, twisted at the base. The image distorts, then she disappears.

     The next moment, they hear the sound of shattering glass. The hunters’ attention is drawn to the kitchen window; Jeff managed to break it. Hastily Zoë rushes for the door, knowing it’s unlocked now and enters the house. Sam is right behind her and hands her the shotgun in the hallway, just in case.      She looks at the gun for a moment. “This isn’t gonna help.”      “Loaded with rock salt,” Sam elaborates.      Her eyes dart to the rifle again, this time appreciating the weapon. She heard of many ways to fight ghosts, but this is a new technique. It must be a Winchester invention, seems like those lumberjacks aren’t that stupid afterall.      “You get their daughter,” she orders.      They split up and when Sam glances into the living room, he sees Jeff's and Taylor’s little girl. She doesn’t seem to realize what is going on, apparently she didn’t hear a thing. The child is playing with her dolls, as her mother told her to.

     While Sam picks up Lesley and takes her outside, Zoë rushes to the second floor. Quickly she climbs the stairs, her shotgun ready to fire. Alert, she scans the corridor; all clear. Knowing Laura might still be inside, she takes a deep breath and busts the door to what she assumes to be one of the bedrooms. What the huntress sees inside makes her stomach turn, even though she has seen her fair share of blood and violence.

     What she feared the most has happened. Laura made her teacher die an even more horrible death than her own. Taylor has collapsed against the wall, her eyes stare at the ground, as if she was unpleasantly surprised by her attacker. But she doesn’t move, she doesn’t flinch; she’s dead. Her arms and neck seem to be broken, a bad head injury that cracked her skull giving Zoë a glimpse of her brain. Blood prints of her head and hands are smeared over the pink wall paper of her daughter’s room. Crimson stains the carpet, the teddy bears on Lesley’s bed, the covers, even the ceiling.      “Damnit, Laura,” Zoë says, breathlessly.

     Footsteps echo from the staircase behind her. She looks back and sees Jeff, running onto the corridor.      “You don’t wanna see this,” she warns, trying to keep him from the doorway.      But as she would have done, he steps inside anyway. As soon as his eye catches the sight of his wife in the state that she is, he freezes. Unable to say anything, unable to move like a deer in headlights, he looks down at her dead body as tears well up in his eyes. Zoë watches him, but she can’t get a word out of her mouth. After she swallows apprehensively, she averts her eyes away from the heart wrenching scene.

     “Taylor…” Jeff whispers as tears run down his face. The cry that follows      gives Zoë chills. “Taylor!”      In a blink of an eye this family’s life has changed forever. The woman Jeff loves dearly, the mother of his child, just got ripped away from them, murdered, and there is nothing he can do to reverse that. Zoë knows the feeling, she knows it way too well. He falls down on his knees in her blood, but he doesn’t hit the floor. He hits rock bottom.

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to like or reblog my work, shoot me a message or buy me coffee (Link to Kofi in bio at the top of the page). 

Read chapter ten here  

#Supernatural: the Sullivan Series #Supernatural series #Dean Winchester series #Sam Winchester series #Dean Winchester x OFC #Sam Winchester x OFC #Dean angst #Sam angst #Dean Winchester #Sam Winchester #Zoë Sullivan #SPN #Supernatural #STSS #1x02 In Bad Waters #Kate Huntington