#DID THEY JUST HIRE HIM to suffer and sweat and take his clothes off for like 10 seconds of the video......

[rpfisfine]

https://youtu.be/fWomfEL9Jrw?si=RvzSSKoXUrBPRGAX

5:15 for Aleksa content 😁

NO WAY......ALEKSA BIG NATURALS........THERE IS GENUINELY NO WAY

[awkwards]

Kinktober Day 5. Aphrodisiac : Pleasurable Test | Overhaul

Day 5: Aphrodisiac

Title: Pleasurable Test

Pairing: Overhaul x F!Reader

Count: 2.2k

Summary: You needed to make ends meet, and so you go to subject yourself to a testing center that will pay. Turns out, you’ve signed yourself up for way more than you expected. You should really read the fine print.

Warnings: Noncon, syringe, aphrodisiac, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, yandere, sadist overhaul

Note: It’s finals week and definitely starting to hit me. Also, thanks for all of the support! If you’d like to be tagged for my kinktober fics, dm me! My inbox is open~

You snarled behind your gag at the man in the lab coat, who was currently coming at you with another needle. When he stepped close, you managed to kick the shot away.

“You can’t even handle one little girl. Pathetic.” A voice you haven’t heard before chides. A man wearing a plague mask and rather large coat with purple feathers stepped in. You could barely see him from where you’re restrained on the operating table. He snaps gloves onto his his, his eyes glaring at the subordinate. “And now that needle is filthy.”

“I’m so sorry sir!” you could see the sweat from the doctor, his face pailing. “She kicked me and it went flying!”

“Begone. I do not wish to hear your excuses.”

“Yes sir.” The guy practically runs from the room.

The man levels his gaze on you, judging.

You quirk an eyebrow at him, challengingly.

You’ve been here for a week. It was supposed to be one test, in which you got paid for. You took it because money was tight and you needed to pay rent. Little did you realize they would keep you kidnapped and subject to their devices because you were the “perfect candidate”.  Your fear has practically been pushed aside by your anger. For a week they’ve been sticking you with needles, running “tests”, keeping you on the edge of functioning. All you had left was your anger and attitude.

“What a nuisance.” The man sighs. His dark eyes scan your barely clothed body.

Quicker than you can move, the man has your legs pinned down, fastened in place just like your arms and neck are. A gasp of shock careens past your lips, silenced by the gag.

“That’s better.” He moves over to the counter where the equipment lays. He turns his back towards you. “Do you know who I am?”

“Well, I assume you’re the one in charge of these monkeys. Do you know who I am?” You bite at him.

“I am Kai Chisaki. You will address me as Overhaul.” He turns slowly, an intense look in his eyes that makes your skin crawl. “I know plenty about you. You are a quirkless individual. Your blood type is AB negative. You’re allergic to penicillin. You’ve lived in this city your whole life. I know you were adopted at the age 5. You had a kidney transplant at the age 12.”

“Your parents were brutally murdered when you were in high school by a villain attack. I know that the villain attack was actually a target for your father’s brother because he made some bad deals with the yakuza.” He grabs a needle and begins to mix a mystery pink liquid into it. You’re shaking by now. How does he know so much?  “You dropped out of high school quickly after, and less than two years later sold most of your adoptive parent’s belongings, and then the house.”

Overhaul takes deliberate and slow steps towards you, tapping the air bubbles out of the needle. “You moved into a seedy little apartment in the middle of town. You work at a small bar across from the noodle shop in the bad part of town because it was the only place that would hire you. This month you couldn’t make ends meet so you showed up here.”

A gloved hand drops onto your arm, thumb soothing over the prominent vein of yours. “And most importantly, I know your name isn’t actually Nakaya Kosuke. You, Miss (y/n), have quite the extensive history.”

You jerk hard at hearing your birth name. No one should know! Only your adoptive parents, who as he stated were dead, and the lawyer that erased your identity knew.

You try to speak through the gag, your words hushed.

An amused dark chuckle falls from him. “Oh, my apologies, did you want to speak?”

You nod your head.

His eyebrows raise, as if debating it. Finally, he unties the back of your gag. You spit it out, breathing in deeply. “Careful now, say something I don’t like and I’ll put it back on. Or I’ll remove your tongue.”

“Why am I here?”

He hums. “You are special. Did you know that your blood type is extremely rare?”

You clench your teeth, glaring at this cocky son-of-a-bitch. “I did.”

“Well, fortunately for us, your blood type was exactly what we’ve been looking for in our experiment. It’s extremely hard to come by a willing participant, too.”

“I’m not willing. I signed up for a test. One.”

His chuckle is light, and his eyes are wide with sadistic mirth. “No. You actually signed up until there was one successful test. So far, none of them have been such. It would appear someone didn’t read the fine print.”

Oh. Oh god. Did you really?

“No worries. You will be fully compensated. Well-” His eyes narrow. “If you live.”

Overhaul begins to prep the vein in your arm. “See, quirks are filthy. Those heroes parading around their quirks are but vermin on this earth. Pathetic. But you - no, you’re corrupted like those who roam the streets. Your blood is pure. Your genes are clean. You and I are far more similar than you might think, y/n.“

“What are you going to do to me?” Fear is fully controlling your mouth now. You shiver as he sanitizes the area he plans on injecting you.

“I have reason to believe that your blood will be the perfect capsule to carry my new invention. It’s a device that will remove the quirks of those who come in contact with it.” The look in his eyes turned wild, excited. You shiver. “My parents were ripped away from me, too. Those heroes did nothing to save them. Yet, they parade around the world as if we, the common folk, owe them. Not for long. Now, don’t make too much of a noise; I’d rather not have to remove your tongue.”

The prepped needle’s cap comes off, and the metal slides into your skin. You whimper, looking away as Overhaul begins to press its contents into your bloodstream. As quick as it began, it ended. He wipes away the lone blood drop before pressing a bandaid against you.

“Normally I would never dream of coming so close to an individual. But you are different from the filth filling this world.” Gloved hands grab your chin, turning you to look into his eyes. “You’re pure. Perfect. And I plan on taking full advantage of that, my sweet Y/N.”

Tears burn your eyes, your lip trembling. You finally let your body relax. This time you were truly fucked. He pulls his hand away, throwing away the needle tip of the syringe. You watch him walk away, back to the counter where he removes his gloves and washes his hands and arms.

A warmth began to fill your system. You shoot a concerned look at Overhaul. It was like your body was warming up from the inside out, your blood beginning to boil. A feverish sweat was spreading over every inch of you. “Something’s wrong.” You croak out.

Overhaul turns back to glance at you, sweaty and blushed. A mild look of intrigue covers his face. “Oh?”

“It’s burning me.” You whine.

Your body is completely uncomfortable now. The warmth feels … different. Wrong even.

“Explain to me what is happening.” He dries his hands leisurely, watching you from across the room before putting on a new, clean pair of rubber gloves.

“I’m hot. It feels like my blood is boiling. I -” you whimper as the slightest movement of your head increases the feeling tenfold. “Please make it stop.”

Overhaul takes his time as he walks back over to you. He runs a finger over your pulsepoint. The single touch sends a wave of pleasure crashing through you, a moan following. “How interesting.”

You’re mortified and confused. You wish you could rub your thighs together at the uncomfortable feeling between them.

“I see now. The molecular constructs of those two vials creates an aphrodisiac.”

You pinch your eyes shut as his single digit drags down your arm, over the hospital gown you have. The thin fabric is too much. It feels as if it’s weighing you down and making it that much harder to breathe.

“I suppose I should relieve you. It’ll be the only way to collect your blood at the right molecular compounds,” He muses to himself, talking out loud as if you’re not there.

Overhaul pulls off the glove on his left hand. “If I hadn’t reassembled you already, I would let you suffer until the side effects wear off. But, because of me, you really are clean. You should thank me.”

Not knowing what to say, you watch the man through your watery tears. He presses his bare hand on your stomach. If you weren’t being restrained, you would have arched into his hand, moaning loud as pleasure floods your core.

When he removes his hand, your whole body shivers as air nips your bare skin. How? “Wh-what?”

He chuckles. “My quirk.”

You watch as Overhaul steps around your pinned body, coming close to your wet sex.

“What a mess you’ve made. Disgusting.” Despite his words, he runs his gloved hand up your right leg, stopping at the stop below your belly button. You can feel your walls flutter.

A choked out “Please,” tumbles from your lips. You’re so turned on it hurts. Your brain can’t think straight anymore.

You moan loudly as a single finger strokes your dripping lips. You roll your hips as best as you can to get more friction. He lets out a proper laugh at your discomfort, sliding his single digit past your folds.

“So needy. What would you do without me? If I wasn’t here to relieve you?”

Your walls flutter around his digit as he runs his finger against your inside. The burning in your blood only seems to increase at the slight relief. “Please, Overhaul please!”

At your pitiful begging, he slides another finger in, stretching your walls. He works the two digits in a slow and methodical pace, scissoring you. You whine and cry, grinding your hips into his fingers. When he curls the two fingers and strokes the spongy spot inside you, a coil snaps, and you cum hard around him.

He doesn’t stop, continuing to pump his fingers inside you. You moan as you come down from your high.

The heat inside dims for the barest of moments before firing back up with a vengeance.

“Did that make you feel better?” He mocks, putting more force behind his motions.

You gasp as the coil of pleasure begins again. “It hurts! I need more, please!”

“Patience, little one. You’ll get your release. Soon, you’ll be begging me to stop.”

As if to prove his point, he uses his thumb to stroke your clit hard. Your walls flutter and drip around his gloved fingers as you feel yourself close to the crest again. “Oh - Oh, oh please!” You wail.

“Cum again, pet.”

You do. Your walls spasm as you tip over, shaking in your restraints as a sigh leaves you.

He doesn’t stop. The fire inside is rapidly dwindling, and you flinch at the touch.

“Oh, are you sensitive already?” He muses. “It won’t last long.”

True to your words, the fire picks up again. You sob as his touch hurts. It hurts yet is relieving you too. Tears stream down your face as you’re overstimulated, but the heat is still there.

“It's almost over. Hold on just a bit longer.”

Overhaul fingers you faster, making the coil of pleasure twist quicker and harder than the last two orgasms. You sob as you near the edge again.

“Last one. Give me one more. Cum over my fingers.”

“I can’t!” You cry out, rocking your hips into his fingers despite what you say.

“You can. And you will.” You can hear the squelching as his fingers target your g-spot, his thumb rolling your clit hard. “Cum again y/n.”

A scream rips from your throat as you’re forced over the edge of another orgasm. Your entire body tenses, and white fills your eyes. Overhaul drags his fingers out of you slowly, making you wince from the overstimulation. He tears the glove covered in cum off of his hand before sliding a new set on.

Panting hard, you come down again, body relaxing. Your blood no longer feels like you’re being boiled alive.

You flinch as a syringe is forced into your arm, and watch in sick curiosity as he draws blood from you. Even the touch of the needle makes you quiver, your entire body too sensitive for touch.

“Shh, it’ll be okay. You did so well.”

You moan, shaking as he places a bandage over your skin again. Your head swims as black dots at the edge of your vision.

You look up at him, and can tell even from behind his mask that he’s smiling. “I’ll be back tomorrow. Rest well, pet.”

Tag list:

@ofthedewthesunlight​ 

[archived-zombbean]

Yoooo do you have a post somewhere about your Gotham sona's info?

I have an official post on my RP blog but I can put it here! (I'm debating on removing the tattoos on the ref sheet tbh, but I'm not sure yet X'D)

Name: Sona Bean Xueen

Height: 5'0

Weight: 200lbs

Blood Type: B+

Education: Associates Degree

Which Batman Verse is she from?

My own universe called "Death's Child" I take a mixture of my favorite versions of Batman villains, and heroes and mix them.

Relationships:

Victor Zsasz (Sexual and Romantic)

Edward Nygma (Sexual and Romantic)

Jonathan Crane (Romantic)

Oswald Cobblepot (Friend)

Harley Quinn (Friend)

Waylon Jones (Friend)

Jervis Tetch (Friend)

Harvey Dent (Friend)

Victor Fries (Familial)

Pamela Isley (Friend)

Jim Gordon (Very rocky friendship; He would jail her if given the chance.)

Background:

Sona grew up in normal comfort for the first ten years of her life. The daughter of a low tier mafia henchmen, who ran a red light district building by the name of the "Bucking Bronco" where anyone could get their rocks off for the night, for a price. Her father was a man by the name of Jeorge King.

She was spoiled rotten, but never seemed to quite understand that she was. Clothes, toys, treats, and the like were given to her freely, even by men and women her father worked with. She was happy.

However, one day it all changed. She became ill.

Everyone at birth is scanned in this universe. When you are, it's determined what insurances will cover you, what surgery will be allowed to you, and how expensive treatment costs would be. Sona had contracted an easily curable illness, however her scans at birth showed that she stood a 5% chance of contracting said illness. Treatment was expensive, her father's insurance wouldn't cover the cost, and he began to seek out ways to get money to cover it.

This was the first step into a dark era.

Her father began stealing money behind his boss's back, trying to hit up places that wasn't on the list, and even began selling drugs and illegal weaponry to rival gangs.

One night when Sona was asleep, she awoke to gunshots in her living room. Scared the, now thirteen year old, girl walked down the hall and into the room to see three men in black over her fathers body, a bullet through his head. She held in her scream, her voice a whimper between her fingers. But their ears were sharp, and their voices like venom.

"Hey there little girl," one purred, advancing on the young girl who could only cry, "It's okay... I'm not gonna hurt you... okay well, that's a lie... you see your father's been very, very naughty~ Which means you have just as much to pay for as he does, you know? No hard feelings~"

That night the screams that ebbed from her lips were muffled by the rough assault of her intruders. It ended with a bullet to her gut, in hopes she would suffer as a final 'fuck you' to the King line.

As she lay in a mess of blood, sweat and tears, she choked back her whimpers. It wasn't fair. None of it was fair!

She got up, shaking on her hands and knees, crawling over to her father's corpse. She shook him, desperately trying to wake him, but to no avail. She shook harder.

"Please! Please.... dad, wake up! Please.... I... I need you... I can't.... I can't breath..." she felt blood in the back of her throat, but she refused to die. She had to live. She had to!

The memory is a blur, but that day she was rescued by a young man. A police officer of all things. Peter Gordon. She was alone. She had a decent amount of wealth left behind by her father, an inheritance of sorts. she had to change her name. Leave the old behind. They'd find her if she didn't. So she changed her name to Xueen.

It took six months to repair the damage. She was told she would never be able to have children, but it didn't seem to phase her. She didn't care about starting a family. To hell with what little future she had left. What she craved was revenge.

Revenge came on her 16th birthday. After a few years of underground training, paying hired guns to teach her to use high caliber weapons, and pistols, she finally shot her shot. The men that raided her family home and murdered her father died at her hands. She shot out their knees, broke elbows with sledge hammers, gutted one and slung his entrails over another, she pulled eyes from their sockets, used adrenaline to keep them alive for 48 hours. When the screams finally faded, she sobbed. She finally killed the people that murdered her father.

She had no purpose. She was still going to die. It was just a matter of how long it would take until she died.

But a thought occurred. Those three were just following orders. They were just pawns on a much larger board. There was still a king to overthrow. Her hands clenched into fists, and a snarl laced her lips. There was more to do. She had nothing to lose. Death was already at her doorstep, might as well greet him with an open hand.

She no longer feared death.

Sona invested in stocks which only served to increase her wealth, but by this point her illness had progressed to the point of no recovery. If she'd just gotten the treatment as a child, it wouldn't have progressed this far. She was eighteen.

She hired her own group of thugs, her own gang beginning to form. But they weren't quite up to snuff. She needed someone with more experience in killing... someone who wouldn't hesitate. Someone who would be loyal, and follow her every command. She was getting sicker. She needed someone to be her weapon when she was unable to lift one herself.

A few weeks later she hears of a serial killer. Very proficient. Very lethal. He's taken out a few of her men already, so she dared to see just whom this man was.

And it was then she came face to face with the mass murderer himself. A man decorated in scars along his arms and chest, a sadistic smile trailing over his lips. His eyes had a murderous lust to them, but she could only smile back. He was perfect.

"Hello there, my name is Sona Xueen. Did you know you've been causing me a lot of trouble lately?" she hummed, resting a hand on her chin.

The man advanced slowly his curiosity piqued. Why wasn't she afraid of him? Why wasn't she running?

"Hmm..." he looked her over, a glimmer of a knife in his hand, "Aren't you cute~ what would bring a vulnerable, sweet, young woman all teh way out here~?"

She grinned even wider, "I have a proposition for you... you work for me, you get paid, and you get to kill more than just junkies and my men for a living... work for me and you'll never have to live in filth again! You'll be able to live out any perverted violent fantasy you set your sights on!"

He paused, glancing over the other, then at the knife. After a long train of thought he tossed the knife to the side.

"What'cha got in mind boss?" he chuckled, a dark tone to his voice.

"How does targeting corporate heads sound? They've been very, very naughty, and I think it's about time we send those pig headed shits packing," she smirked.

The other's eyes widened, "A challenge~? I like it!"

"What's your name?"

"Victor. Victor Zsasz,"

She was twenty one.

She now stands at the epiphany of her career. There are ten corporate heads that need to roll, and five have already crumbled. There are five left to snuff out. She grins at the thought. The thought that her revenge will not only satisfy the violent lust in her stomach, but that there will never be children that are forced to go through what she had. Parents will never have to suffer losing their children. Parents will never be forced to resort to extreme measures to ensure their safety and well being. People won't have to die over a system designed to kill them.

She coughs. Her chest hurts. A pain shoots through her entire body. She's surprised she's lived this long. Perhaps it's spite? Or anger? Perhaps it's her wanting to live just a bit longer so she can spend time with the friends she's made along the way.

She feels a hand on her shoulder as she's lifted into a strong pair of arms. It's Victor. He wears a goofy smile as he always does around her. She lets out a satisfied sigh. For now everything is okay. For now everything is normal. One day she'll die. One day Victor will make sure that he's the one to do it. He's vowed. He's promised.

She's somehow made it to thirty.

That's basically everything I have on her so far! I have a few comics planned to go into detail of her relationships with some of the rouges she's closer to. Like Victor as her lover and weapon, Riddler as her informant and occasional sex partner, Mr. Freeze as her father figure, Penguin as a very dear close friend, and her strange friendship with Jim Gordon because of his father saving her life. There's a lot of puzzle pieces I'd rather fill in with art and pictures rather than story format, but I hope you enjoy her lore!

[mldrgrl]

Broken Things 14/24

by: mldrgrl Rating: varies by chapter, rated R overall See Chapter 1 for summary and notes

Sleep eludes him.  He’s up most of the night punching his pillows as though they’re to blame for his insomnia or he’s pacing around his room.  Several times he opens his door and stares at Katherine’s room, wondering if he should knock and apologize or burst in unannounced and demand an explanation.

It’s not quite dawn when he finally gets dressed and hitches a couple horses to the wagon, grabs an axe, and drives over to the wooded area along the creek.  He’s chopping away as the sun rises, already dripping sweat when he hears the faint cry of the rooster in the distance.  He can smell the smoke from the cookstove from where he is.

After two trees have fallen, he needs to take a break to drink some water and have a bit of the jerky and biscuits he’s brought with him for breakfast.  When he sees Melvin riding out towards him a bit later, he takes a final dipper of water from the bucket he filled before he left and picks up the axe again.

“Them trees aggravatin’ you this morning, or what?” Melvin asks, dismounting from Faithful Jenny and leading her over beside the wagon.

“We’ll need them for the new corral,” he answers, never taking a break in his swings.  “Thought I’d get a head start.”

“You want some help on it?”

“Nope.”

“You know I’m not aimin’ to get in the middle of things-”

“Then, don’t,” Mulder interrupts.  He stops chopping at the tree he’s on and gives it a firm kick.  The bottom tilts and cracks at a sharp angle, but doesn’t quite break.  He kicks it again, but it doesn’t budge this time.  So, he kicks it again.  And again.  And once more.

Mulder stops and drops the axe.  He bends over with his hands on his knees, breathing hard.  He takes one glove off and pulls out a handkerchief from his pocket which he uses to wipe his brow.  It’s one that Katherine has monogrammed for him with her pretty little stitches.  She gave it to him only a few days after settling in, telling him it wasn’t much, but it was something she could do to express her gratitude.

“What’d she tell you?” Mulder asks.

“Katherine?  She didn’t tell me nothin’, though it’s not hard to tell she’s upset by something.  And with you here hackin’ away at them trees, it don’t make it less obvious.”

“I’ve seen to it that she doesn’t want for anything, you know.  I...I took her away from that godforesaken sod house, I gave her clothes and a room and a job to do and...and I’ve been kind, haven’t I?”

“Sure you have.”

“We were having a perfectly pleasant conversation on the porch last night and suddenly it just went all sideways and then she’s throwing around accusations like I think our marriage is a farce.”

“She said that?”

“Amongst other things, yes she did.”

“Well, I guess that is reason enough to come out here and take your frustrations out on them trees.”

“What else should I be doing?  Talking in circles with my fictitious bride so she can hurl more baseless accusations at me?”

“If they’re baseless, why are you in such a tizzy?”

“Because they’re obviously not baseless to her, otherwise why else would she say that?”

“Hm.”  Melvin strokes his beard into a point at his chin.  “Womenfolk sure are complicated, that’s for sure.”

“You can say that again.”

“Did you ask her how she come by that notion about the marriage, or did you forget how to articulate?”

“Of course I asked her and all I got was some vague implication that I was somehow disrespecting her by hiring a surveyor to come out and make plans on the expansion.  It’s not like she wasn’t aware that was the plan all along.  You’d have thought it was a total surprise, the way she reacted.”

“When I was gettin’ hitched to Eliza, my Mama told me that the best advice she could give anyone startin’ out was not to let the sun go down on your anger.”

Mulder picks up his axe again and shakes his head.  “Little late for that,” he says, choosing his next tree to fell.  “The sun was already down anyhow.”

“You know you can be a real horse’s behind sometimes.”

“I am aware.”  Mulder starts chopping again, swinging the axe at a cedar sapling.

“Alright, I’ll leave you be then.”  Melvin hoists himself up into the saddle on Faithful Jenny’s back and turns the horse to home.  He stops and turns back, passing the wagon so he’s closer to where Mulder is chopping, but still at a safe distance.  “If’n you aim to prove her wrong about your marriage, it may be best not to let her stay in her misery for too long.”

“She has nothing to be miserable about.  I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Well, apologies don’t have to mean you were wrong, they could just mean you’re sorry for the hurtin’.  You’re forgettin’ already what she’s been through.”

“I have not forgotten.”  Mulder shoulders his axe and glares at Melvin.  “Should I expect you’ll be taking her side of things from now on?”

“I’m not takin’ any sides.  Just remindin’ you that you’re the one brung her here.”

“And that means I need to shoulder the blame for every argument we have from here to kingdom come?”

“Tarnation you must have about the thickest skull in the entire state of Texas.  No, it doesn’t mean you’re to blame for everything, it just means that you’re the one that’s plum fool enough to marry a lady you don’t hardly know from Adam except she’s been dealt a sorry hand and then you want to go get all high and mighty about what you done like you deserve a dadgum medal of honor.  Either you wanted to help her because of the goodness in your heart or you wanted a nice pat on the back.  Which is it?”

“I wasn’t looking for any commendations.”

“Well, good, ‘cause folks might get an idea then of your marriage bein’ a farce or somethin’ like it.”

Melvin turns Faithful Jenny away from Mulder and clicks at her to ride away.  Mulder scowls at his back.  He doesn’t know why he’s being treated so harshly and unfairly all of a sudden.  He’s turned his conversation with Katherine over and over again in his mind and he can’t find the logic in her being so upset.  The only thing he knows is that he will clear this whole damned creek of trees before he apologizes for something when he doesn’t even know what he’s done wrong.

↭

When Mulder doesn’t come to breakfast, Katherine feels almost sick about it.  She doesn’t eat, just serves the boys their meal and pretends she has too much to do to sit down that morning.  She’s sure they won’t notice anyhow, they’re always distracted with planning for the day most of the time.  They don’t even seem to be concerned that Mulder isn’t there.  Melvin is the only one that looks at her like he knows something isn’t quite right.

When Mulder doesn’t come to noon dinner, Katherine feels a bit exasperated.  She knows by then that he’s been by the creek all morning taking down trees.  While she once preferred her late husband’s habit of disappearing for long lengths of time after an argument, she can’t say it feels the same to have Mulder do the same.

She’s so lost in her own thoughts that it takes her some time to realize that Melvin is washing up the dinner dishes.  She jumps up from the table, mortified to have let that happen.  Melvin waves her away.

“Go on, finish your dinner,” he says.  “You didn’t hardly eat your breakfast, if at all.  Let me do this.  You can dry if’n you want.”

“I guess I’m just not very hungry today,” she answers.

“Well, I suppose I don’t got much of an appetite either when I got things weighin’ on my mind.”

She worries the wedding ring on her finger.  It hasn’t escaped her that this has already become a nervous habit so quickly.  To make better use of her hands, she grabs a dishrag and starts drying what Melvin has washed.

“We argued last night,” she says.  “I suppose Mulder told you that?”

“He mentioned there was a disagreement of some kind.  You may have already figured this out for yourself, but he can be as stubborn as an old goat sometimes.”

“Does he always do this?  Avoid problems this way?”

“I haven’t known him to, but then again horse problems and lady problems aren’t really the same.”

“Should I bring dinner down to him, do you think?”

“I think he might appreciate that.  If’n you think he’s stewed long enough with his thoughts.”

“I don’t know about him, but I think I’ve stewed long enough with mine.”

“Then you go ahead and do what you think is right.”

“I’ll pack something up right now.”

“Leave that dishrag with me so’s I can finish up here.”

Katherine drapes the dishrag over Melvin’s shoulder and starts to pack up some dinner to take to Mulder.  She’s wrapping biscuits when there’s whistling and hollering outside.  Melvin looks up and peers out of the small, square window above the wash basin.

“What is it?” she asks.

“Lord almighty,” he mutters, flinging water and soap suds from his hands as he turns and rushes to the door.

“Another panther?” she asks, following at his heels.  “Should I get the gun?”

“Looks like there’s been an accident.”

“An accident?”

Katherine is out the door faster than Melvin, lifting her skirts as she runs across the ranch to where the men are shouting and the horses and wagon that Mulder had taken down to the creek are standing.

“What is it!?” she shouts.  “What happened!?”

“He come rolling up just now and keeled over,” Jimmy says.  “Felled right off the wagon.”

Katherine drops to her knees in the dirt where Mulder lays and immediately begins assessing his condition.  His face is sunburnt, his skin is dry, his pulse is racing.  She runs her hands over his head and finds a bit of a lump at the left side, but he’s not bleeding.  His left shoulder is twisted under him at an unnatural angle.  She looks up at the men standing over them.

“Should I run and fetch the doc?” Jimmy asks.

“His shoulder looks to be dislocated,” she says.  “Which I can set back into place.  And I believe he is suffering sunstroke.”  She makes some quick determinations in her head about who can help best in what areas.  “Melvin, go and fetch the doctor.  Trevor, I’d like you to go in and start pumping water into the washtub.  No need to light the furnace, we need it to be cool.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Trevor answers and runs off.

“Richard, can you find me some clean rags?  Tear up some of the bedding I just washed if you have to.”

The other men leave quickly and it’s just Jesse, squatting low at Mulder’s feet and Jimmy hovering over her.

“I need you two to help me turn him onto his back,” she says, getting to her feet and kneeling again at Mulder’s left side.  “Gently.”

Katherine holds onto Mulder’s shoulder and elbow to keep his arm in place as the men slowly roll Mulder onto his back.  He groans softly and coughs once.

“Jimmy, you go down by his feet and just hold his ankles steady.  I think he may already be in shock, but this still may hurt a bit and he might fight against the pain, but it’s best he be still.”

“What’re you gonna do to him?” Jesse asks.

“I’m going to be pulling the shoulder back into place, as gently as I can.  Will you please hold him steady with a hand on his chest and right shoulder?”

When Jesse and Jimmy have their hold on Mulder, Katherine takes a deep breath and then starts to slowly draw Mulder’s arm up in an arc away from his side.  As she pulls it up, she also pumps it softly until she’s reached a straight angle and she stops and looks from one brother to the other.

“Keep hold now,” she says.  They nod their reply.

Katherine raises Mulder’s arm up, making small circles as she lifts from his wrist.  Mulder groans again and he tries to kick his feet, but Jimmy holds steady.  

“You’re alright,” Katherine says to Mulder, still drawing his arm up.  “You’ll feel better in just a bit.”

Only moments later, Katherine feels the shoulder slide back into place and she lowers Mulder’s arm while cupping his elbow, bringing his forearm to rest across his belly.  She feels his pulse again at his neck and shakes her head.  It’s way too fast.  His lips are chapped and white.

“Will you two be able to carry him in if we get him on a sheet?”

“I reckon we sure could,” Jesse says.

“Don’t move him until I come back.”

Katherine races to the house.  She finds Richard at the linen cabinet in the dogtrot, ripping up pillow cases.  She grabs one of the sheets and runs back to Mulder.  When they have the sheet laid out the two men, under Katherine’s instruction, move Mulder onto it with as little jostling as possible.  They lift from the sides per her direction and move swiftly to the house.

The wash room is not a large room, certainly not large enough to hold five people comfortably, especially when one of them is incapacited.  She sends Trevor off to fetch her a glass of water with some salt in it and has Jesse and Jimmy lay out Mulder on the floor and then step away.

Quickly, and with nimble fingers, Katherine first unbuttons the suspenders on Mulder’s trousers.  She then opens up all the buttons on his trousers and moves down to pull his boots and socks off.  She pulls his trousers off and then calls out to Trevor to bring her the scissors from her sewing kit.  When she has the scissors, she cuts Mulder’s shirt in half up from belly to chest so she can pull his right arm free and not have to move the left too much.  With the remains of the shirt, she fashions a sling to hold his left arm.

She leaves his undershirt and drawers in place and then has Jesse and Jimmy lift him, sheet and all, into the washtub. The water doesn’t quite cover him so she pumps a bit more into the tub.  Richard brings her the rags and Trevor brings her the cup of water and the salt tin.

“I just put a pinch of salt in,” Trevor says.  “I don’t know if that was enough.”

“Thank you, that’s just fine.  Will you do me one more favor and get me a spoon and one of the ash buckets?  Just be sure it’s empty.”

“Yes, Ma’am!”  Trevor races out of the room.

Katherine kneels beside the tub and begins to dip the rags into the water and place them behind Mulder’s neck and on his forehead.  She dabs his cheeks and jaw.  Trevor returns with the spoon and the bucket.  Jesse brings her a stool to sit on so she doesn’t have to kneel.

“Is there anything else I can do?” he asks.

“Not at the moment.  I’ll call for you when it’s time to get him out.”

“Alright, we’ll stay close by.”

“Thank you.”

Jesse closes the door behind him and she sits with Mulder, alternating soaking rags and patting his neck and face and spooning him salted water.  His eyes slide open after a bit and roll around.  His pupils are two different sizes, which worries her, and his gaze is a little disoriented.

“Mulder?”

“Where’m I?” he mumbles.

“You’re in the bathing tub.  I think you may have had sunstroke and you fell from the wagon.  Can you tell me how many fingers I’m holding up?”  She holds up three fingers and he blinks and stares at her hand.

“Three?”

“That’s good.  How do you feel?”

“Dizzy.  Cold.  My arm aches.”  He reaches up with his right hand to try to touch his shoulder, but she catches his hand and holds it.

“You dislocated your shoulder, but it’s fine now.  It’ll probably be sore for a few days.”

“I did?”

“I need you to drink a little water, can you do that?”

“Okay.”

Katherine lets go of Mulder’s hand and brings the cup to Mulder’s mouth.  She holds the back of his neck to help him sip, but won’t let him take much yet.

“I’m so thirsty,” he says, trying to bring his lips back to the cup.

“I know, you just need to drink slowly otherwise it might make you sick.”

He finishes the cup of water, slowly, with her help.  She puts the back of her hand to his cheek and then dabs at his face again with a soaked rag.  He lays passively for some time, almost like he’s dreaming, but then he starts to shift and seems to gain more awareness bit by bit.

“You know, if you wanted me in my underthings, all you had to do was ask,” he says suddenly, smiling a little and turning his head towards her.

“I think we can get you out of the tub now.”

[ichorizaki]

gunshot—t.k.

pairing     mafia member!tsukishima kei x assassin!gn!reader

genre     angst. pure angst.

word count     2.1k

warnings     slight gore, torture, blood, guns, shooting, character death, s*icide

a/n    wooo! my first mafia au! hope you guys give it lots of love<3

synopsis     you weren’t supposed to get caught. but you did, and now everything is falling apart.

Tsukishima Kei knew that it was you all along. He knew that it was you who infiltrated the mafia under the guise of a new recruit with the tech department, and yet he fell for you. He knew that it was you. You promised him that you wouldn’t get caught—that you were going to triple-cross instead and turn your back against the network you came from, against your employer who was nothing but a shadow and an auto-tuned voice. He knew that you wanted to come clean, to formally join as a recruit loyal to the mafia and only the mafia, so you could both be together without sneaking around like high school kids anymore.

So why were you on your knees before him, arms bound behind your back with thick rope? Why were you in a torture room meant for infiltrators, trespassers, and traitors? Why were you battered and bruised, wounds fresh and old littering your skin where it was exposed from the tears of your clothes? Why were your knees red as were your right cheek, tears streaming down your face and sweat lining your forehead? Dirt and grime on your shoulders, neck, face?

Why in the absolute fucking hell were you the one he was pointing the barrel of his fully loaded gun to?

“Kei.” Why was his voice so sickening? His voice was so sweet that it revolted him. He was never on the frontline of action. He had always sat back, being part of the team that was the watchful eye or the mastermind behind operations, never once touching his loaded gun. He had sworn to only point his gun when needed. Everyone knew this. Everyone, including Sugawara Koshi himself. “What are you waiting for?” He hummed, blithe in the way he stalked to his side with his hands behind his back.

He was a foot taller than Sugawara, but the man’s presence alone was enough to make someone as tall as he is to cower. Kei clenched his teeth, jaw tense, and never once took his eyes off of you. The thick braided rope was caught in between your teeth, a grimy mix of sweat, blood, tears, and saliva bleeding into the material. You were shaking your head, words muffled.

“Shut the fuck up, you fucking traitor.” Kei didn’t need to look at Sugawara to know that he was glaring at you like you were the scum of the Earth. The way his voice dropped and was fuelled with hatred burning so strongly nearly stunned him into thinking he’d gotten scalded by his words alone. Kei swallowed his saliva. His lips were dry and hot, peeling at the end as he pursed them together once again. “C’mon, Kei. Just pull the trigger. You said you’d never use it unless it was absolutely necessary, right, Kei?”

No. He wanted to shake his head no. This was not a necessity. There could have been another way—there’s always another way. Fuck, he just wanted to get you out alive. He didn’t want you to suffer like this. He didn’t mean for you to get caught. How did you even get caught in the first place? You told him you wouldn’t get caught—you promised him.

“What’s the hold up, Kei?” Never had he hated their leader like this before. All this while, he’s been the one laughing at the sidelines, mocking and taunting these traitors and anyone who thought they were strong enough to take on a whole mafia clan on their own. “That bitch is a traitor. Why are you taking so long? I’ve got a meeting with Oikawa-kun in fifteen minutes.”

Now that it was him in that position, he didn’t know what to say. What could he even say? That he was in love with you? That you both love each other? Love was nothing but a ruse or a bait to Sugawara—a weapon, even, that he liberally uses to get what he wants. Your whimpers and cries, muffled by the rope burning into the skin and edges of your lips, was what caught his attention. His arm was getting tired from holding the heavy gun in your direction. You were merely six feet apart from him. He didn’t even have the strength to place his finger close to the trigger. His index finger hovered over it, the weight of what could have been you and him and a happy ending sitting on his chest like a thundercloud that’s heavier than the world.

The him before meeting you would’ve scoffed at him for even thinking about a happy ending. He knew who he was—or is?—a crime syndicate member with a penchant for helping the community whilst thirsting for the blood of those so-called righteous fuckers. It was the main reason why he joined the Miyagi clan after all, and it was also your reason for being part of a web of networks with assassins and political leaders alike.

“Kei,” he called for him in a sing-song voice. “Why won’t you pull the trigger? Do I need to make Tadashi, do it?”

“No! Fuck, not Yamaguchi.”

“Then what’s the hold up? He’s right outside the door, you know.”

Fuck you, is what he wanted to say. Fuck you, leave me and Y/N be before I lose my shit.

Thorns of guilt wrapped around his throat like a vice when his eyes met yours once again, pleading and begging for him to pull the trigger. Your voice was muffled but he knew what you were chanting over and over again. He just chose to ignore it. He refused to acknowledge that you were begging for him to end it then and there, to end your suffering and his, but he knew damn well that it would be prolonged. He knew all too well that he’d suffer for as long as you were with him, and oh, how he hated himself for coming to terms with that.

“Look, they’re begging for you to shoot them, Kei.”

No.

“It’s just one pull, Kei. That’s all it takes.”

No.

He swallowed his saliva once again. He couldn’t bring himself to pull the trigger. He just couldn’t. Not after spending time with you. Not after learning who you were, not after learning that you were supposed to infiltrate the Miyagi clan to take out Sugawara so that the clan would crumble without one of its three heads and refusing to go through with what you were hired to do because you found out that the clan was actually helping the underprivileged in the state. Not after learning that he loves you.

Kei heard Sugawara’s footsteps walk further from him and towards the door. He heard it click open as he stepped outside, footsteps down the hall and when he was sure that he was no longer there, the poor man sunk to his knees. The tears that he tried so hard to keep at bay spilled down his cheeks, arms going limp as the pistol was placed on the floor, barrel aimed away from you so you wouldn’t get hurt anymore. He couldn’t do it. His shoulders slumped forward, his body shaking and trembling as sobs broke from his dry throat. His hand moved to cover his mouth, lips quivering and glasses fogging from the hot tears when he looked up at you, shaking your head with more tears of your own running down your tear-stained cheeks, mixing with the grime, sweat and blood.

“It’s okay,” you told him. “I’ll be okay, baby.”

He refused to listen to that. No, it wasn’t going to be okay. It wasn’t going to be okay, not when your life was on the line. He found himself shaking his head, refusing to listen to your words as he wiped his tears away with the back of his wrist.

“I love you, Y/N.” He all but croaked it out to you. “I love you so fucking much, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, Y/N, I swear. Fuck, I’m so– I’m so sorry.”

“Kei, I love you too. Please– Please don’t cry.”

At that point, both of you were on your knees, sobbing and wishing things were just the slightest bit different. He couldn’t stop apologizing a thousand times and a little bit more, neither could you stop telling him that you love him and that everything would be okay even though you both knew it wouldn’t be. His mind was filled with too many thoughts running around, looping and tangling with one another until it was one convoluted mess. He couldn’t think. He didn’t even notice Sugawara had returned to the room until he felt someone grab his chin to lift his head.

“Kei,” Sugawara’s voice was but thinly veiled impatience. It sent chills running down his spine as he was forced to watch you. His cold hands were strong and tight on his jaw, ordering him to keep his eyes on you and nowhere else. “Tadashi-kun, if you’d please.”

Wait, what?

Before Kei could even comprehend what was going on, he heard the click of the safety lock before the ear-splitting bang! It all happened too quickly. He tasted gunpowder on his tongue before he heard another shot as your body went limp and fell to the floor in slow motion. There was a ringing in his ears from the glaringly loud shots, but he didn’t care if he’d gone half-deaf.

The second that Sugawara’s hand left his jaw, he rushed to his knees and swiveled around, feeling his heart beat a rhythm he never quite listened to before. It was rash, abrasive, and he found himself grabbing the only person he could truly call his brother by the collar and shoving him against the wall. He was seething, burning, aflame with anger, but he couldn’t bring it upon himself to even say a word to him.

Both their eyes met and he dropped Yamaguchi. He didn’t care about the two remaining men in the room. He rushed to your dead body, a fresh gun wound square in the middle of your forehead with the bullet embedded deep inside. He wanted to cry more, but he couldn’t. Or was he? The tears were falling onto your lifeless face like paint-splattered rain, smudging the blood and dirt.

“That wasn’t so hard now, was it?”

Kei gently pulled you into his arms, holding you for one last time. His hand caressed your face, red staining his hands and smearing your hair where his fingers carded through your locks gently. He was just deathly quiet and he knew that their leader was unnerved by it, as well as his best friend, just that the former was better at hiding it.

“Now, now,” Sugawara sighed. “I better leave now if I don’t want to be late for my meeting with Oikawa-kun. Tadashi-kun, don’t forget to call in the cleaning team to clear the room!” Of course he was so cavalier about it. He didn’t expect any less from the silver-haired leader who led the mafia with an iron fist, the glue that ties the three leaders together so the clan could run as it should.

“Yes, sir.”

Even with your lifeless body he was so careful. He tenderly lifted your body off of his lap, settled you down on the cold cement floor before slowly rising to his feet. He could tell that Yamaguchi’s eyes were on him, watching his every move. He knew he was turbulent; dangerous, even. Yamaguchi knew how much you meant to him. So what in the goddamn fuck did Sugawara offer him to use his stupid skills to take your life?

“You know it’s for the best, K–”

“No the fuck it’s not, Yamaguchi.”

Both of them were staring at each other, a barren stillness in the dead of his golden eyes. It was silent. Neither of them moved a muscle. Kei blinked ever so slowly as his eyes traveled to the gun that sat on the floor where he knelt earlier. It was probably a bad idea. An unamused chuckle left his lips.

“Kei, what are you . . .” Yamaguchi’s voice died in his throat the second he realized that Kei was reaching for the gun. What was he going to do now? If he was going to try and shoot him, he knew that he could easily throw the gun out of his hand. Kei lacked in what he excelled at.

The metal felt so cool and smooth against the roughness of his calloused palm. He let the weight sit on his hand, eyes admiring every detail of the sleek gun. He didn’t even know what model it was. All that he knew was it was for shooting others and it wasn’t in his book to do so regardless of how adequately skilled of a marksman he was. His name was but the ghost of a whisper on Yamaguchi’s lips as he heard the safety click undone, barrel pointed to the side of his head.

What you said was probably true. Things were going to be alright. Things were going to be alright as long as he pulled the trigger.

So he did.

[wychive]

𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜 — 𝙡. 𝙟𝙮. (#𝙝𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙤𝙬𝙚𝙚𝙣𝙖𝙩𝙠𝙛𝙣)

fic type // oneshot — 3.9k

prompt // when an individual is born, their magic aura makes itself present indicating what magic they would be using. very few were born with a dark magic aura and died within their first breaths, you were one of the two recorded births that made it. now you were searching for the other one

pairing(s) // juyeon x gn!reader (pltn.)

genre(s) // PG18 & adventure, fluff, angst

warning(s) // knives, stabbing (in a dream), nightmares, mention of food, depiction of anxiety, description of smells, being drunk, deceased major and minor characters, blood, corpses

author's note // it's finally here! i've been working on this for a few weeks already and that's why it's so late :'( thank you to @omigogames for proof reading this ily queen 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩 this was for @kpopficsnetwork' s halloween event that they held last october <3 please read the rest of the member's works on the event! i recommend listening to wandering and as the world caves in (at the angsty parts) while reading this as it really sets the mood. i hope you enjoy!!

you wiped the drop of sweat off your forehead as you approached the top of a hill. you sat down on the grassy floor and took out a flask still full of drinking water. you downed a quarter of it, feeling your body re energize as you do so. you never thought it would take this long to search for them.

how many months has it been? five? six? you've lost count, having to travel miles across the world just to find the hidden treasure you've been seeking for years. see, you were born with a 'unique' aura. everyone has their own which determines what kind of magic they would be using for the rest of their lives. your family had the common ice or water elementals but you turned out to be the black swan in a ballet full of snowy white ones.

you were born with an aura that was powerful enough to cause a black out, in other words, you had a dark magic aura and somehow managed to survive throughout the years. your mother was no different from the rest but she tried her best to guide you on controlling your powers or even combine your magic powers with hers to make an elemental combo. she died two years before you went on this journey to find the one only other person who successfully survived their own birth of having this magic aura. the only things you knew about them were that they were at least 20 years older and that they were born as a female.

the fact that only you and one other person have this magical ability made you think about them day and night. were you their soulmate? or did they think of you too? were they a kind or evil person? did they ever confuse people like you did? were they affected by society's comments that they're now shut away in some dungeon? you could go on and on for days about this special person even though you haven't met them yet. you were eager to find them, even if it took you years to do so.

as you wondered about the unique person, you stared into the dark abyss with shining dots, not realising your eyelids were shut soon after. that night you dreamt of all the possible outcomes this journey would end, mostly happy endings where you would find the person and be their friend or you get to spend the rest of your life with them. you did not want to think of the sad ones, yet your mind wanted to see you suffer. nightmares were common as they came with your dark powers but you still hated it when they disturb your perfect sleep. with that, you woke up from a nightmare just as the person was about to strike a knife in your chest.

the pain felt so real that as soon as you woke up, your hand clutched onto your chest. luckily (or not so) you heard the uniform paced heartbeat from your eardrums. this caused you so much as you did not even see that the sun was just above the horizon, greeting the earth a good morning. you sighed in relief as you thank the universe for not getting you eaten by a wild animal.

you stood up, stretching your arms and legs after another night of sleeping on a thick cloth. you packed up your things and placed your sturdy backpack on you before starting your trekking journey. you checked your phone for any updates or news of the world that was not so boring as you began to walk south towards a small town. once approaching the main road, you slipped your phone back into your front pocket before following the flow of cars.

a smile appeared on your face, looking at how idle the town was at eight in the morning. it wasn't so noisy as most of the cars had stopped at diners or cafes for a tasty breakfast. the only things you could hear were people greeting each other with a simple 'hello' and the birds that had just been awoken from their slumber.

you checked the amount of money you had left; apparently, it was enough for you to last three days for all three meals and then it was downhill from there. you shook your head, thinking of ways to earn at least a little bit of money before moving to another town (if you needed to). your eyes drifted from the trees to the bakery that was on the opposite side of the road.

you could see the silhouette of a person placing buns in their respective containers. the person was in chef whites, with their sleeves rolled above their elbows. you really didn't want to catch feelings for anyone at the moment, especially in this state of being homeless and short on money. nonetheless, you were hungry and so you decided that you wanted some fresh baked buns on a saturday morning like this.

as you walked into the cozy bakery, you noticed a variety of desserts and buns arranging from croissants to baked pizza buns. the aroma in the air made your stomach growl. you took one of the pick-up trays and a pair of tongs and immediately went for the custard and red bean buns.

"oh my god," a voice exclaimed followed by a bit of coughing. "why do you smell so bad?"

you brought an arm to your nose, smelling yourself. you actually didn't smell half-bad. it only has been a day since you showered properly, how could it be that bad? you rolled your eyes as you looked in the direction of the voice. ah, it was the silhouette from earlier.

"is this how you greet customers?" you shot back, raising one of your eyebrows.

"no, of course not," the person said. "but your stench is unbearable." they scoffed and shook their head, giving a smug expression.

"well, i'll only be here for just a bit. don't worry about it, i'll be out before your regulars arrive," you said, assuring that you WOULD be out before anything else happened.. but you did not. as you didn't expect the prices of food to be that high.

"look at this place," the employee said, leaning his palms against the edge of the counter. "what did you expect?"

he was right, the place looked like it was straight up from a renaissance painting with its mini chandeliers and pink roses on the sides as decorations. it did look like a modern cafe twisted with some hint of the classics.

"is there anything i could do? to pay for this i mean," you asked them, hiding your embarrassment of the lack of money.

"depends… what kind of element do you use?"

"...ice," you lied. no one would want a rare dark element in their place.

"hm.. i guess we could use some ice making help," they thought, then looked back at you who seemed desperate for the job. yes, it would hold you back on a few days but you really needed the money.. and a place to stay if they let you.

"okay, then. you're hired," they said as they lent out a hand for you to shake. it was covered in leftover flour and smelled like yeast. you grabbed his hand and shook it.

"the name's juyeon, and you?"

"y/n… i'm guessing you're a fire user?" you replied. it was obvious as he was cocky, yet a charming fella. you could say a demon in disguise.

"clever, i like that in people," he smirked, his face looked smug and it really pissed you off- but he might be your new manager or boss so you stuck up to it and let out a simple fake chuckle. "any other questions?

"do i get a place to stay along with the job?"

"no but you could stay over at my place," he acknowledged. your eyes dart around the room before they landed on him, as you let out a laugh.

"excuse me?"

"you heard me. i have a spear bed and everything," he said. you were baffled, it seemed like he didn't care if you were a serial killer, plus, he only knew your first name and what 'element' you responded to. what were you going to do?

"fine," you said, already looking forward to the comfort your body was going to feel once you finally sleep on a mattress.

"alright then, let's get to work barista."

as you both get to his apartment, you gazed at your surroundings. everything looked neat, and not a spick of dust were to be seen. you look at the mini hallway in the studio apartment of his and see two doors, opposite of each other and another at the end of it. before you could even step foot in the kitchen, the male pulled you aside. your reflexes almost caused you to punch his stupid face when you remembered that you were just a guest at this comfort place of his.

"rules," he said, in a stern voice. "one, not too much noise between eleven at night to six in the morning. two, don't use too much of the hot water because i'm touched starved too-"

you rolled your eyes at his last remark, acknowledging that it was a cruel true joke. "-three, save some snacks for me if you're planning to eat it all and four, we leave the bakery together and come back together. i'm not sure who your guardian is but, i'll make sure you're in one piece once you return to them"

"i'm my own guardian, excuse you."

"still, your safety is guaranteed when you're with me," juyeon claimed. you thought it was rubbish but still, he had a bigger brother vibe with the way he spoke and so you went with the flow.

"the left one's mine, the last one's the bathroom," he said, referring to the hallway of doors you were staring at. the muffled sound of news reporters from the television drowned itself in the background when you close the door behind you. a smile appeared on your face as you got to have your own room, without juyeon ever bugging you.

you place your heavy army backpack beside the door as you lay on the bed that was neatly made. you smiled, finally having a proper place to sleep. you thank god for the (annoying) co-worker that you met that day. you didn't even have a chance to shower before your thoughts drifted away, causing you to sleep.

the next morning, juyeon woke you up by shouting your name from the kitchen multiple times. you groaned at the sound of his voice at seven in the morning when you were used to waking up at nine. you sat up and started your day from there. thankfully, it wasn't too exhausting.

a morning walk to the cafe bakery was thankfully peaceful with the both of you not being the big social type nor the small talk type. the warm rays of sunlight made your morning so much better. you began working at the bar, where you produced many types of tea and other refreshing drinks. you managed to conjure up ice easily with some tricks your mother taught as a child.

you introduced yourself to the regulars as a new employee at the place and they politely welcomed you to the town and cafe. their smiles were genuine and sweet, they gave off a motherly feel whenever it appeared. yours, too, was genuine. you missed being in a community like this, so dearly that you almost teared up at the sight of a child being kind to you.

the night was better. the walk back to his place was filled with stories about the regulars that juyeon had been told. you had inserted some dull dad jokes here and there, making him let out a chuckle at least once.

once you both arrived at the apartment, you immediately went to get your shower supplies and headed to the bathroom. while showering, you thought of ways you could find her faster. you have tried multiple ways but still couldn't find solid proof of her whereabouts. you sighed scrubbing the bubbly shampoo onto your scalp. you could ask juyeon for help but your identity would be revealed and he might just kick you out for that. maybe, just maybe, you could keep this act up? for a little longer. at least until you get enough money to live on your own.

that was what you did for the next few months, keeping your act up for the rest of the world. you were careful not to reveal too much of yourself, not spreading too much information across to other people, not even juyeon. even if you had secrets, he still treated you as normal as everyone else. though, he did seem weird at times as if he could read your thoughts. this scared you as it wasn't impossible to learn occlumency even if it took time. over time, you and juyeon developed this best friend bond with each other; protecting and having each other's backs when needed. of course, he was the same person as the one you met on your first day around town which left a sense of comfort in you.

a nightmare dressed as a daydream was what you were as you would sneak out on nights before non-working days. you had to let out a piece of your dark powers out somehow. even if you knew how to conceal them, it didn't mean you could control them forever. you found a cave in the far east where no one would hear nor see you, and so that became your little relaxation cave.

not so long after, you found out that there was a man who could find things you couldn't. some say he had connections to the deeper net or even that he was related to some who were part of an underground gang. nonetheless, it didn't stop you from seeing the fella once a week or two. this method made itself a purpose as he gave you more information than any general person could; her hometown, her family members, and so much more.

it seemed like a miracle, though you never thought that she would have children, more than that of a son and a daughter. a fact that surprised you was that she had the same surname as your roommate. that was all the information he had, it was not much but you still thanked him for it. your night-ventures continued on, exploring the town and gathering bits of information through drunken folks at the tavern.

you would get home just before dawn and sleep until noon. of course, the male you lived with would nag you on waking up late but he never really cared either. he loved to see your bite back with your poor choice of words. everything felt right and everything felt okay, you were in peace with the world.

"where are you going?" his voice emerged from the darkness, causing your body to jump.

"i'm just gonna get some drinks," you answered, in a confident tone as you bit your inner bottom lip.

"are you going to go see him again?" juyeon asked, snickering along with his words. "don't think i don't know what you're up to."

his statements and questions made your mind run wild; how did he know? why didn't he ever stop you? did he understand what you were doing? did someone tell him? you became a still worried mess, not knowing what to say nor do. you were stuck in a pose as if medusa were to turn you into stone.

"please, just tell me where you're going tonight, or bring me with you," he said, his voice groggy as if he had woken up from a short sleep.

"no, i'm sorry, juyeon," the words flew out of your mouth as your thoughts re-organized themselves. "you can't"

"why not?" he asked, once again. at this point his questions seemed like an endless stream of cloth.

"because- you just can't," you sighed, relaxing your shoulders and going up to him. you didn't have any excuses because you weren't used to lying so much to someone who you cared for. "it's dangerous if you do, please just listen to me."

he sighed deeply as he always does before he nags. "i want to listen to you, y/n, but you going off in the middle of the night and coming home late isn't… so you. do you need to talk? or something. i know i'm not good with comfort but i'm here for you if you need to let out anything at all."

you felt broken, because you knew how much he longed for this type of relationship. he had told you about his sister that passed not so long ago and how much he adored her. you were about to say something when he placed his hands on your arms and gripped them, as a sign to not leave him.

"could you just tell me? please? i promise it would be a secret," he pleaded, truly worrying about what became a routine.

"you should sleep, juyeon. you have work tomorrow," you tried to avoid answering the question as much as possible but he made it so hard.

"i just want to know-"

"juyeon, you don't need to know. it's nothing important. you don't need to worry about me, alright? i promise i'll be okay," you said, in a sensible tone. you heard sniffles from the male that stood before you, as his grip on your arms loosened. he cracked a smile which held in pain mixed with joyful memories.

"you sound just like her," he said, in a shaky tone. he sounded weak, and you could see the pool of tears around his eyes. in that moment, you felt your breath turn shallow. you closed your eyes and immediately embraced the bigger man into a tight hug. you knew who he was referring to as he would do it so often when you opened your mouth to say anything. "you're like her" or "you act like my mother, you know that?", he always stated these in a cheery manner, but seeing him shatter like this made your heart wrench.

you decided to skip your night shenanigans when you lead him towards his room. you've never been in it but stepping into it, felt so cozy as if it were a cold breeze on a hot summer day. you sat him down on the edge of his bed, seeing his tears turn into a gold-ish colour. you sighed, seeing this side of him. you always saw the bright sunflower yellow but not this burnt out maroon red. you sat in silence as his sniffles calmed down.

the balcony door let in a ray of moonlight which shone on the boy beside you. you turned to look at him, and saw a grin emerge from his lips.

"thank you," he said in a whisper-tone. "for being here, y/n."

juyeon stared at the pale full moon that was on display for the people of the earth. "i'll always be here," you say, holding his hand. it was a nice intimate moment for the both of you. the state of serenity made you think about the things that led up to this right here and it was all because of a person whom you've never met.

"y'know.. she had the same powers as you," juyeon said, sipping his hot chocolate. you both were seated at the kitchen island with hot cocoas and mini marshmallows. it was almost four in the morning and so you both decided to stay up a little bit more, as if the sands of time didn't take precious hours of rest.

"she was a frost user as well?," you asked him, eager to know his family background.

"no," he said, chuckling before stuffing a few marshmallows into his already rich drink. you sat there, with one lifted eyebrow. "what are you talking about exactly?" you asked, warming your hands as it cupped the mug in front of you.

"you know what i mean," he said, holding in a deceiving smirk. your eyes widened and your hand gripped onto the mug handle. it wasn't the fact that he had discovered your hidden powers nor how he had hid the information that he knew your powers but it was the fact that the person that you were looking for all this time had died.

all the traveling and suffering lead you to this moment had been for nothing? you did all of this for her, and yet you turned into a sobbing mess when you visited her grave. juyeon held you close as you weeped when you saw her headstone. it absolutely broke you even if you've never even seen her nor heard her. he stayed strong for you when your head was buried into his chest. he could even feel the mix of rage and sadness as your powers seemed to leak from your tears.

"i miss her too," he spoke up, still caressing your weak state. "i'm sure she would have adored you so much, y/n"

your feelings got the best of you and soon every noise stopped, with only an ever-lasting ring in your ears. your tear-filled eyes opened to see a ring of dark purple surround you like a globe with your feet dangling in the air. it was a new, unspoken sight to see but what had happened outside the bubble was a new horror to you.

juyeon was laying on the ground, upon the many other graves. his skin covered with burnt marks of some kind, and his chest area covered with blood spots which may came from bullets. your bubble disappeared as you jumped down on the ground, going over to his lifeless body as fast as you could.

"y/n.." he said, breathless. "i'll be okay."

"but.."

"they'll be here soon."

you were confused on what he was referring to - not until you heard police and ambulance sirens coming from a distance. you cupped his face which managed to give you a small grin even in his hurtful state. "don't leave. don't leave me please."

"you need to run, y/n"

"stop. stop.. saying that," you pleaded, with some of your leftover tears dripping onto his burnt clothing. you could hear his last breaths too, which made it harder for you to ever leave his side.

"i'll see you later.. alright?" he asked, as his final words. his body fell to limp in your arms, when your tears started flowing like a never ending river. the sirens were coming closer at the scene of the crime, and there you sat, clutching onto him with your last hope of humanity. you didn't care about the police nor the property you destroyed, you lost him. you lost HIM.

in that moment, the world stayed still with no promise that it was going to spin again. your head felt dizzy as your limbs felt numb. you knew it only had been a few minutes but it felt like centuries with your silenced screams. you didn't want to be outcast, you were already alone in the world with no one else you could call for help. everyone else had their counterparts but all you had was yourself. you hated the thought of being lonely and so you stayed there, weak, just to feel something worth living for.

[emmy-writes-sometimes]

You Belong With Me

Sebastian’s stylist has been in love with him for two years, ever since she started working for him. When Mackie accidentally lets it slip to Sebastian, does he feel the same way or is she about to get her heart broken?

-

           “Well, if it isn’t Madam President!” Anthony said as you entered the trailer. You rolled your eyes. He was full of nicknames, but this was a new one.

           “Of what?” You asked, genuinely confused. You put your bag down, grabbing the new hairspray you were going to try on Sebastian that morning. You’d been his stylist for two years, and Sebastian had just now told you that he didn’t like how crunchy his hair was in certain scenes. It was just about the only thing he hadn’t shared with you. You were unusually close, and you knew that it was weird. But you weren’t going to do anything about it because you were literally just out of college and you had a feeling that Sebastian preferred women who could legally rent cars and not have to pay spring break fees at hotels.

           “The Sebastian Stan fan club!” Anthony responded, like it was absolutely obvious. His stylist, Hannah, who was also one of your best friends, laughed as she started to put on a prosthetic gash on Anthony’s arm. He was working on a scene where he’d been absolutely clobbered, so he was expected to be there an hour before Sebastian. The most you had to do for Sebastian aside from the normal makeup was the same consistent bruising you’d been using most of the season. Special effects weren’t your specialty.

           “They still have those? I guess you wouldn’t have one, though,” you shot back. Hannah giggled.

           “Hey, hey, you’re on my side!” Anthony said to Hannah. “At least I’m not in love with him.” You sighed as you started setting up the station, finding the jelly Sebastian used to put his fake arm on. The last thing you needed was for Mackie to make any more jokes about lube. A text from Sebastian lit your phone up – On the way! With your coffee!!! They had oat milk this morning! YAY!

           “I’m not in love with him,” you sighed. You were lying and everyone knew it, you included. “There’s this thing that you might not be familiar with called a friendship.”

           “Yeah, I got lots of those and I don’t cry over ‘em.” You shrugged. You would be lying if you said you hadn’t cried over it. But you cried over everything. You were a crybaby. Even Sebastian knew that. You’d cried the first time he’d gone out of his way to bring you coffee.

           “You cried over your wife’s text yesterday,” Hannah reminded him.

           “Woman, work on my arm!” Anthony demanded. She shrugged and started opening a gallon of fake blood. He dropped the conversation, at least for a few minutes, to tell a story about one of his kids. You knew that he was just joking about even telling Sebastian. He had your back. But you were determined not to let anything slip, even accidentally. Because you needed this job, and you didn’t want to have to suffer through it before quitting the best paying and most fulfilling job you ever thought you could have. And, besides, you were going to Japan on the press tour with Sebastian and you really didn’t want to give that up.

           “I brought coffee!” Sebastian said a few minutes later as the trailer door opened up. Indeed, he was holding your iced coffee with oat milk and vanilla syrup in one hand and his own in the other.

           “You’re a life-saver,” you said as you took it from him.

           “It’s the least I can do for someone who lubes up my arm every day,” he winked. Your heart skipped a beat. A jolt of electricity went through you and forced a smile onto your face. Then you realized.

           “That’s not the only thing she lubes up, I’m sure,” Mackie joked. You shot a look to him and Sebastian saw it. Sebastian just giggled like the idiot he was, and plopped down in the makeup chair.

           “You’re just jealous,” Sebastian said, “if you asked me for an iced coffee with oat milk and four pumps of vanilla syrup, dude, I would’ve brought you one.”

           “Alright, I got the new hairspray,” you interrupted, just wanting the subject to be dropped.

           “Can we wash my hair first?” Sebastian asked. You rolled your eyes. He said your small hands were the best at washing his hair, and you saw that he had indeed skipped washing it that morning. It was dry and greasy, and you needed it to be slightly wet.

           “Get over there and turn the water on,” you sighed. “And open the email I sent you, I need you to let me know which of those jackets you like for the press tour.” In addition to his makeup artist, he’d hired you on as his stylist. It was a lot of extra work, but he paid you just as much as Disney did. Another reason why you didn’t want things to be weird – you didn’t want to wrestle with his tie and avoid looking up at him at the same time. You’d much rather just have him laugh at you and watch his cheeks crinkle up.

           “Thanks!” Sebastian called as he walked over to the hair washing station at the end of the small trailer.

           “You know, he’s been asking if I want to set him up with someone…” Anthony started quietly as you reached for a comb.

           “If you even mention my name and ruin my entire life, Mackie, I swear to God I will…”

           “Hey, now. He likes you too. Trust me.” You groaned and turned around, rolling up the sleeves of your sweater to start on Sebastian’s hair.

           “You know, Mackie, you look like the kind of guy people can trust. But it’s been two years and I can only count a handful of times when you haven’t been lying to me.” He shrugged.

           “Fine to me if you want to keep being a bachelorette your whole life.”

           “I’m 21.”

           “And he’s not getting any younger.” You scoffed and turned back to help Sebastian. If he heard anything, he didn’t say anything. He just let out a sigh when you started washing his hair.

-

           “I’m not talking about this, Anthony!” You said loudly. “Sit down so I can fix it!” You were referring to a bruise he’d gotten on set when someone had playfully punched him with a set of fake brass knuckles only to realize they were real. Hannah was taking a long break to go to the doctor, so you were it. Sebastian was supposed to be on set, but he was outside the trailer. He stopped when he heard your voice. He’d never really heard you snap at anyone before.

           “Fine, fine, fine. I’m just trying to help you, kid. I think you could be endgame, I really do. If you would both just stop being your stubborn selves…”

           “Anthony!” You warned. Sebastian’s eyebrows furrowed. He didn’t know what that was supposed to mean, but if it wasn’t about him he didn’t know what else. Endgame?

           “I am just saying.”

           “I’m 21. I barely even have a job, I pick out clothes for him…”

           “You’re a glorified babysitter and you’re fantastic at your job. Anyone who can’t see that is, well, not here.”

           “Still. It’s so cliché, dating an assistant, and…” Hannah emerged from the car she’d just parked beside the trailer, seeing Sebastian.

           “Are you eavesdropping?” She asked with narrow eyes.

           “No,” Sebastian answered. It was surely a lie. Hannah passed him and swung the door open, revealing you.

           “Oh, thank God,” you said as you saw her. But when you looked past her, your heart dropped in your chest. Sebastian was there. And you were sure he’d heard the entire thing. You sighed, though. You wanted to go home and cry, but you sucked it up and got Sebastian ready for his next scene. You and Hannah were in the trailer for another two hours, patiently waiting in case you got called to fix hair or makeup. You didn’t, though, and finally they were back. Anthony gave you a mischievous smile, one that was completely unapologetic. Did he ever not play around?

           “Hannah, can you come back with me for a minute? Costumes asked for your input on some of the replacement suits.”

           “Coming!” Hannah walked out as Sebastian walked in. Over the time that you helped him get un-ready, you noticed the things that Anthony had been pointing out. You were more careful with his skin than you were your own, making sure he didn’t break out from the makeup. You were way more careful to hide his eyes with your hand when you used product on his hair. You were too gentle with the brush. And this time he seemed to notice it, too, and the air in the room shifted as you watched him grab his backpack and start changing back into the sweats he’d been in that morning. Even without real clothes on, he was still gorgeous. He still looked like a million dollars. He looked soft. You wanted to run forward and grab him, but you didn’t. You just started to put your own sweatshirt on.

           “You know, Anthony was telling me earlier,” Sebastian started. He shut off the air conditioning unit you kept in the window for your asthma. You looked over at him and took in the sudden silence in the room, eyeing your lanyard of car keys beside his. Usually, he’d walk you back to your car because it was dark out. No matter the security of the studio – he always wanted you to feel safe.

           “What?” You asked, trying not to make anything obvious.

           “He was making it sound, I don’t know, like… Like you, uh, like me or something.” Sebastian was causal about it, but you could see his hands were shaking and you could see something in his eyes. Your own started to look like a deer in the headlights.

           “Um,” you started to respond.

           “I mean, if you do, it’s…”

           “I have to go,” you interrupted abruptly. Sebastian looked defeated. “I can make it back to my car, I just remembered I have to, uh…” You took your car keys, and Sebastian sighed. He was losing you, just like he feared he would. Great.

           “I’ll see you tomorrow, Y/n,” he said with a sad smile. He watched you walk to your old car, wrestle the key in, and sit down. And just as you did, the night’s first drop of rain fell from the sky. Of course it was supposed to rain as your entire life was crashing down on you. It was too ironic for it not to.

           “Where’d Y/n go?” Anthony asked as he appeared at the trailer again.

           “She looked like she was about to start crying,” Sebastian answered. “You said she liked me so I asked her, and all she said was she had to go.”

           “Oh, my God, man, you did not lead with that question.” Sebastian sighed.

           “It’s been five years, dude, I don’t know what I’m doing.” Anthony rolled his eyes and started to grab a makeup wipe. “I like her, and I’m pretty sure she all but said it, but I really think I screwed something up.”

           “Yeah, you did. Just… Give it an hour. Bring her dinner, tell her you screwed up, and that you like her and you just didn’t know how to lead the question.” Sebastian looked down.

           “But what if she doesn’t want to be with me? I’m old.”

           “She does. And right now she’s probably thinking you don’t want to be with her, so you’d better go fix it before she cries into an entire quart of chocolate chip cookie dough and starts watching Gilmore Girls again.” Sebastian took his car keys and picked his jacket up from the back of the chair.

           “Maybe I should just bring her the ice cream, too,” he grumbled to himself.

           “Actually, that’s not a bad idea. She only likes the Ben & Jerry’s because it’s the only one that has enough cookie dough, so go ahead. But you should shower first, you smell like fire.” Sebastian nodded, slowly, and headed out into the cold rain.

-

           “I just feel like such shit,” you told your mom. You had taken a break from crying when you got back to the little guest house you rented from an old rich couple in Tuxedo Park since it was close to the studio. You had called your mom, wishing she could give you some words of wisdom.

           “Why else would he ask you if he doesn’t like you?”

           “Mackie.” Your mom seemed to understand. You loved Anthony like a brother or an uncle, but he really didn’t seem to understand that you were a scared… Idiot. You were being an idiot.

           “Oh.”

           “I know I’m being an idiot, I just… I don’t want to ruin anything. And what if we do get together somehow and he just breaks up with me and I still need this job, and…”

           “I think it’s a chance you should take,” your mom said. “You are being an idiot. What’s the worst that can happen if you don’t say anything? It’s going to come out sometime, and I think it already did.” You sniffled.

           “I just really like him and I feel like I really screwed up.” You watched a set of car lights come down the house’s long driveway toward your little apartment, but it was just the owner, Moira, coming back from the country club.

           “I think you can fix this, honey. And I think you know what you should do.” You nodded, slowly, but took a second look out your window and stood up from where you were laying on the couch. The lights weren’t Moira or her husband, Alexander. Or their daughter. It was Sebastian’s car. Your heart started beating faster.

           “Sebastian’s here,” you said in pure shock.

           “Well, go see what he wants,” your mom responded. “And call me later.” You hung up the phone absentmindedly, looking around you. You had the TV playing Gilmore Girls, you were wearing your oldest, ugliest pair of sweats, and you had cried all of your makeup off. You looked like an absolute wreck. If this didn’t make him hate you, you didn’t know what would. You tried to fix your hair a little, but you didn’t make it too far. Sebastian got out of his car in the pouring rain holding a brown paper bag you recognized well. It was from your favorite Italian restaurant. In another bag was a pint of cookie dough ice cream like the one you’d just finished. You sighed. He was definitely buying you dinner just to reject you. But you put your best face on and opened the door, taking in the smell of the pouring rain.

           “Why are you here?” You asked him.

           “Dinner!” He answered. You smiled at the innocence of his response and stood in the doorway, arms crossed, holding the door open with your back. “About earlier, in the trailer, I…”

           “I do like you,” you responded when you could hear him over the rain. He was under the portico of the guest house, protected from the rain.

           “You do?” His face lit up with a smile as he walked in, putting the bags down on the counter behind you. “Because I thought for a second…”

           “No, I just… I was being an idiot.”

           “No, I was being an idiot, I was such an asshole just calling you out like that, but I talked to…”

           “… Mackie,” you finished for him. He nodded.

           “Yeah. I just… He told me you only like Ben & Jerry’s, but they had two kinds with cookie dough so I got both of them, and then I got food, and I was hoping we could talk a little, just because….”

           “Did you get two sets of silverware?”

           “I was hoping I could eat with you. Like, I don’t know. Some kind of weird, impromptu, fucked-up, accidental date?” He asked timidly. You couldn’t help but smile, and that was when he actually looked down at you. “Have you been crying?”

           “And eating Ben & Jerry’s,” you answered. You couldn’t help but laugh to yourself.

           “And watching Gilmore Girls,” he said as he saw the TV. “That’s exactly what Mackie said.” You scoffed.

           “How does he know me so well?”

           “I can’t believe I don’t.” Sebastian looked down at you, brushing your hair behind your head. The door was still open and the rain was still beating down and you were melting from his touch as he held onto your cheek.

           “Are you about to kiss me in the rain?” You asked him.

           “Is that okay?”

           “Yeah. Just make it fast so my ice cream doesn’t melt and my food doesn’t get cold.” He smiled at you and leaned down, just enough to where he could kiss you. Your hands went to his chest to pull him closer. He had just showered and he smelled like the aftershave he always left in the trailer and you never wanted him to stop. He was just as soft and warm as he looked.

           “Fast enough?”  

A/N: I loved writing this so much omg. My power is back, my WiFi is back, and I am in my FEELS. I think you can probably tell I was listening to some old T Swift when I was writing this????

[jamielea81]

Just a Simple Lie

Chapter 3

Pairing: Chris Evans x Reader

Description: Having worked on small independent films for the better part of a decade, your friend tells you about an opening for a script supervisor with a large studio. Wanting to advance your career, you apply and get an interview. The only downside, they prefer to hire crew who are married. It’s just a simple lie, right?

Warnings: Cursing and Drinking

Word Count: About 3,000

A/N: This story is simply for fun. I know nothing about the personal lives of the two actors in this series and mean no harm. I am also totally guessing regarding the studio talk. Comments, reblogs, and likes are always welcome. Tag list is open, please send me an ask.

Internal thoughts are in italics.

Read chapter 2 here

Another week on set had passed as quickly as the last. There weren’t any late night meetings with either leading man, which was fine by you. Sure, you had worked with both actors throughout the week, but mostly on set, or a quick drop by in your office.

Since set life was pretty busy, your social life was suffering quite a bit. You hadn’t seen Joanna since the weekend before you started with the studio and she was pretty pissed.

“I work for fucking Sony, Y/N, and I make time for your ass,” she said flatly in the phone.

“Well, you like my ass. I mean, it’s pretty nice if I do say so myself.”

“You’re lucky you’re funny,” she added.

“Mhm.”

“Anyway…I’m picking you up in an hour.”

“Jooo,” you whined. “Sleeping in my bed sounds better. I just want to be lazy and watch a movie.”

“Too bad. I haven’t seen my best friend in weeks and we need to catch up. Besides, I have news for you.”

“Alright, you’ve piqued my interest. See you soon loser.”

Crawling out of bed and shimming out of your sweats, you dragged yourself into the bathroom to take a shower. Joanna’s idea of getting together usually involved alcohol, so you at least needed to look presentable.

Slipping on a cotton white dress with navy stripes and a pair of short brown boots, you called it good. The dress was comfortable and cute without much effort. You kept your makeup light, not only because you were feeling lazy, even after a long shower, but also because you were short on time. Running a quick hand through your hair a couple of times, your phone was buzzing with text messages.

Jo: I’m here!!!!

You let out a chuckle at her enthusiasm and tossed your phone in your bag.

 Joanna parked her SUV on the side of a street that was lined with boutique shops. It definitely wasn’t your normal area to drink or even shop, but who were you to argue? With work being as busy as it was and not to mention being the new girl, you had been pretty distant as of late.

“I just want to pop into this shop really quick, then we’ll grab some tea afterwards,” Joanna said.

Tea?

The two of you enter a cozy shop that you didn’t catch the name of as it was etched in the glass with curly letters. Your tired mind couldn’t decipher quite what it said. Inside is cozy whites, pinks, blues, and yellows. Your mind finally catches up when you see a row of baby strollers.

We’re in a baby store?

Joanna floats around the shop, squeezing stuffed animals, burp clothes, and blankets. Pretty much everything with texture. You follow behind her like a puppy, wondering why she needs to pick up something here. She eventually stops her searching at a table full of onesies. She picks up two, one in each hand. They are both white in color, but one has a giraffe on it while the other has a bunny.

“Okay. What gives?” you ask.

Still holding the onesies in both hands, she looks at you with wide eyes. “What?” she asks playfully.

Her eyes give her away and you can tell she’s messing with you. Raising your eyes brows in return, you cross your arms and pop a hip out.

“I probably shouldn’t say anything because it’s really early, but you’re my best friend and I need to tell someone.” She pauses for a moment and again your tired mind is just not following. “I’m pregnant!” she squeals. She drops the onesies on the table and shakes her hands in the air.

You stare at her contemplating what she just said. Pregnant. The word sounds funny in your mouth.

“Oh my god. You’re pregnant? You’re pregnant!”

She chuckles at your enthusiasm as you start to jump up and down. You pull her into a hug and then pull back slightly, not wanting to hurt her.

“You can’t break me,” she said.

“Shush,” you say, and pull her back in your arms. “Guess I’ll need to find new friends to drink with.”

Joanna smacks you on the butt. “Someone needs to drink with Ian.”

 Filming was on schedule which was surprising. Generally, a film of this size would be behind, especially early in the shooting schedule. Granted, this was the largest project you had been a part of. Credit was due to the awesome director. He was amazing at communication with everyone including you. He often asked for your notes between scenes and sought out both Monica’s and your opinions. Both Chris and Keanu were amazing, often getting the scene with one to two takes. There were only seven more shooting days before a week and a half break, then off to the cold of Vancouver.

 Your cellphone buzzed with a text, but that was nothing new between Monica, David, and the writing staff calling or texting all the time. Pushing away your laptop, you picked up the phone from your desk and leaned back in your chair.

Unknown number: Chocolate chip or peanut butter

“What?” you mumbled to yourself.

Y/N: Who is this?

Before you can even set your phone down, it buzzes again.

Unknow number: Just answer the question

“Who the fuck is this?” Apparently talking to yourself was your new thing.

Y/N: I need context here mysterious one.

Y/N: Ice cream, cookies, protein bars?

Unknown number: Cookies, obviously. This is serious.

You sighed and decided to play along with the dealer of sweet treats.

Y/N: Chocolate chip of course. But if frosted sugar cookies come into play, that wins.

Your phone rang not a second later with the unknown number.

“Hello?” you said.

“Sugar cookies?! Y/N, come on. No. Just no.”

“Who is this?”

“Chris,” he said.

“Chris...?”

“Seriously?” he questions. “Evans.”

“Oh fuck. Sorry. I’m sorry Chris.”

“You should be. Sugar cookies,” he scoffed. “Come on!”

You let out a giggle. “I like what I like.”

“So, chocolate chip?” he questions.

“Yeah. What are you up to anyway?”

I’m stealing a box from Craft Services,” he says it like it’s something he always does. Like it’s just normal to call you up and ask what you like.

“Okay,” you sigh. “Next question.”

“Shoot.”

“How’d you get my number?”

“I asked Monica. Figured you wouldn’t mind.”

This was something you had to get used to apparently. Chris Evans has your number and you now have his too. Not that you would call him.

You hummed in response.

“See you soon,” he said before disconnecting the call.

Chris is coming to your office. No big deal, he’s been here before, on your first day and one other time. This is fine. You can be normal.

You straightened up your small office. There wasn’t much to clean. Mr. Fern was thriving, although you’d have to find a babysitter for him when you were in Canada. You had no pictures or artwork on your walls, but you did have a framed photo of your friend group sitting on your desk, along with a jar of pens in various colors and styles. There were three sizes of notepads, one in a beautiful rose tone with thick aged looking paper. The other two were lined like the type you would use in school. You were a minimalist at work, what could you say?

Twenty minutes later there’s a knock at your door.

“It’s open,” you shout, just loud enough for the person to hear.

You knew Chris would be coming by, so you had time to mentally prepare, but he still makes you a little nervous. The man is attractive and he’s so personable. You’re nervous with Keanu too, but he’s so much more serious. When the two of you do chat, which isn’t a lot, it’s about national issues, who’s your favorite poet, have you tried this or that brand of green label coffee? Okay, that last one is pretty low key, but still.

 “I bring peace and good tidings, but most importantly cookies.” Huge grin on his face.

In his hand, wrapped in a napkin, are three chocolate chip cookies. His hand is outstretched for you to take the cookies, but you don’t. Eyes looking from his hand to his face and back again.

“This isn’t a box of cookies. I expected a box of cookies.” You shake your head for added effect. “And not even a frosted sugar cookie insight.”

“Sugar cookie,” he says with such disgust. “Y/N. I brought you chocolate. You should be thanking me!”

The smart ass in you, despite the newness with him, can’t help but come out.

“You can leave them there,” you say pointing to a free space on your desk. Eyes fixed on your laptop, not bothering him a glance.

He huffs out a laugh and plops himself down on the extra stationary chair next to your desk. He sets the cookies down, but picks one back up and takes a large bite out of it.

You swivel in your chair to face him and roll your eyes. “Aren’t those mine?”

“You complained.” He shrugs his shoulders taking a second bite.

Rolling your eyes, you turn back to your laptop.

“This is new,” he said.

Sparing him a glance, he’s picked up your framed five by seven group shot. It’s from last New Year’s Eve. Jemma had just moved into a new apartment, free of her roommate from hell as she liked to call her. You all brought booze and she invited a few guys she knew and some ladies from her work. It was a good time and you ended up crashing in her bathroom. It wasn’t the best night’s sleep you’ve had.

“Yeah, those are my best friends.” A smile appears on your face.

He smiles and nods his head, eyes scanning over the faces. “Who’s who?” He angles the photo so that you both can see.

“Well, this here, with her lips attached to my cheek, is my very best friend Joanna.” You let out a giggle and he grins. “Next to her is her husband Ian. The gorgeous blonde is Jemma. And that’s Travis.” You rush through the last one, remembering you told Chris your fiancé’s name was Travis. Maybe he forgot. Hopefully.

“Travis? As in your fiancé Travis?”

“Mhm.” Tight smile on your face.

Moving the picture closer to his face, he hums. “Good looking guy.”

“Yeah, he is,” you reply.

“Looks kind of young though.”

Really? He is, but why bring that up?

“Are you calling me old?” you scoff, fake agitation in your voice.

“What?! Of course not. You make a lovely couple. Really,” he pleads. A sincere smile on his face.

You quirk your mouth to the side and sputter out a laugh. “I’m just fucking with you.”

Quickly covering your mouth with your hand. Can you say fuck to him? It’s so unprofessional.

“Me and my mouth. Sorry,” you say, cringing slightly.

He erupts in a deep belly laugh, head thrown back, eyes closed.

“Oh, my fucking god. You can say fuck all you want around me,” he says through bouts of laughter.

You let out a breath and relax.

“That was hilarious,” he sighs, wiping tears from his eyes.

“Yeah. Real funny,” you reply. “But yes, Travis is a little bit younger than me.”

He holds up his hands defensively. “I promise I’m not calling you a cougar; he just seems young.”

Truthfully, Travis did seem younger than he was. He was the serious film student, but on weekends, he was the eternal frat boy. Even now, seven years later he’s pushing thirty, but you wouldn’t know it.

The next few days brought other unrequested sweet treats to your office. Chris no longer asked what you would like, instead he’d show up with something he thought you’d like, or rather what he liked. One day it was a cheese danish, then caramel corn, and finally a monster bar, which turned out to be a Rice Krispies Treat with extra marshmallows and M&Ms. You started to skip lunch knowing you’d be eating something very unhealthy. The two of you would keep the conversation light, generally about music or movies. You wondered if he was this friendly with other members of the crew.  

 Washing your hair six times had done nothing. Jemma had promised the new color product she picked up was just temporary, but clearly that had not been true. You had been Jemma’s guinea pig since the day you met her on set of one of the first movies you had worked on. She was a hair stylist and anytime she received a new product, she was trying it out on you. This time it was a semi-permanent purple hair dye. She had assured you it was more semi than permanent, but after washing it too many times, it had only slightly faded. Your only saving grace is the dye was only on the underside of your hair rather than your whole head as Jemma had wanted to do.

Walking into work was a little nerve wracking for you. In the industry, there is a plethora of personalities and styles, so purple hair isn’t out of the ordinary, but it was quite the change for you. You wore your hair the same way every day. You dressed modestly and comfortably. Sneakers were the norm. You saved skinny jeans and cute dresses for your days off. Stepping out in purple hair was saying something.

A few wolf whistles from David and a couple of guys who worked in set design, you made it to your office relatively unscathed.

Today’s scene would have you working side by side with Monica. Most days you were both on set, but usually not for long. The two of you had met in her office most of the day yesterday going over today’s big love scene between Chris’ character William and Maggie’s character Sophia. Chris was a professional and the few scenes that you had watched Maggie in were great. The two of you had no doubt they finish strong, no pun intended. Except you were wrong.

“Cut!” Hugh, the director called.

It was the fourth take and everyone was starting to realize it just wasn’t working. There were no problems with the lines and the actors were both following the stage directions, but something just wasn’t right. The chemistry was just off.

“Y/N.” Hugh called, motioning you over to him. “You know this script better than anyone. What’s missing?”

You let out a long sigh. “It’s the two of them together. Don’t get me wrong, they work well together, but I’m not getting romantic tones from the two of them right now.”

Chris was watching you. His brow furrowed; arms crossed. Maggie was getting her hair touched up. Passionate hair took a lot of work.

“Will you go talk to him please?” he asked.

You nodded, clutching your script, you walked to him. Maggie was now occupied with makeup and Monica was currently speaking to her.

Chris uncrossed his arms and quirked one side of his mouth up. “It’s not working is it?”

“M’fraid not,” you replied.

He nudged his head to the left and took a few steps away from the rest of the crew. “What do you suggest?”

“Well, frankly, you just don’t look like you love her. You barely look like you like her.”

He shrugged his shoulders and gestured with his hand for you to continue.

You licked your lips and moved in closer to him. Lifting up your script, you tapped on a section of the scene. “When it says William looks into Sophia’s eyes passionately, you need to look at her like she’s the one you’ve been waiting for your whole life. Like if you didn’t have her right now, in this moment, you wouldn’t be able to breathe. And when it says he grabs her, don’t grab her by her shoulders.” You looked up from the page to see Chris watching you. “What?” you questioned.

He shook his head and smiled. “Don’t grab her by her shoulders?”

You could feel heat in your cheeks. You looked back down at the script because you had to look away. Him and those fucking eyes. Are these lashes even real?

“Yeah, that comes off more as angry passion, but that’s not what their love story is about. How about you try it with one hand cupping her cheek and one hand on the back of her head? But like, um. But maybe cup her cheek first and brush your thumb against it as well. And with your other hand, slowly slide it to her neck before the kiss.”

He nods his head again, his eyes downcast, thinking it over. “Like this?” he asks.

Suddenly, his hand is on your cheek and he’s staring in your eyes, thumb lightly brushing below your eye. His other hand softly touches the crook of your neck and he ever so softly brushes it to the back of your neck as he starts to lean in. Goosebumps erupt down your arms and you thank the gods you’re wearing a sweatshirt at this very moment so he can’t see it.

“Is this good?” The deep timbers of his voice making you swoon.

You nod slowly, not wanting him to remove his hands at that moment. “Um,” you lick your lips again. “Uh, ye-yeah. That’s exactly what I mean.”

He removes his hand and gives you a gentle closed lipped smile. “I think I got it.” He starts to turn around but then stops and turns back to you again. He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. “This is cute by the way.”

You give him a smirk and shake your head. “Go!” Crossing your arm, he salutes you with one hand.

Maybe you wouldn’t kill Jemma after all.

Tag list: @tanelle83 @pinknerdpanda @allaboutthebooz @estillion14 @panicfob @patzammit @heartislubbingdubbing @collinsstanharbour @twittytelly @thefandomzoneisdangerous @linki-locks11 @mywinterwolf @ab-baybay @rda1989 @chrisevansforever-blog @southerngracela @chrisevansfanfic @zsuzstyina @peach-acid @grtchnrs @hista-girl @trynnabemultifandom @symonlyjen5 @mrsshiddleston @tfandtws @xxloki81xx @heyyouwiththeassbutt @denisemarieangelina @evanlys19 @cheeseburgersstuff @linki-locks11

[hypnoticwinter]

The End of the Line

He comes in again with those big tearful eyes and I know he’s been thinking about it again. Don’t let’s think about it, I tell him, again and again, but he doesn’t listen. He refuses to listen. He actively, willfully decides to listen.

“Hey,” he says.

“Let me stop you right there,” I tell him, and he looks hurt.

“Isn’t this important to you?”

“Not really.”

“Amanda, we’re going to die in less than a month and you don’t care?”

“Of course I care,” I tell him. When I finish speaking I can sort of feel the knowledge bubbling up in my head from wherever it hides while we’re busy. “How long do you have?” I ask him. Twenty-six days, thirteen hours, four minutes, thirty-seven seconds, thirty-six seconds, thirty-five seconds.

One of our friends got really wrapped up in keeping track of it and just ended up counting down until he died a few weeks ago. I think you have to have a strong mind in order to deal with something like this. And the best part is there’s nothing you can do about it, ultimately; either you make yourself busy and studiously ignore the fact that the exact date and time of your death is ticking down for you in your head if you don’t focus on something else, or you get lost in it. You can’t even kill yourself until that exact second, something goes wrong every time, or at least that’s what the scientist said on the news the other day. He pulled out a gun and shot himself right there in front of everyone and we all watched as the gun jammed and misfired and killed a crewman behind the set when he took it down from his forehead. John shivered himself to sleep that night, next to me. I didn’t care to comfort him.

Alice doesn’t really understand yet. “Mommy,” she asks me, “what happens in –“ a tiny frown of concentration – “seventy years, six months, five days, twenty-nine minute, eighteen seconds?”

I suppose I should be glad that my daughter gets a relatively long life but I find it difficult to care about things. I smile at her and congratulate her on all the big words, and she shrugs. “The voice in my head said them for me,” she explains, and I laugh terribly hollowly.

In the night he tries to talk to me about it again and I push him away. “Will you stop?” I ask him. “There’s nothing we can do about it.”

“You haven’t even made a will – “

“I don’t care about a will.”

“What about Alice? Don’t you want her to get –“

“It doesn’t matter.”

The only conversation about it I’ll endure with him is the one where we speculate as to the method of our deaths. Since they’re so close together I figure we must get in a car accident or something, but he keeps coming up with the most dramatic and unnecessary means of death. “What if we get eaten by sharks?” he asks, his eyes bright. “What if we –“

“This is morbid,” I tell him.

“Is it morbid if it’s yourself you’re guessing about?”

“I guess. I don’t know.”

“What if we get in a shootout with a band of –“

“I’m going to bed.”

 It turns out there’s a lot less mass panic when something strange like this happens if you literally can’t die until your appointed time. Although plenty of people did die during the riots and looting and etc. It makes me wonder how deterministic this sort of thing is. Whether your death is preordained or if there’s some sort of temporality to it, where you still have free will and so on but your death will happen no matter what at that exact moment, by an aneurysm if fate has to do it that way. I don’t much feel like testing it out, though.

There was one particularly vivid story in the news of a newborn who, a few moments after he was out of the womb and stable (that is to say, not crying any more), got a terrible expression on his face and started bawling, startling the nurse holding him so much that she dropped him, banging his head on a metal bedpost and killing him instantly.

One night while he’s asleep I go into Alice’s room and sit there watching her sleep until she wakes up and frowns at me, dark eyes shining in the light of her alarm clock. “How long did you say you had?” I ask her, and she thinks for a moment and tells me. “Seventy years, five months, -“

“Okay, that’s fine.”

“Why?”

“I was just thinking.”

Maybe I die of grief.

 He takes more time off of work, and then doesn’t do anything useful with it. Whenever I point it out to him he tells me we only have sixteen days left so what’s the point of doing anything. I remind him that Alice has way more than that left and I’d rather she wasn’t homeless after we die, thank you very much, and he grumbles a little and asks me why I’m being so responsible now when I didn’t care enough to make a will, and I shrug at him and roll my eyes and say that people can change anyway. He hasn’t been fired yet, somehow, but I think it’s because they have so few people there already that they can’t afford to lose any more, even the ones who are clinically depressed because their expiration date is fast approaching.

Sometimes he cries. He asks me why and how I can be so heartless and I tell him that I just don’t understand why we have to make such a fuss about it. He shakes his head at me and looks at me like I’ve just sprouted a few extra heads.

“We’re going to die,” he says, like emphasizing the word makes it more meaningful. “Why doesn’t that matter to you?”

“What can we do about it?”

“We can – we can get Alice ready, we can explain to her –“

“That isn’t doing anything about it,” I tell him. “That sort of thing doesn’t matter. I’m talking about, what can we do to prevent our deaths?”

He thinks about it for a moment. “We could just stay inside that day, away from anything that could possibly hurt us.”

“I wonder how painful an aneurysm is,” I muse, and he sighs again and falls silent. There’s a long slow pause. The heat is seeping in again, summer trying to pry itself into our lives through the cracks in the windows and the doors. It exhausts me. I find myself sticking to chairs, melting out into puddles. I take four showers a day and it still doesn’t help. Alice keeps coming to me with her face slick with sweat and asking why it’s so hot, mommy, and I reach down languidly and ruffle her hair and tell her it’s because the people at the electrical company are all suffering from intense cases of ennui and can’t be bothered to keep the power on, and she frowns at me.

“What’s on wee?”

“Ennui. It’s boredom, that’s all.”

“Can we go to the pool later?”

“What the hell,” I tell her, and she blushes like she always does when I say a bad word. “Let’s go now. I’m hot too.”

The public pool is properly deserted, even at this time of day, at this time of year. We splash around for a while until a young man comes and yells at us. “There’s no lifeguard,” he says. “You could be hurt.”

I give him a look. “My daughter has seventy years left,” I tell him. “She’s going to be fine.”

“What if she slips and hits her head or breaks her arm or something?”

“She won’t.”

“You can’t know,” he says, shaking his head and pointing to the low gate. “You’d better leave.”

“The pool’s supposed to be open anyway,” I say, looking at the posted hours. “Why’s it closed?”

“There’s no lifeguard.”

“What happened to the old one?”

“He quit.”

“Why?”

“Didn’t feel he was needed any more.”

“When are you hiring a new one?”

“I don’t know,” he says. “Are you leaving or not?”

“What’ll you do if I don’t?” I ask. Next to me Alice is clinging to my leg, staring at the young man with wide eyes. She’s probably never heard anybody talk this way to me, I think.

“I’ll call the cops,” he says, and I roll my eyes at him.

“We’re not causing any harm,” I say, and he says he can’t know that and rummages around for his phone and then I take Alice and we leave. On the way home she looks up at me and asks why that man wanted us to leave and I shrug at her, then realize this is perhaps not the most reassuring gesture I could be making.

“Everybody’s nervous,” I start to tell her, and then I stop. She looks up at me.

“Is it because of all the times?”

“What?”

“All the times in everybody’s heads,” she says.

“Oh. Yes, it is.”

“What happens, mom?”

“When the time runs out, you mean?”

“Yes.”

“Best not to worry about that.”

“My friends are worried. Freddy Jimenez, you know him right mom?”

“Yes.”

“He says that his timer runs out in three weeks.”

I think about that for a moment. I was a rather vague acquaintance of his mother, the short and rotund Mrs. Jimenez. I’d met her a couple times at school things. “Is he scared?” I ask Alice. She shrugs.

“I guess so,” she says. “His mom won’t tell him what’ll happen. She says it’s a surprise.” Alice’s tiny brow furrows. “I don’t like surprises like that, I think.”

“Why not?”

“It’s a scary surprise. It doesn’t sound like a good surprise.”

“It could be,” I point out. “You don’t know for sure.”

A very large truck runs a red light at the intersection in front of us. There is a general honking and slamming on of brakes. “Hmm,” I say to myself.

“What?”

I look down at Alice. Very big blue eyes look up at me. “Nothing,” I tell her.

“It didn’t sound like nothing,” she murmurs, and I tousle her hair.

“It’s nothing. You shouldn’t worry about the times,” I tell her.

“How long do you have, mommy?”

I blink and there it is in my head, right in front of me, counting down the seconds.

“Long enough,” I tell her, and squeeze her hand.

 One week out I wake in the middle of the night to find him curled against me, rubbing against my back and behind, one hand gripping my breast. I roll over and push him off and try to get back to sleep but he follows me, lays on top of me, puts his harsh weight over me. “I can’t breathe,” I tell him, and he murmurs and apology and slips a little off. He starts trying to take off my panties and I groan and tell him that I was sleeping so wonderfully just a few seconds ago and why does he suddenly have to be so horny and he sort of whines that he can’t help it, we’ve only got a week left, we have to make the most of our time, and so on. It makes me feel like bugs are crawling over me and I get up and put on my clothes and walk out of the room. He calls after me and I just shrug and tell him I feel like going for a walk.

It is a very cool and mild night, and out here in the suburbs the light pollution from the city is a little bit less than it might be if I were downtown, so I can look up and see the stars. Not many of them, to be fair, but I can see the Big Dipper and Orion and that’s good enough for me. Seeing the stars makes me feel a little less alone. There are a few cars driving along the main road, doing whatever nameless midnight tasks they’ve set for themselves, but for the most part it’s just me, wandering the street, looking round at the rows and rows of houses with empty windows like dead eyes. Lots of blank stares. I go far enough for the suburb to start to peter out and melt into the very edge of the city, with all the liquor stores and moneylenders and things like that sprouting up like fungi. There are more people here, but none of them really look at me. They all look very preoccupied. I wonder how many of them obsess over it. I’ve tried not to, told myself it isn’t healthy, that life can go on and be normal even with that knowledge in the back of your head.

I imagine that life insurance companies are having a field day.

There’s nothing to do. There’s nothing to do about it, either. I walk back and go home. He isn’t in bed and I shrug and fall back asleep. When I wake up he’s back and I sigh at myself and roll my eyes and reach into his pants to jerk him awake.

 Nobody’s rioting, which surprises me. Everyone seems to have adjusted. Except for him. He keeps walking around, rubbing his chest, looking out the window. I watch him languidly. Every now and then he glances back at me and gives me an odd look. “Aren’t you nervous?” he asks finally. I shrug at him.

“I guess not,” I tell him.

“We’re going to die,” he says.

“Everyone dies eventually.”

“I don’t want to die.”

“Does anyone?”

“Why are you taking this so calmly?”

“Why shouldn’t I be?”

“It makes me feel silly.”

I laugh. It feels like I am coughing. “At least you’re honest,” I say.

“Half an hour,” he says in a dreadful voice. I clear my mind and think about it for a moment.

“Yes,” I agree finally. “Half an hour.”

“I wonder what will happen,” he says.

“Only one way to find out.”

“I’m scared,” he says. I glance over to the side, to the open door. Alice is peeking her head in. She ducks back when she sees me. I think for a moment that I ought to go put her to bed, but I don’t.

“It’s alright to be scared,” I tell him. “There’s no shame in that.”

“I don’t want to die,” he repeats, and he looks at me blankly, like a little kid might look at a parent when the parent tells them something they don’t understand and don’t care about.

“Would you like to go out with me and look at the stars?” I ask. He blinks.

“We’ll be safer inside,” he says automatically, then laughs. “I guess not,” he says. “I guess it doesn’t matter.”

“Are you coming?”

“I guess so.”

“Well, come on then.”

“Will you be back soon mommy?” We both turn to look at Alice. When he doesn’t say anything I smile at her.

“Very soon,” I say. “Don’t worry.”

“Can I come?”

“Perhaps it’s best if you don’t,” he says, and Alice frowns.

“But –“

“No buts,” I tell her. “Go to bed.”

“Okay,” she groans, then turns and scampers off down the hall. We watch her go then I reach over and take his hand and smile at him.

“Come on,” I tell him.

 Outside the night is clear and I can see all of the stars that I like to. “Ursa Major,” I say, pointing to it. “And Minor.”

“Which one?”

“That little one.”

“That one?”

I look over. “No, this one, see?”

As I roll onto my side the sweet grass prickles at my back and a little sweat rolls down my back. He blinks up at the sky rather owlishly.

“Are you still worried?” I ask him, and he shrugs.

“It doesn’t feel real,” he says. “I don’t think we’re going to die in…five minutes.”

“I wonder what’ll happen,” I say.

“I hope it isn’t painful.”

“Me too,” I mumble. I’m busy checking my phone for the time. Five minutes will make it 10:47.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“Sorry for what?”

“I don’t know. I feel like I could have been better to you.”

“Oh, it’s alright.”

“No, I’m serious. You deserved a lot better.”

I look over at him and he smiles at me softly. He really is quite pretty when he smiles. He doesn’t do it often enough. “A pity,” I murmur, and he frowns.

“What is?”

“Nothing,” I tell him as my hands close around his throat and he shuts his eyes. When he reaches up for my throat I laugh at him.

“What?” he croaks, but then I squeeze until my hands hurt. Finally when it feels like it’s done I flop over, pat around for my phone, look at the time. 10:49.

Up in the sky the stars seem very bright indeed. I shut my eyes and think for a moment until out of the middle of my mind that familiar, hard-edged number pops into my consciousness. Forty years exactly. Then thirty-nine years, eleven months, thirty days, twenty-four hours, fifty-nine minutes, fifty-eight, fifty-seven, six, five, four…

[stillebesat]

The Interview (3/5)

Sanders Sides: Logan, Patton, Virgil, Roman Blurb: A normal day at StoryTime! Inc. takes an unexpected turn when Logan goes to investigate why his coworkers have made a bet using Crofters as the prize. Fic Type: General, Human!AU Warnings: None

To Catch Up: Chapter 1 Chapter 2 

The security guards turned to him as the elevator dinged open and shared a look of surprise as he stepped out into the foyer. Logan ignored them, his attention focused on the young man he could see through the glass entrance. 

Their visitor had sat down on the bench again, his head in his hands. Why? Why not come inside? 

“Uh, Specs?” Ellyn called, fingering her security badge as she followed Logan’s gaze. “Is there a problem?”

He waved her off, heading to the doors. “I’m fine, Ellyn.” 

Chris, the other guard today, moved slowly to his feet, drawing the attention of everyone else passing through to what was happening. “But, Specs! You’re--” 

Logan mentally rolled his eyes. “Leaving before dark, yes I know, I’ll be right back.” 

It wasn’t that strange of an event. Rare yes. But according to office gossip, it was an absolute impossibility.

He wasn’t unaware of that fact that he was often painted as the resident cryptid of StoryTime!, as it appeared to everyone else that he never went home. However, Logan was quite capable of leaving the building without a) malfunctioning, b) burning up, or c) turning out to be Roman in disguise. 

Still. The whispers of frantic conversation starting up in his wake didn’t concern him as he pushed open the glass doors, walking out into the Florida heat. 

Logan frowned, feeling sweat already beginning to prickle on his forehead. If the boy had been out here for the entire two hours in that suit as Reese had claimed, perhaps his hunched position on the bench was more from heat exhaustion than nerves.

Or worse. 

What if it was heat stroke? The boy’s inability to enter the building could be from confusion--Logan quickened his pace to reach him sooner. “Are you alright?” He asked, barely getting the question out before the boy jerked, a soft yelp leaving his lips as he tumbled backwards off the bench.

Logan reacted instinctively. Years of having to save Roman from similar predicaments giving him the proper reflexes to catch the kid by the hand before his head could hit the ground. 

“Apologies” Logan said, pulling him back onto the bench. “It wasn’t my attention to startle you.” He had thought his approach quite obvious. 

Perhaps Reese was right that the boy wouldn’t last long--no, he wasn’t going to judge the cover of the book, not yet. People were often nervous before interviews. Logan had been a bundle of nerves himself when he and Roman had first approached Thomas about being hired on and Roman’s portfolio had been a third of the size of the one this kid had.

“It’s...fine.” The boy--no the young man had to be in his early twenties--said, pulling his hand free, rubbing it against his pants. 

An odd move. The man’s hands hadn’t been sweaty. A self soothing gesture? Or did he not like being touched? 

“I highly doubt you’re fine.” Logan commented, relaxing a little as the stranger looked up with red stained cheeks, meeting his eyes with mismatched ones.

Huh. Green and Purple. Heterochromia. Unexpected, but fitting for the story boarding idea the others had tossed around upstairs. At least the pupils weren’t dilated and the man didn’t appear dazed, only embarrassed. 

Logan offered a small smile, adjusting his glasses. “As it has been noted that you’ve been out here for quite some time.” 

Not long enough to get heat exhaustion, thankfully. 

The man stiffened, mismatched eyes flicking up to the building behind Logan before he groaned, dropping his head back into his hands. “Let me guess...they sent you out here to escort me off the property?” 

Logan blinked as the young man suddenly flowed to his feet, cradling his portfolio protectively in his arms, already half turned away to the parking lot. 

Had it been a mistake for him to come out here? The boy seemed quite eager to leave---No, if it wasn’t heat stroke, it had to be nerves...a lot of nerves if Logan was being mistaken for security. He wasn’t wearing anything at all like Chris or Ellyn’s uniform. 

“You would be incorrect.” Logan glanced to the bulging portfolio, gesturing to it. “I merely saw you pacing and thought I could offer some assistance. Am I correct in assuming you are here for an interview?”

The man scoffed, pressing the portfolio against his chest. “Well yeah, Sherlock. Pretty sure the portfolio gave that away--” He flinched, eyes going wide. “--Wait, please don’t tell me that you’re Roman Prince and I totally just ruined this!” 

Bingo.

Logan smirked, adjusting his glasses as the interviewee paled. “I’m not Roman, no.” He reassured him. 

Thank Crofters for that. The world wouldn’t be able to handle having two Romans wandering about.

No, he much preferred this guy’s Sherlock comment than being mistaken for his brother.

“But your hesitancy to enter the building makes much more sense now.” Logan said, folding his arms. “He can be rather intimidating and difficult to impress when it comes to interviews.” 

The interviewee ran a hand through his purple tinged hair, pushing his bangs back over his eyes, his heterochromia less visible in the shadows. “Great.” He shook his head. “That doesn’t help my nerves at all, dude. Why not just cut my agony short and tell me it’s pointless to even go in there and face him?” 

It probably was. Roman was very picky about who worked with him and if they couldn’t take his figurative heat---

But this was pre-interview nerves, Patton hadn’t done much better, speaking so fast that Logan had barely been able to follow his words and now he was an integral part of StoryTime! with his ability to tell just what was needed to get their viewers to feel the intended emotions within the film. 

And this man had an interview scheduled with his brother, which meant that Remy had passed him on not once but four times in the stringent pre-interview requirements that Roman had stated were necessary to keep him from ‘wasting his time.’ 

There was potential here.

Adjusting his tie, Logan raised an eyebrow. “I can’t give a fair judgement on that unless I can see your portfolio first.” He said, holding out his hand to the bulging portfolio. “May I?” 

The man narrowed his eyes, fingers tightening on his work. 

Possessive. Just like Roman when he was reluctant to share a new idea until it was ‘fully realized.’ 

“You’re going to be brutally honest with me?” The man asked, jaw set. “No sugar coating it just so you can see me suffer The Prince treatment inside?” 

Prince Treatment? Was that what forums were calling it now?

“You have my word.” Logan said without hesitation, wiggling his fingers. “I will be honest in my assessment of your potential.” After all, he’d been Roman’s sounding board growing up. He knew what his brother would be looking for. 

The man stared him down for two more full breaths before he exhaled, giving a jerk of a nod as he held out his portfolio. “Alright.”

Finally.

Reverently Logan took the man’s work, and moved to sit on the bench, gesturing with his free hand next to him. “Why don’t you sit while I look?” He invited.

Somehow, he wasn’t that surprised when the interviewee refused with a shake of his head. “I prefer to stand thanks.” He said again glancing to the parking lot. 

Already expecting Logan to say no, apparently. Was the pessimism from nerves or the kid’s general outlook? He shrugged, pushing up his glasses as he flipped open to the first page, skimming over the resume, knowing that Roman would be less interested in the degree and the amount of jobs the kid had had and more focused on seeing his skills as an artist. 

“So...Virgil is it?” He asked, glancing at the name at the top of the page. For all the effort Logan was putting into convincing this kid to stay long enough to see Roman, his work better be phenomenal. “Why do you want to work for StoryTime!?” 

He flipped to the first piece of work which, at first glance, looked like it could have been lifted from StoryTime!’s Jericho & Apollo. Not that impressive, especially when they were looking for other styl--wait. He leaned in closer, tracing the lines of the characters with his eyes. Was this...all one unbroken line?  

Virgil scoffed, shoving his hands into the pockets of his suit, looking as uncomfortable in it as Roman did in street clothes. “Are you interviewing me?” 

“Officially? No.” Logan said absently, following every curve. It was unbroken. He couldn’t tell where Virgil had begun or ended. Logan looked up. “But a bit of practice before the actual interview doesn’t hurt now does it?”

The last time he’d tried to interfere with his brother’s hires…well...it hadn’t ended well. Logan was only intervening now out of professional curiosity--and because of the Crofters bet going on upstairs. 

But his curiosity only grew as he turned to the next page, fighting not to smile at a rendition of Baby Bird Watch done only in fingerprints. Creative. Patton had mentioned wanting to try something like that on their date last week. He hadn’t thought anyone else--

Virgil licked his lips. “I...suppose not.” His mismatched eyes flicked to the building and back to Logan as he exhaled. “Well, cliche as it sounds. I’ve followed StoryTime! since the very beginning when Thomas Sanders just had his phone and Vine to work with.”

Vine? “That’s quite a while.” He remarked, keeping his tone neutral as he turned to the next page. “Most people wouldn’t know what you meant if you brought up Vine now.” He was pretty sure none of their newest hires knew of Thomas’s humble beginnings in film. 

Virgil chuckled, a sound that was actually quite pleasant to the ear. “Don’t I know it.” He agreed, tense shoulders relaxing as he gave a small genuine smile. “His videos there were cheesy but good natured. The fact that Thomas could create such a positive impact in six seconds was...well it impressed me. Honestly, those videos were about the only thing that got me through some of my darkest days back then. Still do even now.”

Logan hummed in agreement. He and Roman had their own Vine compilations of Thomas that they would revisit on particularly bad days. Patton was in the middle of composing his own, having only recently been introduced to the short videos by Logan. “He does have a knack for knowing how to make people smile.”

Virgil nodded, pacing back and forth in front of Logan as he slowly thumbed through the portfolio, studying each page with an interest that he didn’t have to fake. It was deceptive. A quick glance through would make one think that Virgil had been working for StoryTime! for years, yet there was always something that set his work apart. Something that begged Logan to take more time to look at each piece than he normally would have. 

He barely stopped himself from jumping as Virgil unexpectedly sat down beside him only realizing he had stopped listening to the man at that moment as Virgil tapped on a willowy version of Sir Sing-A-Lot with the bear cub from Crofters: The Musical. “Thomas kept his roots when he started StoryTime!, kept the positivity, the hopeful messages within and I just…” That small smile played on Virgil’s lips again as he brushed the edges of the page. “I admire it. I want to be a part of it. Help others like he helped me.”

Logan drew in a breath, this kid sounded so much like Roman when he talked like that. “That’s a good goal to have, Virgil.” He said, his fingers hovering over the drawing as he followed the swirls in the cubs fur. “But you are correct with it being cliche.” 

More than cliche. ‘Wanting to help others like Thomas has helped me’ was practically a catch phrase in interviews. Remy and Callie had an ongoing licorice bet on how long the streak would last. 

It was already very apparent that Virgil had the skills to work at StoryTime!, but there still was the question of him being able to fit in. And while Roman may not care about job history--- 

“However,” Logan continued, looking up. “StoryTime! prefers to hire people with the intention that they’ll stay on. We’re a FamILY here.” A phrase that Patton had coined that Thomas had immediately made their company motto. “We support each other, and would prefer to have individuals that don’t give up at the first sign of trouble.” 

That was the failing point of most of Roman’s interviewees. They came in all starry eyed, expecting the work at StoryTime! to be all sunshine and petting kittens, only to end up ill-prepared to handle the pressure of deadlines or bond well with the rest of their peers. Virgil kept looking for an exit before the interview had even happened...would he be willing to stick it out through the bad moments as well as the good? 

Logan adjusted his glasses, glancing from the corner of his eye to Virgil, noting that an odd look had come onto his face. It almost looked like...longing--but no, it vanished as Virgil turned to him, hands clenching. “I’m not the sort to give up after one setback, sir.” He stated, firmly. “You can believe that.” 

Logan frowned. “You don’t give up--” What about all that talk of leaving? What about wanting Logan to tell him it was pointless to go in to the interview? What about-- He thumbed back to the first page, jabbing a finger at the job history. “Yet, here, it shows that you’ve held quite the series of jobs in the last six years.” He looked up, staring Virgil down. “Why is that?” 

Virgil audibly swallowed, panic flashing across his face. “I--” He slumped and stood, running his hands through his hair. “I don’t give up.” He repeated, shoulders hunching to the point they nearly touched his ears. “I took most of those jobs in the first place to save up for classes to improve my drawing and animating techniques.” He mumbled, kicking at the grass. “It wasn’t my intention to stay with them long.”  

Logan leaned in, watching the microexpressions on Virgil’s face as he spoke. There was more of a story there than was being told. Anger, sadness, frustration. Why had he felt the need to switch jobs so often? He’d barely lasted longer than six months in most of them. It could be a sign that he didn’t work well with others and working for StoryTime! involved a lot of collaboration. No one could lone wolf it for long here. Not even Roman despite what he proclaimed  

It wasn’t a good sign. Despite his skills, Virgil would need to be a team player and it didn’t look like he could do that. Logan pursed his lips. Closing the portfolio. “I see.” 

Virgil stiffened, eyes flashing with fire as he whirled to Logan, crouching down in front of him, his breath coming quick and shallow as he flipped his portfolio back open. “I’m a hard worker, sir.” He stated forcefully, keeping eye contact with Logan as he jabbed a finger at the education portion of his resume. “I don’t slack off. I don’t quit a job until it quits me first.” 

Quits him first? Logan opened his mouth, surprised at the sudden turn around in Virgil’s attitude. What did--

Virgil didn’t let him say a word. “You can see here that I graduated last year with a double Bachelors in Illustration and Animation, Summa Cum Laude.” 

A difficult feat. Roman had struggled to do a similar thing with Creative Writing and Illustration without the Summa Cum Laude. 

“So you have.” He murmured, though he wasn’t sure Virgil heard him as the interviewee flipped through his portfolio to later pages that Logan hadn’t yet reached, stopping on an image of a dragon made from smoke. 

“It took me a week to perfect this technique.” His mouth twitched upwards as he stared at the image. “I burned through two sketchbooks, singed my eyebrows, and set off four fire alarms before I could get the paper to blacken correctly and create this smokey texture.” He turned multiple pages, each showing the same technique.

Logan couldn’t help but smile at the fervor in Virgil’s tone, the light of accomplishment that danced in his eyes. It was so much like Roman’s, down to the nearly burning down of apartments. He hadn’t expected such passion to be found within--but of course, he should never have doubted that it existed. Not with how thick and varied Virgil’s portfolio was. It just needed to be encouraged, allowed to flourish.

“Or even this!” Virgil continued, flipping further back to a shimmering green basilisk. “The scales? Their shimmer?” He looked up and faltered, the fervor dying in a flash as he wilted, his cheeks again going red upon catching Logan looking at him. 

“Go on.” He encouraged, hating to see the flame of passion go out as quickly as it had sprung up. 

Virgil took a breath, breaking eye contact. “I-I-went to every store in the valley to find the right composite of pearlescent ink to put on these scales.” He continued, worrying his bottom lip as he kept his tone soft. “I spent hours getting it to flow just right and look.” He tilted the page, the green scales shifting to a brilliant white.

Of all the--Logan couldn’t help a gasp from escaping his lips as he took the page, brushing Virgil’s hand as he tilted the image back and forth. “Amazing.” He murmured. “A casual viewer wouldn’t know you used two different shades until they moved the page. It’s a…pleasant surprise.” 

Though he didn’t know how it could be used in animation...it was a stroke of genius. Logan could easily picture his brother locking Virgil in a room with him to teach him the method. He adjusted his glasses, looking up. “Well done, Virgil.” 

He ducked his head, his face getting redder. “Uh..tha--thanks.” He mumbled, pushing to his feet, rubbing his fingers against his pants as he looked away. 

Huh. It didn’t seem like Virgil was used to praise if he reacted like this. Most applicants would preen and boast further about their work. And while Virgil had a clear passion for his art...it still didn’t answer how well he’d work in a group setting. Especially with Roman. 

“So.” Logan said, patting the bench next to him to encourage Virgil to sit back down. “Hypothetically. If Roman were to harangue you because there is a storyboard due in fifteen minutes for presentation and you’ve drawn the main character all wrong because the MC’s look had not been made clear to you, what would you do?”

Virgil gaped at him before giving the slightest shakes of his head, cautiously sitting. “I---I um---” 

“An honest answer, Virgil.” Logan said, leaning forward, watching his microexpressions intently. “Your true reaction. Not what you think I want to hear.” 

Virgil hesitated, running his hand through his hair, before shrugging, a defiant flicker in his eyes. “Honestly….” He clicked his tongue, glancing to the building. “Honestly, I would call him nine types of an idiot for not checking in with me sooner to make sure I was fulfilling his vision. 

Logan barely kept himself from gaping, forcing his expression to remain neutral. The boy had seemed so worried about making a bad impression on his brother, and now he was willing to call him an idiot? 

But also--” Virgil grimaced, rubbing his fingers against the cuffs on his sleeves. “I would be calling myself the same names for not making more of an effort to clarify the MC’s key characteristics with him.” He gestured to the portfolio. “I would make an argument for keeping the current version, since the look of a character doesn’t have to be set in stone for storyboarding ...and if I couldn’t convince Princey to go with it then...well… I would-- 

“Walk out?” Logan asked, tilting his head. Others had done so for lesser reasons. Roman was as stubborn as a mule most days when it came to realizing his vision---

“Wha--no!” Virgil jerked his attention back to Logan, eyes wide. “For how hard I’ve worked to get here I wouldn’t walk over something like that! I want this! My dream of working here is the only reason I---” Virgil huffed, tugging at the collar of his suit. “If Princey remains as stubborn and perfectionistic as the forums paint him then I would fix the MC’s design. If I had drawn it on the computer, I would simply sketch a couple of quick replacements and copy/paste. Easy enough.”

Easy enough? Logan had seen more experienced artists yell at Roman that what he wanted was impossible and this kid was saying---”Easy enough indeed.” He murmured, fighting back a smile as he flipped through the portfolio, pausing at a market scene similar to the original Aladdin. “And if it had been hand drawn?” He asked. Storyboarding wasn’t as difficult as the main animation, but the boy had emphasized computer sketches. “Roman usually likes the first storyboard presentation to be drawn on paper first.”

Virgil made a face. “Of course he does.” He said under his breath, barely loud enough for Logan to hear. “If that’s the case--” He exhaled. “It would be a nightmare to redo, but I would make it work.” His lips twitched as he ran his fingers through his hair, mismatched eyes glimmering with mischief. “Though I would be calling Princey a variety of bad nicknames under my breath the entire time I was redrawing to make myself feel better.”

Logan covered his mouth with his hand, failing to hide the laugh that burst from his lips. If what the kid said was true, he may end up being just as stubborn as his brother. “I hope that they would be creative.” He remarked. 

Roman would be offended at anything...simple. 

Virgil rubbed the back of his neck, again giving that warm laugh. “Considering my past track record with nicknaming, I’m sure I could come up with a few good one--Oh hey!” He snapped his fingers, standing. “Come to think of it.” He pulled out a battered phone. “I actually had to do a similar scenario to yours in my second year of college.” He confessed, showing Logan the cracked screen, swiping quickly through a mosaic of stained storyboards. 

“Half an hour before our final project was due for presentation, a cotton-headed ninny muggins spilled their stale coffee all over my group’s storyboard we’d spent the last month working on and we had to quickly draw replacements.” 

A group project? So Virgil could work with others. “Really?” He asked, quickly taking the phone to scroll through the images himself, pausing at the ones that showcased the worst of the coffee stains, but at the same time, showed Virgil with four others. The members of his group if Logan wasn’t mistaken. 

There was also no question that most of their work had been ruined, Logan couldn’t help but wince in sympathy. “I’ve been there myself.” He said, smoothing down his tie. Though he had had three days to fix his project instead of half an hour. It had been a nightmare. He paused, studying the replacements. “How did you do on this project, after the redraws, if I may ask?” The new sketches still had most of their cohesiveness, showing that the group had worked together to merge their styles, but Logan could still pick out quirks, slightly differentiating each artist from the other. The question was...which of these were Virgil’s? 

Virgil shrugged, gesturing offhandedly, ducking his head. “We managed an A-” He said, his tone tinged with pride. 

An A- after all that? Logan whistled, handing back the phone. “Impressive. And out of the ruined ones, how many did you personally redraw?” 

“How man--ummm” Virgil chewed his bottom lip, frowning down at his phone, his fingers tapping against his thigh. “Me, personally...I took around twenty.” 

Logan straightened. “Twenty?” He repeated, not sure he’d heard correctly. “In half an hour?” 

Virgil flushed, nodding as he kicked at the grass. “Yah. I was the quickest at the line art in that group. The other four divided up the remaining thirty between them.” 

Logan blinked, mentally calculating before giving a soft laugh. “Once again, Virgil. Impressive.”

The young man’s face went even more red as he hunched his shoulders, looking at the ground. “It wasn’t--well….um...Thanks.” 

He definitely wasn’t used to receiving compliments. 

“It is impressive, Virgil.” Logan repeated, leaning forward with a smile, wishing he hadn’t handed the phone back so soon so he could recheck the images. At least he still had the portfolio in his hands. “Not many people here could do such a quick turn around after such a disaster.” 

Even his brother wouldn’t have been as quick. He thumbed through more of the artwork, stopping at a Sallyized version of Jack Skellington and smirked. Oh. He recognized this particular image. Had Remy known--- probably not. 

Logan looked up tapping the picture. “Nor would many dare to call Roman an idiot to his face. He could probably use more of an ego check.” Crofters knew how often Logan had had to do it to his brother. Most of the company worshiped the ground Roman walked on.  

Virgil offered his own conspiratorial smile, spreading his arms. “Well, I’m sure I could give Princey that ego check if needed. I’m quite used to being the villain.” 

A villain? Logan jerked his eyes to Virgil’s mismatched ones, searching his face, looking for any hint as to why the young man before him would refer to himself as such. 

Virgil paled under his scrutiny, his eyes widening with fear, his hands lowering as his feet shifted.

Preparing to run. 

Logan couldn’t let that happen, not when he didn’t know the full story. 

“Your drawing style is rather unique compared to StoryTime!’s usual stuff.” He said instead, tilting his head down to the portfolio in his hands.

The portfolio he knew Virgil would not leave. Not from how possessive he’d been of it in the beginning. 

“You tend to draw in darker color schemes, use thinner lines, and showcase typically good characters as your villains. He flipped back through the portfolio to point out a Princess dressed in green and black, holding a fractured scepter before turning the page to a thin angular baker pulling skull cookies out of the oven. “While using the typical hero shapes of circles and squares on your villains.” He gestured to a square jawed vampire, pulling children from a burning home. 

It was an odd take, a different take. Very different from StoryTime!’s usually brighter motif. “Why do you think this sort of thing could be a fit for StoryTime!?” 

Virgil clenched his shaking hands, drawing in a shallow breath, focusing in on the artwork Logan held. “There’s--” He swallowed, clearing his throat. “There’s been a surge in people empathizing with the bad guys recently.” He said, quietly. “Wanting to know their backstory, see what caused them to go...well…” He shrugged. “Bad.” He cautiously sat next to Logan on the bench. “Even Disney’s caught onto that fact.” 

Really? Logan hummed, nodding for Virgil to continue, intrigued by the explanation. “Go on.” 

The young man licked his lips as he reached out, flipping through the pages to a different series of works, all villains. 

“You can see it with Disney choosing to retell Sleeping Beauty with Maleficent’s backstory as the main focus.” He said, gesturing to a softer smaller version of Maleficent in her dragon form, curled around a broken spindle. “They already have firm plans to do a similar thing with 101 Dalmatians and Cruella and maybe with Ursula in the Little Mermaid or the Evil Queen in Snow White. It’s a trend that StoryTime! should jump onto and take charge of.”

That was true. With their live action retellings of their older tales, Disney had given more life to their villains, giving them a richer background that hadn’t been explored before. Even Patton had been taken by the altered version of Sleeping Beauty, empathizing with Maleficent’s plight. 

Virgil tapped his portfolio as Logan stayed silent. “Because no one and I mean No. One. Else. is better at turning tropes on their heads than StoryTime! is.” 

Ha. Logan smiled fondly. Thomas had a knack for that for sure. Gaining sympathy, proving points. Roman struggled sometimes with the black and white mentality, but Thomas? Yes. Thomas had that vision to think outside the box.  

Virgil gestured to the building. “From the very beginning, you’ve twisted plots into unexpected directions, created morally grey characters that the audience should expect to hate, only for them to come out of the theaters ardent supporters of them, praising your plotlines and attention to details and I...”

He looked up, faltering as he caught Logan’s intent gaze and jerked his hand back, flushing once more.

“And you?” Logan asked, keeping his tone gentle. He could see the fire within Virgil. See his passion for StoryTime! It just needed to be fanned a little more. Allowed to flourish. 

Virgil looked away, placing his hands in his lap. “And I think telling stories from the villain's point of view could be StoryTime!’s next big break and…” He bit his lip, taking a steadying breath as he looked back up. “I would love to be a part of it, if given the chance.”

Logan nodded thoughtfully, slowly closing the portfolio, holding it lightly in his hands as he stared at StoryTime!’s front doors. 

If given a chance. 

His artwork proved Virgil was more than capable. His apparent quick turnaround when a problem arose was impressive. His willingness to put Roman in his place, refreshing. And yet---what would his brother think? Would Roman even see the Jack Skellington that he’d had spent hours fawning over to Logan when he’d first come across it online?

No. If Virgil didn’t give off the right impression, didn’t show his confidence. His brother would dismiss him without a thought, sending potentially refreshing talent out the door. 

Virgil fidgeted, his shoes scuffing against the rocks, pulling Logan from his thoughts. “Well?” He asked, holding out his hand to take his portfolio back. “Do you think I have a chance in my interview with Princey?”

Logan made no move to return Virgil’s work. Instead slowly looking up, meeting his eyes. 

This could be exactly what the company needed, and Logan wasn’t willing to leave it up to chance. Leave it up to his brother. 

“Virgil.” He said quietly. “I’m going to have to say-”

Virgil tensed, shoulders already hunching, expecting rejection. 

Logan gave him a warm smile. “That you’re hired.”

To Be Continued Chapter 4

Taglist in reblog

[ineffably-good]

Prompt: Cursed

Just a little Pirate cosplay with our two favorite ethereal beings. :)

This is for the Good Omens 30th Anniversary Celebration prompts! 

Read all the ones I’ve completed on AO3!

_______________

Aziraphale, dressed in high black boots and tight breeches and a billowing white shirt that was much too clean for his current role as a brigand of the high seas, knelt down to open the first of the chests they’d dug up from the sea cave on the eastern Canadian coast. Inside was a heap of silver and gold coins, badly tarnished, velvet bags of jewelry that would need to be sorted through to see if the items they were looking for were amongst them, and, interestingly, a small black box, on the very top of the pile.

The box was about six inches square, lacquered to a high shine, with a large, heavy looking clasp and no further decoration. It was oddly enticing. Aziraphale forgot what he was doing and made a noise of fascination as he reached for it, picking it up to examine it in the firelight.

“Don’t touch that!” Crowley shouted from beside him.

Something in his tone frightened the angel into immediately dropping it to the ground.

Aziraphale brushed his breeches off in frustration and stood. He flipped up the stupid eye patch from his left eye so he could focus more clearly.

“What is your problem?” he said acerbically. 

Crowley paused to wipe the sweat off his face and lean on the shovel handle with his arms. Crowley had been doing most of the digging and the puffy white shirt and red bandana he wore were wet and filthy with sweat and exertion.

“Bad feeling,” the demon said. “I don’t think you should be touching that.” 

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow but complied. “Pirate curse?” he asked.

“Something cursed it. Might not’ve been pirates who put it there,” Crowley replied. “Perhaps that’s why they never came back for their treasure, you know? Picked up some cursed loot somewhere, sank to the bottom of the sea.”

Aziraphale uncapped a wine cask that was slung at his side and took a long swig. “Why are we digging up these chests, anyway?” he asked for the fourth time. “We could just – you know – miracle them up.”

“Oh, come on, angel,” Crowley said with a grin. “Where’s the fun in that? We went to all the trouble of disguising ourselves as pirates and getting a ship and hiring a crew all to bring us out here to this god forsaken northern island to follow this ridiculous map and try to retrieve the Queen’s jewels, and you want to just cheat on the last step and miracle the booty up out of the ground?”

“Oh sure, now you become a stickler about verisimilitude,” the angel groused, but halfheartedly. He knew Crowley had always wanted to be a pirate. When they’d both gotten orders to retrieve a certain set of stolen jewels for different aims, it seemed like the ideal time to indulge the demon’s long-held fantasy. He hadn’t even made Crowley work that hard to convince him. The 17th century had been rather boring so far, his responsibilities were at a natural lull, and it seemed like a good time for a quick maritime adventure. That said, that didn't mean he was about to shovel.

“So, what’s in the little black box?” Aziraphale said, nudging it with a foot towards the demon.

Crowley poked at it with the shovel. “Not sure,” he said. “Feels demonic. Not entirely sure we should open it.”

“But you’re a demon,” Aziraphale said, frowning. “Surely it’s safe for you.”

“Possibly,” Crowley said, “but you’re here. And I don’t want to let anything in there harm you.”

Aziraphale smiled. “Very thoughtful of you,” he said. “But we’re pirates. We can handle it.”

Crowley frowned and then pointed Aziraphale towards the mouth of the cave. “Stand over there. I’ll raise a shield.”

Aziraphale moved to where he was pointed and watched as Crowley unfurled his wings from the ether and raised a shimmering strip power that acted as somewhat of a barrier between them. He placed his own body between the angel and the cube, and then prodded at its clasp with his shovel until it sprung open.

A howl filled the cave, along with an amorphous, whirling cloud of vapor that appeared to be screaming. Crowley stepped back, shovel held out defensively and his attention split between the cloud in front of him and the angel behind him. The cloud whirled and began to condense into the size of a figure, and after a moment it settled down into the recognizable shape of a man.

A man who appeared to be dressed in drab, tan-colored robes, grimy and in poor repair, with gloved fingers riddled with holes and his white shock of hair standing up in spikes. Aziraphale blinked in surprise – he’d seen this person before, he was sure of it. It wasn’t until the face came into focus with its smear of boils and the grubby toad on his head that he knew for sure who it was. It was the demon who he’d run across once or twice in the last few centuries – what was his name? He knew it, it was right on the tip of his tongue –

“HASTUR!” Crowley shouted. “What in the name of – what were you doing locked up in a box?”

Hastur rolled his unkempt head around on his shoulders, producing a series of surprising loud crackles and pops as various muscles and bones clicked back into place. He took a deep breath and looked around him, obviously working to bring his eyes back into focus.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he said. “Crowley? You’re my rescuer?”

Crowley laughed. “You got yourself captured? How does a Duke of Hell end up locked in a little black box and how did I not hear that you were missing?”

Hastur scowled. “What year is it?”

“1680 something,” Crowley said. “When were you taken?”

“About a decade ago,” Hastur said. “Idiot magician in the court of Spain accidentally did something right. Put me in that box, laid a curse on it so it couldn’t be opened by mortals. If you hadn’t come along…” He looked around and noted Aziraphale by the cave entrance. “Oh great. An angelic witness. What are you doing consorting with the enemy here? I’ll be sure to report about your bad habits of fraternizing with the enemy when we get back home.”

“Seems to me,” Crowley drawled, “that if we hadn’t come along, you’d still have been stuck in that box for a long time to come. Possibly centuries. The tides here are brutal – no human could have been in here long enough to dig you up without drowning. You owe us.”

Hastur hissed and clenched his fingers into and out of fists, clearly wanting to smite something. A few maggots dripped from one of his hands and burrowed into the sand. “Don’t think you’ll get any favors from me, you colossal moron.”

Crowley grinned. “Well that’s all right then,” he said, picking up the black container. “Let’s just take this box –” he stopped and sniffed it dramatically. “—which, by the way, is full of your psychic residue, absolutely confirms that you were locked inside for a decade. So, let’s just take this and pop back to Hell and update Beelzebub and the council about where you’ve been and how you were stupid enough to get locked in a box by a magician, shall we?”

Hastur paled.

“I’m sure they won’t be too angry,” Crowley continued, syrupy sweet. “Probably only send you to the pits for a few years at most. Been a while since you’ve been flayed, hasn’t it?”

“Fine!” Hastur shouted. “What do you want?”

“I want you to forget that you saw either of us here, and I want no reports made about the angel’s presence. We are both here simply pursuing the orders of our direct superiors, who each have an interest in the contents of these chests. There’s no fraternizing going on.”

“No indeed,” Aziraphale said primly from the entrance. “I don’t care for him at all. He’s quite an arse.”

Hastur smirked. “You’re right on that front.”

Crowley made a feint at Aziraphale with the shovel, just for effect, and snarled convincingly. “Please. Like I’d hang out with him. He’s a total drip.”

Aziraphale looked up towards the heavens in his best long-suffering manner.

“So?” Crowley said, flourishing the box. “Are we heading to the dark council right now, or do we have a deal?”

Hastur sighed. “Yes, fine, I won’t say a word about the suspicious circumstances I found you in. In return, you give me the box.”

“Ohhhhh no,” Crowley said, “I don’t think so.” He made a hand motion and the box disappeared, tucked neatly into a small pocket dimension where he kept one of his stashes of valuable things. “I’m keeping it for insurance. Because I don’t trust you, Hastur. Not for one second.”

“That’s the first sensible thing you’ve said all day, Crawly,” Hastur sneered. “Should never trust another demon. Stay away from me from here on out, all right?”

He stood up more fully and brushed off his clothing, assembled his tattered robes into something approaching order, and offered them both an insincere and disturbing wave, and melted into the ground.

The last thing they saw was his toad, eyeing them suspiciously, and then that too was gone.

Crowley whacked the ground where Hastur had disappeared with the belly of the shovel. “Good riddance,” he muttered. He dropped the wings and his power and turned to Aziraphale. “Safe now, you can come back in.”

“That was… surprising,” the angel said mildly. “Thanks for stopping me from setting him free myself. One of us would have ended up smiting the other, for sure.”

“Wouldn’t have really minded if it was you smiting him,” Crowley said with a grin. “As long as it didn’t start some long, drawn out war.”

“Well,” the angel said, “shall we get back to it? The crew is probably near onto mutiny by now; if we take much longer we will be flying home.”

Crowley picked up the shovel again and spaded it down into the sand. “On it, angel,” he said, flinging a shovel-full of sand into the corner. “Just a few more feet and we’ve got the second chest. We’ll take them back to the ship and sort it all out there.”

“On the way home, perhaps we can stop at that former Viking colony on the big island up north? I hear there are mermaids about!” Aziraphale said. “Oh, and perhaps we can magic up some proper tea and some little cakes for the trip?”

“You’re a horrible pirate, Aziraphale,” the demon said. “Just the worst.”

[sole-survivor-sent-me]

As It Was

It was all ripped away. In a flash of light and a cascade of fire, her world was ripped away. 

“And on that cheek, and o’er that brow - So soft, so calm, yet eloquent - the smiles that win, the tints that glow - but tells of days in goodness spent - a mind at peace with all below - a heart whose love is innocent!”

Poem by Lord Byron (George Gordon)

_______________________________________________________________

Hunger, pain, the fear of not surviving the day. Things Nellie never had to encounter in her past life. She had endured an occasional fight as a young woman, usually ones she fought for others, but it was nothing compared to being whacked with a spike board by a seven foot tall Super Mutant... yes. Those exist now. Everything she used to know was nothing, it was all gone - changed by radiation or turned into dust by time. There was always a constant ache that would never let her rest. The constant reminder that there was a gaping hole where her family used to be… where she used to be. The person she once was just as dead as the rest of the world.

The fire in front of her popped, knocking her away from her thoughts. She was sitting on hard, rocky ground and that would soon become her bed, in a clearing in no place in particular. The sun had set an hour or so ago, but she had kept her fire going - despite the fact it would only draw threats to her. She held a 10mm Pistol in her right hand, ready to face anything that wandered too close. But deep in the back of her mind, she wanted to use it for something else. Something that would end the nightmare, withdraw her from the scorched, irritated landscape that surrounded her. What she really wanted was to ease the ache and finally rest.

The clothes she wore smelled like dried sweat and blood that had been fermenting on her for weeks. The old, blue vault suit had stitched-up patches that covered old bullet holes, and the armor she had on her limbs had deep dents on them. It was as if she had been on a battlefield, and perhaps she still was. Her life now was filthy and blood soaked. Death was an unwelcome companion, everyday she saw it… and saw it caused by her own hands. She suffers everyday. And today, she goes hungry. 

There was no food in her small duffle bag. Nellie had run out the day before and had eaten a wild irradiated plant in the early morning. All that was in there was some ammunition, stimpacks, and some personal forget-me-nots. She took out some old photos that were protected by a plastic bag in a tin box and held them to the light. The top one was of her and her husband with their baby, it was the first day out of the hospital. They were so happy. Love used to surround them, they were soul mates. And it was all taken away by a bullet to the chest. 

Revenge was not enough to right the wrong that had been done. She could kill the man who shot her husband a thousand times but nothing would change, Amber would still be dead and his ghost would still haunt her. She needed to find their son. He was still out here, she knew it. She could not die yet, no matter how much she longed for the release. She was the only survivor of a deadly vault malfunction, she alone survived. 

“Now, there’s a reason for that.” An unexpected familiar voice toar her from the depth of her mind.

“Pops?” She stood. Looking for the face of her father. 

“Maybe Shaun isn’t the only reason you are outch-here.” The familiar southern twang and joyful tone - there was no mistaking it. 

“Pops, come out of the shadows.” She twirled around, trying to find him. “Sit by the fire with me.”

“I’m already sittin’.” There he was. Sitting on a metal stool by the fire. He wore his usual loose collared shirt and trousers. One of his boots untucked and that big smile of his. “Now, you sit with me?”

She did so, her gaze glued to him. “How are you here?”

“Nevermind that. But I will tell ya why.” He leaned towards her, closer to the light of the fire. “I want you to promise me something, Chickpea.” 

“You came all the way out here for a promise?”

“No, I came because you needed me to.” He paused, observing his daughter's condition. “You look like you been dragging yourself through the muck, Nell. And I don’t just mean physically. I know you ain’t had much choice, and if I could I would take you back home to Summersville. I’d throw you over my shoulder and off we’d go! But the truth is… I ain’t here anymore.”

She huffed, “I know that! … But you are HERE.”

“Because you need help! And because you need to help others too.” He pointed at her, “Chickpea, you are a smart woman. You been taught how to make use of the land - though I know it ain’t the same land it used to be - but nonetheless you been taught how to build, tinker, modify, hell you went to college and learned how to code computers!”

“It was one class, I can’t -” 

“Now just listen. I have a lot I wanna say.” He signed, and leaned back on his stool. “What happened to this world was awful. It destroyed so much, and took so much away. But it did not take everythin’. You are still here. I want you to stop feeling sorry for yourself! There is so much more to do. What about these folks who are still out here survivin’? How bout you share that knowledge! You know how to read and write, hell, teach them and pass on your knowledge that way!” He smiled, “And your baby... He needs you, Chickpea. The only way you’re going to get to him is if others help you do so.”

She put her head in her free hand, her other hand gripping the pistol tight. “What if I can’t find him? What if I fail?”

“There is nothing wrong with being afraid, but you can’t let it paralyze ya. These last few weeks, what have you been doing? Wandering around, fighting, killing, and all for what? Why don’t you stop for a moment and use the skills of a Fraser and build a healthy place to settle for the folks you help in passing. And maybe, they will help you too.”

“Pops…”

“You are an educated, pre-war woman. You have suffered loss, but that won’t keep you down.” George stood up and held out his hand. “Pick yer-self up, Nell.” 

She looked at his hand, and grabbed it tight with both of hers and pulled herself to her feet. “Now promise me somethin’.”

“Anything, Pops.” The fire was getting low, it’s light did not illuminate his face any more. It was only a shadow that she could only see the shape of.

“Promise you won’t end your own life. Not tonight, or any other night.” 

Nellie held her breath. Her rational mind told her this was all in her head, and this whole conversation was fabricated by her own mind. But her heart only heard her father speaking. Like he really did come from the grave to build her up again. “I promise.”

“Don’t you go forgetting what I said. I meant e’ery word.” He wrapped her in a quick embrace, one that was not warm like they used to be. “Stay strong, Chickpea.” 

She felt his arms fall away but did not hear any steps. The fire was just red embers now and the half moon only revealed stillness around her. He was never really there. 

Fatigue creeped up on her, and she sunk to the hard, rocky earth. She loosely grabbed her 10mm Pistol in her hands and cradled it in her lap. That feeling deep in her still remained, but her and Pops never broke their promises to each other.

She stared at the stars. Knowing that she had to go back to her hired gun, MacCready. She had left him alone when they both needed each other, and if she were to need anyone in this Hellish place. It was him.

[madpanda75]

“Escape Room Escapades” Part Two

Part Two of my story where Rafael and the reader are locked in an escape room, with the prompts: "That’s probably the fastest I’ve ever done that” and “Isn’t this considered public indecency? We could get arrested!” from this lovely smut-filled list. 

You can read Part One on my Masterlist. I was gonna make this the conclusion but who knows, there may be a third part...ya’ never know ❤️

Warning: NSFW (I also call Rafael a “butt nugget” because I have the sense of humor of a 12 year old boy 😂)

A gust of wind rushed past your bare legs as you walked down the street. You clutched your skirt, making sure you didn’t flash any poor unsuspecting passerby. Having been too preoccupied with Rafael’s cases and your own, you had forgotten to do the laundry. The only pair of clean clothes you had was a brown suede skirt and a cream colored sweater. Going commando to a team building event was not ideal, but you could suffer through a couple of hours. You had been to an Escape Room before. The plan was to get the whole charade over with as quickly as possible and make it back home in time for some birthday champagne and a Netflix marathon on your couch.

You turned the corner and saw Rafael outside the building. He was dressed in a blue-grey cashmere sweater and jeans that did a stellar job accentuating his assets. Good Lord, the man looked amazing even in casual clothes. You walked up to where he was standing, silently cursing him for being so damn cute. “Rafael?”

Rafael turned towards you. Your heart skipped a beat. Up close you could see how the color of his sweater brought out the green in his eyes, some stubble on his face already beginning to grow after one day of not shaving. You shook off your impure thoughts and glanced down at your phone to check the time. “Where’s everyone else?”

“Patel couldn’t come. He had to take his dog to the vet and Walters is sick with dengue flu.” Rafael rolled his eyes at that last part. You would think a lawyer could come up with a better excuse.

“So it’s just us then,” you said.

“It would appear so.”

“Great,” you grumbled, reminding yourself to have a little chat with Patel and Walters on Monday morning. Let’s see them try and ask you for advice on litigation techniques now. “Come on. Let’s get this over with so we can go on with our lives.”

Once inside, a young employee whose name tag read “Lucy” signed you both in. Rafael stood next to you while you filled out the registration form, studying your profile—the gentle slope of your nose, your cherry red pout. He could feel your body radiating heat. You were exquisite. How was he supposed to concentrate with you in the room. His racing mind suddenly came to a screeching halt when you glanced up and caught him staring.

“What?” You asked, furrowing your brows at him.

“Nothing. I just...uh...noticed it was your birthday today.” Rafael pointed to the form.

“Yep and I’m stuck here with you,” you sighed. “Lucky me.”

Once you finished, Lucy led you down a hall with several doors, stopping at one called, The Hydeout Game. “Here’s the story,” she replied in a dramatic British accent. “The good Dr. Jekyll has been acting strangely for weeks and gone missing!” She gasped. “A crazy fellow has been causing chaos in town so you’ve been hired to investigate. Can you find out what happened to Dr. Jekyll before it’s too late.” She rubbed her hands together and manically began to laugh.

You and Rafael looked at each other and then at her, completely unfazed.

“Tough crowd,” Lucy mumbled, losing the British accent. “Ok, here’s the deal. You have 75 minutes to figure out how to get out of the room. There’s a walkie talkie in there in case you need help.”

“75 minutes. I thought this was only supposed to be an hour,” you said.

“Your boss specifically requested that we give each group an extra 15 minutes to ensure you have enough time to figure out how to escape,” Lucy replied.

Rafael scoffed. “Well it’s nice to know Jack McCoy has confidence in our ability.”

Lucy unlocked the door and made a sweeping grand gesture with her arm for you to enter the room. The room was set up to reflect Victorian times, elegant with luxe blood red wallpaper and plush furniture. A large fireplace was on your right and to the left was a sitting area with bookshelves and a secretary desk. In the middle of the room a table was set up to look like a laboratory with various beakers, pipettes, and paper strewn around.  “Good luck!” She waved and slammed the door shut.

*****

It only took fifteen minutes of being locked in a room with Rafael for you both to begin bickering. You managed to find Dr. Jekyll’s journal, a large notebook with a cryptic message scrawled on the page. Obviously it was a code of some sort. The problem was you and Rafael couldn’t decide which code it was.

“It’s clearly morse code,” Rafael argued. “Look at the length of the message. It fits into the morse code alphabet.”

“That would be too easy, Barba,” you retorted. “It’s Alberti’s disk. The message is written out of order. You can encipher it one letter at a time.”

Rafael shook his head. “This isn’t rocket science. It’s a locked room in the middle of Manhattan where kids go to celebrate their birthdays. Trust me, it’s morse code.”

You stood there with your arms crossed, both of you going back and forth like a tennis match.

“No, it isn’t”

“Yes, it is.”

“No, you’re wrong.”

“No you’re wrong.”

“No, I’m the one who’s right! You’re just being...a...a...a butt nugget!” You exclaimed. There were several other choice words you had for Rafael yet butt nugget was the first thing that popped into your head.

“Wow. Butt nugget. Really?” Rafael laughed. “If this is how you argue in court, maybe you should have taken more plea deals with my cases.”

Red flashed before your eyes. You were seething. “That’s it! I’ve had it!” You boomed, stomping over to the door and pulling on the knob. When it didn’t budge you pounded on the frame, demanding to be let out.

Rafael’s eyes widened and went over to lead you away from the door. “What are you doing? Just calm down!”

“Calm down?! CALM DOWN?!” You screeched, practically in hysterics by that point. “I can’t calm down because I’m stuck in a room with YOU! What is wrong with you?! For months I’ve been bending over backwards, working like a dog to help you and for what?! So you can treat me like dirt and criticize every single thing I do.” You ranted and raved, moving closer and closer towards Rafael. “Whatever happened to a thank you! But no, nothing! Maybe if you removed that torts book you have wedged up your ass, you would realize that I was just trying to help you! And to think I was once attracted to you! Major mistake on my part.” You laughed like a mad woman before getting right in his face. “Now you listen to me. We’re going to figure out this puzzle, get out of this room and we’re going to do it MY way and if you don’t like it that’s too damn bad.” By this point you were practically nose to nose with him, jabbing him in the chest with your index finger, out of breath from your maniacal tirade. Of course it was hard to focus on staying angry when the smell of his cologne left you weak in the knees.

Rafael didn’t speak a word. He glared at you—his nostrils flaring, his jaw set. You felt a sudden shift in the room, your hateful stares transforming from fury to lust. The temperature began to rise and a flush crept up your face. It felt like you were about to combust. Beads of sweat dotted Rafael’s forehead, his heart thumping wildly in his chest. He let out a shaky breath, lowering his gaze to your mouth. Before you could even react, he grabbed you by the waist and kissed you hard. Your bodies sighed in relief, finally releasing months of pent up sexual frustration.

The kiss was everything you had fantasized it would be and more. So much more. It was explosive and all-consuming. Rafael tasted like coffee mixed with mint and a hint of spice. His strong lips moving fervently against yours, sending a tingle straight to your core.

He pushed you back against the old fashioned secretary desk, a drawer popping open to reveal another clue. You gasped in surprise, allowing him to slide his tongue into your mouth. One hand found its way to your hair, threading his fingers through your silken locks while the other cupped your face. Rafael was shaking slightly, trying to restrain himself and not paw at your flesh. You grabbed his hand and moved it to your breast, granting him permission to explore your body.

He groaned, gently squeezing your breast, feeling your nipple strain against your thin sweater. His lips must have been laced with an aphrodisiac. Everything around you become fuzzy except for Rafael. The tension in the room began to dissipate. The hunger you had for each other reached its peak. Both of you surrendered to the moment, giving into your deepest desires.

Your pussy throbbed with need, your arousal beginning to coat your inner thighs. In an answer to your prayers, Rafael wedged his leg between yours, spreading you open for him. His eyebrows raised in surprise when he reached down to lift your skirt only to discover that you weren’t wearing any panties. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?” He purred against your mouth.

“Don’t ever underestimate me, Barba,” you giggled into a moan, rocking back and forth on his thick thigh, the rough denim providing the most delicious friction against your clit.

Rafael braced his leg against the desk and grabbed your hips, encouraging you to grind down harder against him. He could feel a wet spot beginning to form on his thigh. His kisses moved across your cheek, finding purchase on the sensitive spot below your ear. He inhaled deeply. You smelled like cinnamon and vanilla, alluring, warm, and good enough to eat. Your pulse quickened, he could feel your heartbeat beneath his lips as he painted your skin with his tongue.

You shuddered and reached for his belt buckle. “Fuck me,” you said in a breathless whisper.

The sound of clinking metal brought him back to reality. He stepped away from you, his chest heaving from exertion. “Wait. Isn’t this considered public indecency? We could get arrested.”

You nodded your head, completely out of breath. “True. It is a Class B Misdemeanor, punishable by up to 3 years in jail or probation and a fine of up to $500. Not to mention having a permanent criminal record.” You glanced down to see Rafael’s erection straining against his jeans. A sinful smirk slowly spread across your face. Sitting down on the desk, you opened your legs even more, teasing him with your glistening swollen sex. “So do you think we should stop?”

Rafael licked his lips, his eyes darkened as he drank you in. “No fucking way,” he growled.

In one long stride, he was on you, planting a searing kiss to your lips while he dragged his fingers against your slit.

You reached down and whipped off his belt before unzipping his jeans. “I’m on the pill and I’m clean,” you mumbled between kisses.

“So am I,” he replied, pushing his pants and underwear down in one swift movement.

Grabbing his cock, he brought it up to your sheath only to stop for a moment. He locked eyes with you, searching your face for any sign of uncertainty. You smiled and nodded your head, wanting this just as much as he did.

Rafael slowly guided himself into your sheath. You mewled in response, grabbing a fistful of his sweater. “Fuck,” you whimpered. “I knew there had to be a reason why you were so cocky.”

Rafael let out a breathless laugh, stopping halfway to let you adjust to his size. As your body relaxed, he pushed himself further until he was buried deep inside your molten hot core. Inch by inch, he slowly pulled out, leaving the head of his cock inside you before pressing back in. Your head fell back, a loud drawn out moan leaving your lips.

Rafael shushed you and grabbed your chin to meet his gaze, dragging his thumb across your bottom lip. “We have to keep it down.”

You nodded and gently bit down on the pad of his thumb before taking it in your mouth, moaning around the digit as he began to move against you. Rafael found his rhythm, his ass cheeks clenching with every hard thrust. The wet sounds of your coupling spurred him on and he quickened his pace.

You released his thumb and wrapped your arms around his neck, burying your head in the crook of his neck. “Barba,” you gasped.

“Call me, Rafael,” he replied in a strained voice.

You obliged, softly chanting his name. Your hot breath tickling his ear. “Oh, Rafael,” you softly moaned, biting down on his earlobe.

Rafael groaned. There were so many nights he would spend stroking himself, imagining you with your legs wrapped around him, whispering his name. Even now he wasn’t fully convinced that this wasn’t a dream and he would wake up alone in his bed, in need a cold shower.

He took hold of your leg and lifted it until your knee was pressed up against your chest, allowing him to penetrate you even deeper. You drew in a sharp intake of breath causing Rafael to freeze and instantly pull back. “Did I hurt you?”

“No. It feels so good,” you whined and wrapped your other leg around his waist, using it as leverage to arch your hips up. Letting go of his restraint, he pounded into you, grunting with his efforts, pushing you towards your release while trying to hold off his own. The desk banging into the wall with every movement.

You choked back a sob, the root of his cock rubbing against your clit. A warmth spread throughout your body, settling all the way down to your toes curling within your boots. One more thrust sent you over the edge. Rafael tugged you into a bruising kiss, silencing your cries as wave after wave of pleasure rippled through you. You trembled, your nails biting into Rafael’s neck as you clenched hard against him. He groaned into your mouth, impaling you one final time before his cock swelled inside your core, filling you with his release.

Aftershocks surged through your body, your walls still fluttering against Rafael’s cock. He shivered and gently lowered your leg. For a split second, you forgot where you were, losing yourself in his passionate embrace until Lucy’s voice came over the walkie talkie. “Hey guys!”

You pushed Rafael away and grabbed the walkie talkie. “We didn’t do anything!?!” You said in a panic.

“Well of course you didn’t, you’re still locked in the room. Consider this your 30 minute warning.”

“Thanks.” You hopped off the desk and adjusted your skirt. “How are we going to get out of here,” you mumbled to yourself while looking around for clues. Your mind switched gears from having impulsive angry hot sex with a man you were supposed to hate over trying to figure out how to win the game, which was no easy feat with Rafael’s cum leaking out of you.  

“This is ridiculous.” Rafael zipped up his pants and helped you search the room. He was sweating through his sweater from your coital workout. “We’re two of Manhattan’s top ADAs. It shouldn’t be this complicated.”

“Try to think outside the box and look in places you normally wouldn’t.” You bent down and inspected the faux fireplace.

Rafael stopped, noticing how your skirt rode up, following the line of your long legs all the way up to your ass. He tugged on his collar and cleared his throat, shifting his gaze over to the table and picking up a prop beaker. “So...ummm...do you always go commando.”

You turned towards him, blushing profusely. “Laundry day,” you explained, clenching your thighs together. Narrowing your eyes, you looked right past Rafael and noticed the open drawer on the secretary desk. The drawer you had bumped open while otherwise occupied. You brushed past him, making a beeline to the desk drawer and pulled out a decoder ring. Your eyes shifted to Jekyll’s journal on the side table that you and Rafael had been squabbling over earlier. “I’ve got it,” you announced.

It was all beginning to make sense. The numbers on the page spelled out another clue. Once you figured that out, it was all downhill from there. You glanced over at Rafael and smiled. “Alright counselor, are you ready to get out of here.”

*****

You and Rafael put your minds together and were able to find the key and unlock the room with 10 minutes to spare. The minute the door opened, you both thanked Lucy and fled, terrified she would suspect something other than puzzle solving happened in that room.

It was dusk by the time you walked outside. The cool crisp air whipped at your face while leaves danced around your feet. A rich and earthy scent hung in the air, it was warm, smoky, and inviting. Even the city that never sleeps couldn’t escape the impending arrival of autumn.  

You stood on the sidewalk next to Rafael, rocking back on your heels, avoiding eye contact at all cost. Apart from the honking cars and chatter of people brushing past, there was nothing but awkward silence between you both. The reality of what just happened less than an hour ago began to sink in. Neither of you dared to make the first move, waiting to see if the other person would speak first.

In the end, it was you that eventually caved. “That’s probably the fastest I’ve ever done that,” you blurted out. “Unlocking the room, not the sex. Although I don’t normally rush into sex either and definitely not with a coworker. I mean not that the sex wasn’t good cause in the words of Tony the Tiger, it was grrrrrreat! I mean, I haven’t orgasmed that hard in years and— Oh my God, I can’t believe I just said that.” You turned beet red and covered your face with your hands. Rafael’s eyebrows shot up into his forehead, the corners of his mouth twitching into a smile. While you were humiliated by your bout of verbal diarrhea, he thought it was absolutely adorable. “And on that note, I’m leaving. Have a good night and I’ll see you on Monday.” You gave him a half-ass wave and scurried away as fast as humanly possible.

It took Rafael a second to realize you were gone you had left so quickly. He was surprised that you hadn’t left a dust cloud in your wake like in the cartoons. “Y/N, wait up,” he called, practically jogging down the street to catch up with you. “Jesus, you’re fast,” he huffed.

You stopped in your tracks, shocked that Rafael was chasing you down and not laughing at your expense back where you had left him. “What is it, Rafael?”

“Well, I was wondering if you had any plans for your birthday?”

“Probably vegging out on my couch, binging “Murder She Wrote” while drinking champagne straight from the bottle,” you replied with a shrug.

Rafael nodded and scratched the bridge of his nose, his heart hammering in his chest at what he was about to say. “That’s too bad because I was wondering if you’d like to celebrate it with me.”

Your eyes widened in surprise. “Really!?”

Rafael chuckled. “Yeah, really. There’s a great French restaurant not too far from here. Unless you’d rather spend the evening with Angela Lansbury.”

“I think Angela can survive without me for one night.” You smiled and took a step closer to Rafael, reaching out for his hand.

He intertwined his fingers with yours, glancing down at your joined hands before looking up to meet your gaze. With his free hand, he reached up and gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear before trailing down to your cheek, caressing the soft skin with his thumb. You closed your eyes and tilted your head, your mouth brushing up against his palm.

Rafael’s breath hitched, pulling you close enough towards him to press a soft kiss to your lips. This kiss was different than before. It was shy and hesitant, almost innocent. Almost. The kiss quickly began to unfurl into something more, something dark and desperate.

Somewhere off in the distance, you could’ve sworn you heard someone say, “Get a room.” As ironic as that was, you couldn’t care less and neither did Rafael. You melted under his touch, his tongue dueling with yours as your breaths mingled. You clutched fistfuls of Rafael’s sweater for fear your legs would give out.

Pulling back just a hair, you looked into Rafael’s big green eyes, now consumed by lust. “Why don’t we get the food to go?” You suggested with a devious smirk on your face.

*****

You were awoken the next morning by an expletive followed by the sound of a pan clanging against your counter. The rich smell of chocolate filled your nostrils.

Untangling yourself from the bedsheets, you sat upright and stretched your arms over your head, naked as a jaybird, your bedhead wild and crazy. It had been months since you had slept so soundly. You felt rested and invigorated.

You let out a contented sigh and flopped back in bed, melting into the mattress. Your fingers skimmed across your body, trailing down to the dull ache between your legs. Rafael’s touch still lingered on your skin, the smell of sex mixed with his cologne covered you like a blanket.

Last night, it was more than just layers of clothing that were shed. Words were exchanged. Months worth of suppressed emotions bubbled to the surface. You were finally able to look past the insecurities, the animosity, and truly see the other person.

Turns out you and Rafael had more in common than you thought. It wasn’t easy for either of you to open up but laying in bed, sweaty and satiated, your limbs entwined, you both felt safe, finding comfort in each other’s arms.

More clattering coming from the kitchen made you curious to see exactly what Rafael was up to. The walls of your apartment were paper-thin. You could hear him cursing and rifling through your drawers. Getting up out of bed, you shivered and wrapped your arms around yourself before spying Rafael’s cashmere sweater on the floor. You tugged it on, the hem barely concealing your bottom and padded down the hall, following the path of clothes that littered the floor.

You walked into the kitchen and spied Rafael standing in front of the oven, wearing nothing but your apron. His back may have been to you but you knew the front of the apron read, “Hot and Spicy….and the food is pretty good too!” It was an appropriate choice of outfit for him in that moment.

Leaning against the doorframe, you took advantage of the view before you, drinking in his bare feet, his muscular calves, all the way up to his thick thighs and finally settling on his firm yet oh so pinchable ass. His ass was the reason why they invented the peach emoji in the first place. You could bounce a nickel off it.  

Sensing that he was being watched, Rafael turned around. “Good morning,” he said with a shy smile, his ungelled hair sticking out in every direction. He had a dark smear of something that appeared to be chocolate batter on his cheek. There was a boyish charm to him, a far contrast to the tailored suits and sharp-tongued snarky ADA you had grown accustomed to. It was a side of Rafael you had never seen before.

“Morning.” You took a step closer and grabbed a kitchen towel, cleaning the chocolate smudge off his face. “Be careful with the oven. That’s an unfortunate kitchen accident in the making,” you teased and playfully tugged his apron. “Oh...yeah.” Rafael blushed and rubbed the back of his neck, stepping aside to reveal an unfrosted chocolate cake sitting on a plate. “I was trying to find your coffee but I saw the cake mix and since we never got to dessert last night I thought I would bake you a breakfast birthday cake.” You gazed down at the dessert, feeling a lump form in your throat. Noone had ever made you a cake for your birthday before, not even your parents. In fact, you had forgotten you even had the cake mix in your cupboard. The simple gesture touched your heart. You turned around and smiled at him.  “I appreciate the sentiment, although  I think I got my dessert last night.” You pushed back a lock of hair that had flopped forward on his forehead, planting a kiss on the spot then moving lower to kiss the tip of his nose, and finally his lips. “Thank you,” you whispered. “You’re welcome.” He wrapped his arms around your waist and kissed you deeply, humming in appreciation as his hands moved lower towards your backside. “Can I help frost?” You purred against his lips.

“If you like.”

You grabbed the cake and placed it on the counter next to the open can of chocolate frosting that Rafael had set out earlier. Grabbing a knife from the drawer, you started to coat the cake in chocolate frosting. “I didn’t know you were such a baker.” Rafael stood behind you, inhaling the sweet warm scent of your shampoo. “I know my way around the kitchen, among other places.” He brushed your hair to the side and dropped open-mouth kisses to your neck and shoulders. “So I’ve noticed.” You dipped your finger in the chocolate frosting and brought it up to Rafael’s lips. He sucked greedily on your index finger, his eyes boring into yours.

Your breath hitched. You resumed frosting your cake which was becoming increasingly difficult to do with Rafael nuzzling your neck while he ran his hands up and down your arms. You bit back a whimper and grinded back against him, feeling his growing erection press against your ass. “Why do I feel like we’re about to reenact the pottery scene from Ghost.”

He chuckled and gently nibbled on your earlobe.The scruff on his cheeks tickled your skin. “Do you want me to hum Unchained Melody.”

You giggled and tried to wiggle away only to have him tighten his hold on your waist. “Actually I have a better idea. Why don’t we eat this cake in the bedroom.” You grabbed the cake and glanced back at Rafael, motioning to the fridge. “Don’t forget to bring the whipped cream too,” you said with a wink.

Traipsing back to the bedroom, with Rafael following, you made sure to put a little more swing in your hips, fully aware that if you turned around, you’d catch him staring at your ass. There were still a lot of unknowns for you and Rafael and while you weren’t sure what the future held, you did know one thing—this was definitely the best birthday ever!

@glimmerglittergirl​ @southern-magnolia​ @sweetcannolicarisi​ @delia26​ @obfuscateyummy​ @sass-and-suspenders​ @eclecticminded​ @thatesqcrush​ @katmstanton​ @amirightcounsellor​ @beltzboys2015-blog​ @letty-o​ @sonnysdoll​ @lyssa1385​ @sweetsummertime99​ @burningsorr0ws​ @gibbs274​ @izzythefanfreak​ @riodallas​ @babypink224221​ @livxrafa​ @esparza-army​ @obsessionprofessional​ @ottosuricato​ @melsquared79​ @dreila03​ @raulmonamour​ @tropes-and-tales​ @thecraziestcrayon​ @imjustreallynosy​

[whatcouldgowrong-ohthat]

His Shooting Star Chapter Six

Here is Chapter 6! The part that holds the snippet does have some edits. That’s normal for mine, just a fair warning. But I hope you guys enjoy it!

Masterlist

Links to: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5

Summary: Captain Bucky Barnes loves being a pirate. He’s good at what he does. He feels as if he’s found his purpose. And yet…still there’s something missing. Until you. You in your wonder and shine, appearing as if out of nowhere. Will Bucky and his crew be able to help you find your way back home? Or will the captain decide he can’t let his newest treasure go?

Chapter Six

Not everyone was meant for the sea. Some were unique and could spend their lives living in caves and forests with only the clothes on their backs. Others were deemed strange, like pirates, practically born for a life on the water. And most were meant to spend their days in the small towns, living their lives as mere peasants taking orders from a small percentage. That percentage, albeit small, sat on the throne and dictate the lives of those meant for the towns and for the sea. 

Loki found himself dreading stepping onto one of those ridiculous ships. His eyes stared at the fading sun, the rocking waters, and disgust settled in the pit of his stomach. Nausea was already lurking, ready to attack him once he spent more than an hour off land. Some were simply not made for the sea. And Loki was part of the some.

“Are you ready to go?”

He looked to his companion. The warrior, Valkyrie, was a curious thing that he didn’t quite understand. However, she was part of the agreement. If he were to get everything he was previously promised and more, it meant having to work with this strange alcoholic of a woman. “I was waiting for you, Valkyrie.”

She gestured to the ship to their left. It was a small thing, not nearly grand enough for someone of his royal background. But then again, perhaps that was a good thing. If they were noticed, then that would ruin everything. For now, something small would work just fine.

Humming to himself, he nodded his approval before looking at her. “The sun will be gone soon. We should leave while we can.”

Valkyrie smirked, taking a swig of the alcohol that she’d taken from his room. Gesturing to the boat, she said, “After you.” She watched him take leisurely strides towards the docks, curious as to what this man’s plan was. He was nothing like his brother, Prince Thor, and didn’t seem to fit in with any of his family. The meant he didn’t think like them either. So what was his plan? “If you don’t mind my asking,” she said, jogging after him before falling into stride just behind him. “Where are we going?”

“To the only place that has more resources than Asgard.”

She raised an eyebrow, not sure whether she believed such a kingdom existed. Asgard was known for its wealth and resources. Somebody else could combat that? “Such a place exists?”

Loki looked over his shoulder, thin lips forming into one of those knowing grins. “Oh, Valkyrie, have you ever heard of Stark?”

Valkyrie faltered in her steps, eyes wide. This man that they hired…he was definitely different.

Looking away, Loki continued on the path, shouting back, “Are you coming or just going to stand there drinking all day?”

————

The sun had set and with the Stark kingdom being just beyond the horizon, Bucky allowed everyone to asleep for the night. It was a rare moment, something they happily took advantage of because it meant there were no toes to tip around come morning. And everyone needed to be on their best if they were to take the right step with Stark. However, not everyone is able to sleep so easily. Some toss and turn as easily as the waves. Others snoring combats the creaking of the ship. 

Some simply suffer.

Y/N woke in a cold sweat, chest heaving and tears staining her cheeks. Sheets were tangled around her legs and hands were twisting around the rough fabric. It wasn’t until her gaze finally focused past the ceiling and onto the woman shaking her awake, that she was beginning to realize what had happened.

“Y/N, what is it? What happened?” Shuri’s voice was muffled in her ears, drowned out by a ringing. Her gaze shifted from Shuri to a shadowed figure behind her. She tensed, fresh tears welling in her eyes as she clawed at Shuri. Desperation was whining away any sense of clarity. “Y/N! Please, calm down!”

“Let me go! Get away from me!” Her shrieks were like knives on Shuri’s sensitive ears. She swiped an arm, almost knocking her friend in the head if it weren’t for Shuri’s quick reflexes. “Get away!” Y/N kicked her, forcing Shuri to stumble back. 

She caught herself on her desk, wide eyes staring. Y/N was fixated on something, already curled into herself. Her eyes never wavered, watching the wall as if it were a person speaking to her. She looked so frail and fragile, muttering something about stars and mortals. Rubbing her stomach, Shuri knew she needed help if Y/N was going to calm down in any sort of way. “I will be right back, Y/N. I promise.” She opened the door, turning around only to be met by an exhausted Bucky standing in her doorway.

His elbow was propped against the door, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. Dark circles were already finding their way home underneath Bucky’s eyes. It was clear from his tense shoulders and stifled yawn that he was utterly exhausted. And judging from his place at the door, Y/N hd woken him. “What is going on,” he asked through clenched teeth.

“I — Captain, she —“ Shuri noticed Bucky look past her and to the woman on the bed, whatever she was going to say dying before she could form the proper words.

He frowned and gently pushed Shuri to the side, his gaze never wavering. “Y/N?” he asked, following her gaze to the empty corner. What was she seeing? He sat on the edge of the bed, trying to get her to look at him. “Y/N, look at me, please.”

Her hands shook, one wrapped tightly around her legs and nails digging into her flesh. The other was twirling the chain of her necklace tighter and tighter, digging it into her neck. The sight made something inside Bucky break. He hated it. She shouldn’t be doing this to herself. “Betelgeuse…Bellatrix…Mintaka…” 

Her words were soft as Bucky reached for the hand twisting the chain. His fingers wound around her hand, freezing her actions. She murmured, “Na’ir…Saiph…Heka…” Eyes shifting from her face to her hand, Bucky wasn’t sure what to do. He’d woken from nightmares. He’d endured those moments where his mind was completely lost to the past. But this seemed so different.

“Why is she listing stars?” Shuri asked, stepping closer as she stared at her friend. All she wanted to do was help, but she wasn’t sure how.

“I don’t know, but it’s something to do with the necklace and her markings. I’m sure of it.” Bucky shifted further onto the bed, blocking her view of the corner. Still, her gaze didn’t fixate on him. Cupping her face in his hand, he stroked her cheek gently. Why did he give her that necklace? If he hadn’t let her under his skin, she wouldn’t have it back. She wouldn’t be like this in this moment.

Whispering, “Alnilam…Alnitak…Thabit…”

“Those are all stars from Orion,” Shuri said, the names finally ringing a bell. She took a step forward, hands flexing and fidgeting. All she wanted to do was help.

Bucky nodded, brow furrowed. His mind raced with each and every name, spinning in circles as he tried to recollect them. “The only one missing is —“ Bucky looked at Shuri before focusing back on Y/N. 

They spoke together. “Rigel.”

Her chest calmed, her hand releasing the pendant. Bucky watched her carefully, his hands moving to untwist the chain. The pendant swung, knocking against his arm. An angry red mark wrapped itself around her neck, faint bruises threatening to form. Some spots looked close to bleeding and the sight made him sick. Swallowing thickly, he turned his gaze back to hers. Blue eyes met y/e/c. Softly, he asked, “Y/N?”

Eyes blinking slowly, she whispered, “I…I remembered something. I remembered someone.”

Bucky and Shuri shared a look, knowing very well that between this and working to make amends with Tony, they were going to have more on their plates than they initially bargained for. The question was — how much was their responsibility?

Taking a slow breath, Bucky told Shuri, “Go wake Sam. Inform him of what’s happened and tell him I want to discuss a course of action within the hour. That should give him plenty of time to scramble some opinion together.” 

Shuri nodded and quickly left, the door closing behind her. When he was sure they wouldn’t be disturbed again, Bucky turned back to Y/N. “What do you remember?”

She stammered, voice lost in her throat. “I—“

Sighing softly, Bucky closed his eyes for a brief moment. He couldn’t let himself get frustrated. Not when he had witnessed what she’d just endured. Opening his eyes, he saw the way she looked at him and the fresh tears slipping down her cheeks. “Y/N, it’s all right. You’re safe now,” he whispered, brushing them away. “Take your time, but if you want us to help you, you’re going to have to tell me.”

Y/N nodded ever so slightly, closing her eyes and subconsciously leaning into his touch. It was a moment of weakness, of desperation seeking comfort. They both knew that. And Bucky knew all too well that moments of weakness had to be dealt with caution. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to pull away. Instead, his body did the exact opposite. He shifted and turned, pressing his back against the wall and pulling Y/N into his arms. Bucky refused to look at her, letting her curl onto his lap and rest her head on his shoulder. He propped his chin on top of her head, eyes focusing on the lamp on Shuri’s desk. He couldn’t let himself think of the warmth emanating from her body. He could’t allow himself to get fixated on her puffy eyes or dried tears. If he did, the walls around his heart would start to crack.

And then where would they be?

Taking a shaky breath, she bit her lip to keep it from quivering. Her heart was beating so fast. Her chest ached from breathing so hard. Everything felt like it was on fire and yet numb at the same time. Memories of her friends, of Bellatrix and Na’ir, flashed through her mind. Memories of her siblings — her older brother Mintaka and baby brother, Saiph — and exploring the mortal world. They did so through the stars and through existing as something else — something absolutely beautiful and gran. 

But there was something else. Someone else that sent a chill down her spine. They were shrouded in shadows, lost from the stars, and yet in charge of them. Why couldn’t she remember their face? Their name?

Hand clenching his shirt, Y/N stared at the skin peeking out from under his shirt. She remembered that night and how she’d fallen. She remembered the events leading up to…

She remembered the betrayal.

“Y/N?” 

Bucky’s rough voice pulled her from her thoughts. She looked up at him, nose accidentally brushing against his jaw. She missed the way he inhaled sharply, instead focusing on the gaze that now stared intently at her. “I’m here,” she whispered. “Just out of it.”

“The necklace helped you remember.” It wasn’t a question. Instead, it was a statement. He knew exactly what she had just gone through. “What do you remember?”

A lot. But how could she tell him without looking absolutely insane? “I remember names and faces.”

“Do you remember where you’re from?”

Yes. “No. I mean — sort of.”

He raised a brow. “Sort of?”

“I remember images, but I don’t have a name for it yet.”

Bucky sighed softly, leaning his head back until he felt it hit the wood. He wasn’t sure whether he was relieved or even more frustrated. All he knew was that she had become even more confusing. As were the emotions he felt towards her. Fingers running up and down her arm absentmindedly, Bucky couldn’t shake the fact that this was the most content he’d felt in a long time. “Well,” he whispered. “Rest for now. I’ll leave after you’ve fallen back asleep.”

It had been a couple hours and still there was no sign of Bucky. He wasn’t in his room or his office. They walked through all the other possibilities before finding themselves back at Shuri’s quarters. The pair were listening intently and Shuri had finally managed to open the door without fear of disrupting anyone on the other side.

“Oh, boy,” Sam muttered when he peeked his head inside. Bucky was lying on the bed with Y/N on top of him. Her hair was fanned out over them and her face nuzzled into his neck. One leg was looped around his, his arm holding her securely against him. Her other hand rest over his heart, rising and falling with every breath he took. The pair looked like this was something normal, something they always did.

“This…could be very good?”

Sam looked at Shuri, shaking his head. “Or very bad. You know how Buck gets when he lets people in. Two steps forward, five steps back.”

Shuri rolled her eyes, glaring at him. “Perhaps Y/N could make him a changed man.”

Sam sighed softly, not entirely sure what he thought about that. He looked back at the pair on the bed. All he wanted was for Bucky to be happy. For so long, the man had been focused on fixing the relationship with Tony. That had been the goal, seemingly the only thing that could make him happy. But seeing this and seeing Bucky so vulnerable made Sam wonder if Bucky’s fixation was wrong. Sure, it made sense to want an alliance with Tony. It meant, as people, making up for past mistakes and misunderstandings. And, as pirates, it meant getting away with a bit. 

But in the end, everyone on the ship would want what would make Bucky the man they first met all those years ago. People like Peter and MJ didn’t get to see that man. They know the good captain, sure, but they don’t know Bucky. And that is a good man to know. 

“There’s no waking him up and discussing Stark is there?” Sam grumbled.

“No,” she admitted with the smallest life. “I don’t think there is.”

He barely refrained from groaning, leaning against the doorway. “Then why the hell did you wake me up?”

Shuri smiled sheepishly. “Captain’s orders?”

Sam raised an eyebrow, glaring at her before pushing himself off the doorway. “Goodnight, Shuri.” He turned on his heel, intent on sleeping for the next hour before they would have to rise.

She watched him leave, smile turning into that impish grin. “Goodnight, Sam.” Looking at the bed, she closed the door and murmured a soft, “Goodnight, Captain.”

Life and Stark, plans and the mess that was reality, that could all wait till morning. Now was the time to sleep.

------

If you like this story, check out my Beauty and the Beast fic and keep a look out for my upcoming story, “The Prince and the Pauper”! Y’all are the best!

[idealistsinc]

better off

content warning: arguing, some nsfw dialogue, then tooth-rotting adorable

When it came to matters of presentation, reining in Rin Weise was as futile as laveering a schooner in a storm.

Rin had swathed the sofa in every last tunic and pair of trousers Vhox owned. Vhox languished in a nearby armchair as he watched Rin gnaw a hangnail, pacing from one rumpled, sun-bleached shirt to another with a brow so furrowed it looked like it was trying to migrate to his chin. He had only agreed to let Rin choose his outfit because Rin had already bitten his fingernails to the quick over this whole Maelstrom business; letting Rin expend his nervous energy on something productive tended to go far better than the alternative. Anyway, thought Vhox, draping himself over the arm of the chair, at least he had an excuse to lounge about shirtless without Rin accusing him of being deliberately provocative. If he could just get Rin to stop fretting for long enough to look at him…

Rin paused from wearing a hole in the rug to hand Vhox a sedate white shirt, miraculously unblemished by seawater, sweat, or other unmentionable substances. “Try this one.”

Vhox held it up for inspection with a suggestive flex of his bicep. “Y’know,” he said, raising his eyebrows, “I think this is th’ one I wore on that Lower Decks tavern crawl, when you dragged me off be’ind the dumpsters an’—”

“Thank you,” said Rin. “I recall. Please put on the shirt, Vhox.”

Sighing theatrically, Vhox navigated his arms through the sleeves. “Never thought I’d see the day where y’wanted me to put on more clothes.”

That didn’t elicit even the ghost of a smile. The moment Vhox had his head through, Rin attacked him with all the deadly focus of a predator, tugging out wrinkles, straightening sleeves, and tightening the collar so that it near strangled him (“You tryin’ t’kill me?” Vhox griped. Rin, rolling his eyes, graciously undid one more button than his sense of propriety demanded). Then, Rin stepped back and looked Vhox over with such a critical gaze that Vhox resisted a childish urge to squirm.

“The sleeves are rather billowy,” Rin remarked, finally. “A bit too high seas.”

“The Maelstrom’s an armada. High seas’s what they’re goin’ for.”

“Point taken.” Rin frowned, then reached to brush Vhox’s bangs out of his face, a gesture Vhox mistook for affectionate until he added, “We ought to do something with your hair.”

Vhox’s stomach wrenched like a rudder grinding against a rock. “Nothin’ wrong with it,” he said. He caught Rin’s wrist; Rin pulled out of his grip in a huff, his tail twitching.

“Perhaps not, if what you’re going for is ‘lawless rogue.’ I’m only going to tie it back—”

Yeah, thought Vhox, because that fuckin’ tattoo will go over so well. He could imagine the sight he would be, a beaten-down, washed-up wharf rat parading himself in front of a Maelstrom lieutenant with a godsdamned cult brand on his cheek. He moved out of Rin’s range, hurt sharpening his voice. “Hell no. It’s one thing to pick out somethin’ nice, but I ain’t gonna start puttin’ on airs.”

“It’s not about ‘putting on airs.’ It’s about getting your foot in the door,” Rin said, with the infuriating patience of a parent for a tantruming child. “The Maelstrom administers to eight other squadrons. You’re going to need to show more than your usual bureaucratic finesse; I expect their standards aren’t exactly lax.”

If before the rudder had merely scraped on a rock, now Vhox felt the jolt of the whole bloody ship beaching on the shore, splintering the hull like matchsticks and throwing half the crew in the bay to drown. He’d been standing there for all of five minutes. If Rin judged that he didn’t pass muster, what the hell was Vhox even doing, thinking he might have a shot at making something more of himself than a lawless rogue?

“You think I can’t get in.”

Rin, reading the change in Vhox’s face, stilled. “I didn’t say that.”

“You don’t need to.” Vhox swung an arm at the tangle of tunics and jackets sprawled on the sofa. A prickling heat burned beneath his collar. “That’s what all this is, ain’t it? You don’t think they’ll take me ‘less I’m somethin’ I’m not—”

“That isn’t what I—”

“—so I’ll save us both th’ godsdamned time. Why go?”

“Because they might pay you,” said Rin. His voice went pitchy in his attempt not to raise it, cracking like a prepubescent kid whose balls had just dropped. “I’m sorry you feel that’s encroaching on your bloody gods-given right to do whatever you want, but what do you want me to say? That appearances don’t matter? That nothing you do will make a difference so that you have an excuse not to try? Because they do matter, and it does make a difference. Here in the adult world, sometimes you have to play the part just long enough to get hired.”

“Yeah?” Vhox said, before he could think better of it. “How’s that workin’ out for you, Rin? Tell me all about how good you're doin' at your job."

Rin’s expression blanked. Just like that, like closing a window, and just like that the air was crushed from Vhox’s lungs in a horrible vice of regret.

A fortnight past, Vhox came home from hauling nets at the docks to find Rin frozen in the grips of a panic attack so severe he couldn’t catch his breath to tell him what was wrong. Vhox had held him for nearly an hour, feeling the pounding staccato of Rin’s heart against his sternum and his shallow gasps on his neck, before Rin calmed down enough to give a disjointed and dissociative explanation: Rin had made a calculation error on a shipment through Maelvann’s Gate. It was a minor error, but such a taxing and expensive fix that Rin’s boss had called Rin into her office to suffer a formal reprimand, which utterly convinced Rin he was as good as fired—without an income, Kallu couldn’t go to school, Luma would never forgive him, and Rin would lose the flat and everything in it—without the flat, Rin would have to move back in with Isha’a, they would argue because Rin had never learned how to keep his damnable mouth shut, and Vhox would be turned out on the streets and maybe starve, maybe wind up stabbed to death in the gutter—

There were other inevitabilities that whirled in Rin’s head, Vhox was sure, but Vhox didn’t get to hear about them. By the time he got to the part where Vhox would clearly die without him, Rin was sobbing too hard to finish.

That was the funny thing about Rin. When Rin believed he needed to play a part, he played it so well that not even Vhox had seen the burden on Rin’s shoulders until Rin had already collapsed beneath it. Vhox realized that day he had no idea when Rin had begun to take on Vhox’s well-being as his responsibility—and it was for that reason, and that reason alone, that Vhox had sought out employment with the Maelstrom, determined to relieve Rin at once of that weight.

In the present, Rin forged doggedly through the silence. “I am trying to help you.”

“An’ I didn’t ask for your help!” If taking that burden off Rin’s shoulders was Vhox’s aim, his failure was already writ in the stress-carved canyons on Rin’s forehead and the heavy bruises under his eyes. Rin was trying to help him, and how did Vhox repay him? By shouting at him. By pissing away the last twenty-odd years of his life, time from which Vhox might never be able to recover into the kind of person who could hold a steady job, the kind of person who might actually be deserving of— “I never asked for you to feed me or put a roof o’er my head. I ain’t a godsdamned charity case, some beggin’ starveling needin’ you to play benefactor—”

“No, you’re not.”

“Then maybe don’t act like you’re doin’ me such a favor, dolin’ out gil to stroke your own dick—”

“By the bloody fucking Twelve, Vhox!” said Rin, very loud. His frustration trembled in his legs; he strode up to Vhox and took him firmly by the shoulders, but...even upset as Rin was, his touch was gentle. “Is this what we’re doing now? Being vulgar for the sake of it, hoping I’ll storm out in disgust so you can tell yourself what a terrible person you are? Because you’re not, and I won’t. You can’t push me away—shockingly, I take care of you because I love you, you brainless twit—”

Vhox heard nothing else Rin said. It was as if the floor had pitched beneath him and dropped him to his knees, knocking the breath and the anger out of him in one fell swoop.

“What?” said Vhox.

Rin paused. Vhox saw him mentally backtrack through his tirade, saw the moment Rin realized what he’d said cross his face. All at once, the tension between them sagged like an empty sail. Rin’s fingers clenched in Vhox’s shirt, his chest deflating in a long, defeated sigh. “I love you,” he said again. “That’s—that’s not how I imagined I would say that, but…”

Vhox didn’t know what Rin meant to say next, and somehow, he didn’t care. An eddy of warmth had washed through him, a feeling like the heat in his stomach on the first sip of ale, like sun-warmed skin on a summer afternoon; and he noticed for the first time the flush in Rin’s cheekbones that made his markings pop, the curl of his hair over the rims of his glasses, those wide eyes behind them. Gods, but he really did have the prettiest fucking eyes Vhox ever saw. The color reminded him of the sky right at sunset, when the sun seemed to douse itself out in the sea in a final burst of violet—

Before Vhox could think about what he was doing in the slightest, he was already kissing Rin.

To be fair, Rin kissed him back. Then, as though Rin suddenly remembered he was supposed to be upset with Vhox, he pulled away, bewildered. “Wait. What are you…?”

“I’m a fuckin’ blockhead,” said Vhox. His hands settled in the familiar and well-tracked groove at the small of Rin’s back, and Vhox tugged him closer, enjoying the shiver that quailed up Rin’s spine. “Why would I wanna argue with you when there’s so many other things I can do wi’ my mouth—”

“Are you seriously—you’re flirting with me?” Rin barked a short, baffled laugh. “We were just in a row. I legitimately thought I was going to strangle you. Perhaps we should, I don’t know, talk about that?”

“Later. I wanna make it up to you.”

“And how, pray tell, are you going to do that?”

“I was thinkin’ I’d start with a blowjob,” Vhox said. He considered, then added, “The stranglin’ can be negotiated.”

Rin stared at Vhox long enough that Vhox almost let him go, suddenly anxious he had come on too strong after an argument the caliber of the one they’d just had. But then something in Rin’s face thawed, and Rin twined his arms about Vhox’s neck with the kind of laughter that always buoyed Vhox’s heart to hear—his real laugh, soft and somehow shy.

“Far be it from me to turn down such a compelling offer,” Rin said. Then, his smile turned suggestive, a promise that often led to future orgasms for Vhox—which was to say, if Vhox had at all been thinking before, he certainly wasn’t now. “With ever so much to make up for—well, you’d best get started.”

And Vhox, indeed, got started.

. . .

Some bells and several orgasms later, Vhox and Rin lay entwined beneath the sheets. The light ebbed through the window, leaving shadows in its wake as the sea leaves shells. Vhox fought against a sated, comfortable sleepiness by staring up at the ceiling and counting the cracks in the plaster. Over the years, he’d seen many ceilings, usually while a buxom woman rode his cock—smoke-yellowed ceilings, ceilings splotched with mold, cobwebbed and fissured and sometimes falling in. But Vhox already knew this ceiling. Rin led a furious crusade against the spider infestations with a broom for this ceiling, mopped the walls when the seaspray made the room too damp, and already talked about whitewashing over the lone crack—

Llymlaen’s tits, Vhox thought, catching himself. It’s just a godsdamned ceiling.

It wasn’t just a godsdamned ceiling, though. It was Rin’s ceiling. Vhox didn’t know why, but that seemed like an important distinction to make.

The problem was that the warm, steady weight of Rin’s head on his chest kept dredging up all manner of complicated and incoherent feelings. Vhox knew he would have to wade through them sometime, plumb down to the bottom of the muck where Rin’s confession rested like a small, glimmering gem and take it in his palm, see if its facets would cut. Maybe, though, for only a moment, he could just…

Rin moved away from Vhox to prop himself up on his elbows, his tail weaving in restless sweeps against the mattress. Vhox was a little disappointed, but not surprised; Rin’s post-nut clarity always came in the form of anxious tidying. “I should iron that shirt if you’re to wear it tomorrow,” Rin said, proving the point. “As I recall, it was rather unceremoniously discarded in the hallway.”

“Leave it,” said Vhox. “I’ll take care of it later.”

“Vhox, you’ve never ironed a shirt in your life.”

No, he hadn’t. But if it was important to Rin to iron that shirt, goddammit, Vhox would iron the bloody shirt. “It’s a metal bit an’ some heat. What could go wrong?”

“You could burn the flat down.” Rin sat up and shifted his legs over the side of the bed. “I won’t be very long. I’ll just—”

Vhox grabbed his hand. He hadn’t expected to do that, and so for a blank string of seconds he just limply held it, forgetting everything he might have wanted to say. “Rin,” he finally managed, his name soft in his mouth. “Stay here a while.”

Rin hesitated. Then, crossing his legs beneath him, he stayed.

Vhox didn’t believe in that gooey bullshite about two bodies fitting perfectly together. He had seen enough bodies to know that, whether they were lithe or bulky, gangling or lumbering, bodies were awkward. They shat, smelled, vomited, leaked out snot or tears, came too soon or not soon enough, fumbled, choked, and sometimes jabbed him way too hard in the side with those bony fucking elbows, Rin. But...as Vhox folded Rin into his arms, tracing the delicate skin that hardly clothed the cage of his ribs, Vhox found himself staggered beneath a surge of protectiveness for this particular body, a built-up flood with nowhere to go. It would be one thing if Vhox had to protect Rin from the pirates, bandits, and thieves that nested in the dark corners of Limsa Lominsa—Vhox could throw a punch like nobody’s business—but that wasn’t the threat Rin faced, day after day after day.

The most dangerous person in Rin’s life was, and had always been, Vhox himself.

“Sorry we fought,” said Vhox. “I didn’t mean that shite about the…I just…”

I, what?

But Rin spoke before Vhox could name that shipwrecked feeling. “No, you were right to be upset. I was much too critical,” he said, drawing idle lines between the freckles on Vhox’s forearms with a ragged fingernail, his ears folding back. In Rin’s words, Vhox heard the blistering echo of a man Rin tried so hard not to be—for that alone, Vhox would’ve decked Senan fucking Weise in the goddamned teeth. “It’s not that I think there’s something wrong with you, only that…people are judgmental. I—I wanted the Maelstrom to give you a chance.”

“You didn’t need me t’fix my hair or any o’that to give me a chance.”

Rin scoffed. “The way I remember it, you hardly gave me a choice in the matter. I couldn’t have avoided you even if I wanted to.”

Vhox remembered, too: Rin’s dull, stringy hair. The sharp, hollowed angles of his face. The preternatural stillness with which Rin had held himself, a living ghost of a person. Rin had bitched the whole walk to the Bismarck, of course, but what Vhox remembered best was how his eyes came alive at that first taste of Bianaq bream. Gods, how Vhox had craved him. How badly he’d wanted to see how he might come alive at the tang of a malty Limsan old ale, or the flavor of Vhox’s tongue in his mouth—

“Did y’want to avoid me?” Vhox asked.

“…No,” he said, as though it were some kind of confession. “But I wouldn’t have admitted it on pain of death—I suppose I had my biases, too.” Rin faltered, his voice falling. “You don’t have to wear that shirt tomorrow, you know. I didn’t intend to be quite so forceful about it—”

“It wasn’t about that. I was—” What was it Rin had said earlier? “I was bein’ vulgar for th’ sake of it. Pickin’ a fight.”

When Vhox didn’t continue, Rin prompted, “What for?”

“I dunno. ‘Cus...” Vhox drew an uncertain breath, something in him quavering like a loose sail in a hurricane. “‘Cus I’m scared, I guess.”

Rin turned his head as though to look at him. Vhox squeezed Rin tight to keep him still, already more exposed and vulnerable than he would have liked to be, and so was surprised when Rin nudged his face into the soft space under Vhox’s chin and, very faintly, began to purr—a gentle rumble against Vhox’s pulse that evoked not so much a memory as a primal bond, something that soothed even as it bound, something that growled, Mine. Vhox closed his eyes and let himself, for a moment, be comforted.

“I don’t have a handle on this ‘steady job’ thing,” said Vhox, when he was again capable of speech. “Even if the Maelstrom takes me…I don’t know what the hell I’m doin’. I’ve been runnin’ from th’ law my whole life, not bein’ its bloody arm. An’—th’ job’s dangerous.”

Even as Vhox said it, though, he knew that wasn’t what he meant. When he dug down to the rotting root of it, every fear was really one fear: What if I hurt someone?

It wouldn’t be hard. One stab, one shot, one punch too many and Vhox would slaughter someone he hadn’t meant to kill, waking up again with pooled ichor squelching beneath his nails, waking up again to the fear like drowning of not knowing whose blood it was. And Rin. Rin would come for him even if Vhox got thrown in gaol. Rin would come even if Vhox was hurt, even if Vhox was the kind of hurt that made him do worse—

Vhox had never harmed Rin so far, and by the good graces of the entire pantheon of the Twelve, even motherfucking Azeyma, Vhox prayed he never would. But that didn’t stop Vhox from thinking about the flintlock pistol he made Rin keep in the bedside drawer, ostensibly for security reasons but really for Vhox’s own peace of mind. That didn’t stop Vhox from trying and failing to scrape together the courage to tell Rin outright what he wanted him to do with that gun if Vhox ever went feral in Rin’s presence again.

That small, glimmering gem had a sharp edge, after all. Even if Vhox was killing him, Rin would refuse to shoot.

“I’m dangerous.” Vhox swallowed. Though Rin already knew, admitting it still felt like opening up bleeding wounds in his throat. “An’ I think sometimes you’d be be’er off with some Sharlayan milksop whose job doesn’t come wi’ a risk of killin’ him, somebody who ain’t got a chance in hell of layin’ a finger on you—”

“Vhox—” said Rin, twisting to face him.

“Hang on. I’m not finished talkin’ yet.”

Rin’s tail flicked uneasily against his thigh. Vhox's gaze dropped to the clean line of Rin’s collarbone, his narrow chest that rose and fell with each quiet breath—and then a soft hand cupped his jaw, a thumb gliding over that scarred tattoo Vhox always hid beneath his mop of reddish hair until, finally, Vhox lifted his eyes to Rin’s. He didn’t know how he felt about what he saw there except that it ached in an inarticulable way, like prodding fingers into a healing bruise. The lesson Vhox had learned in his twenty-odd years of life: the people in his life didn’t come back. The people in his life didn’t stay.

But Rin did.

“It’d be for the best if you left,” Vhox said, an echo of something he told Rin once in a cave in bumfuck nowhere, Gyr Abania, and something he still in his heart of hearts believed, “but I...I don’t want that to happen. I don’t want you to run off with some struttin’ prick from Sharlayan. I want you to be wi’ me—an’ that? That scares the everlovin’ shite out of me.”

Because Vhox had never felt like that before. Because Vhox had drifted unanchored through his life until that day Rin had gored a ravenous, insatiable hole inside of him as he left, ripping away that which Vhox hadn’t even known he had to lose. Because when Rin left, Vhox wouldn’t just lose Rin. Vhox would lose the screams of Rin’s violin as he practiced, a barrage of tuneless notes like a streetcat’s mating call that, when Vhox least expected it, resolved into a chord so full it raised the gooseflesh on his arms. Vhox would lose the sweet familiarity of tossing his jacket over the same chair every evening, falling into the same warm bed with freshly-laundered sheets, never worrying he might get shanked in his sleep, his money stolen halfway to Ul’dah before his corpse was even stiff. Vhox would lose that little hiccup in his chest he got every time he washed up into Bloodshore after dark and saw that Rin had hung a lantern for him, though Vhox hadn’t told him he would be coming by that night—or any night, because Vhox refused to take a key to the flat on the grounds that he couldn’t bear to love this place and then be forced to leave it.

But, somewhere in him, Vhox also knew that there wouldn’t be a when. There were words for that knowing, and they were...

Rin kissed him before he could speak, lips brushing just long enough to pull the air from Vhox’s lungs. “I am a strutting prick from Sharlayan,” he said softly. “So if that’s what you want, I’m not going anywhere.”

If that’s what you want. As though there might actually be a fucking time when Vhox didn’t want him. As though Vhox’s wanting Rin wasn’t built into the fabric of the universe like death, taxes, and people jacking off.

“I love you.”

Rin obviously hadn’t been expecting Vhox to say it. Neither had Vhox—but now that Vhox had said it, he felt that warm, gentle wash through his chest again, like the calm waters of a tidepool. Instead, it was Rin who seemed stripped of his armor, small and unsure in his arms. “Are you certain?”

“I’d swear it on my honor, if I had any o’that,” said Vhox. Rin’s face wavered, so that Vhox felt compelled to keep talking in the hopes he might stumble on something stupid enough to make him smile. “What else do people swear on? Fresh out of mothers' graves, uh. I’ve got my life, for whatever that’s worth, an’—”

“Vhox?”

“What?”

Rin did smile, then. He also made a strangled little coughing sound in the back of his throat, because Rin was, in fact, heroically trying not to cry. “Your life will do,” he said. “Now, for Thaliak’s sake, stop talking and kiss me.”

And who would Vhox be to say no?

vhox still somehow belongs to @mimiorzea maybe we share custody by now, who knows

[headoverhiddles]

The Interview Went Fine - Jack Torrance x Reader [Smut]

Synopsis: You're the assistant of the man interviewing people for positions as the winter caretaker here at the Overlook. One man catches your attention.

Notes: HAPPY 82nd BIRTHDAY JACK. Ah I'm in such a Jack mood. Thanks to @tats-kisses-and-horror haha 😘 Also slight warning for cheating, the whole fic is an affair.

"I don't suppose they, uh... told you anything in Denver about the tragedy we had up here during winter of 1970?"

Your boss, Stuart Ullman, sits behind the desk. You, dressed in your secretarial uniform of a blouse and pencil skirt, sort through the file for one Mr. Jack Torrance, candidate for the job. Curious, you tune into the conversation to hear his answer.

"I don't believe they did."

Liar.

"Well," Ullman goes on, hesitation evident in his voice, "Our predecessor suffered some kind of mental breakdown. He ran amok, and uh..." You look away. Why did Ullman always have to tell this story? "...killed his family with an axe."

Jack takes some time to process this, and you use that time to watch him. He's got interesting features-- high brows, sharp eyes that seem to stare into you, and hands that you can't take your eyes off of. He's attractive... at least, you're attracted to him. But the look he had given you earlier was salacious, and he seems like every other man that ever wanted a look up your skirt. Besides, he's married. Just like every other man who wants you!

Still--

"Well. That is, uh... quite a story." He laughs, diffusing the tension, and you and Ullman laugh with him. "What do you think about that, sweetheart?" Jack turns to you. "Hm?"

"Oh, she's heard the story a hundred--" Ullman starts.

"It intrigues me," you tell Mr. Torrance, never breaking eye contact. "What would make a family man snap like that?"

"I guess certain conditions can drive a man to do lots of things he wouldn't normally do," Jack answers you, then finally breaks your gaze. "Of course, that's just my two cents of a look into a... deranged murderer's head." Everyone laughs at the absurdity, but Mr. Torrance's eyes never leave you, even as you busy yourself again.

Ullman raises his eyebrows at the two of you, and gets up.

"I'm going to get the lower level ready to show you, Jack. You two hang tight til about 12:30, will you?"

"That'll be fine," Jack smiles, folding his hands in his lap. You keep your back turned and head into the next office room, chewing on your lip.

---

As you get the papers together for him to sign, you feel someone press up behind you, invading your personal space. His hands come to rest on your shoulders, and you turn ever so slightly.

"Mr. Torrance?"

"Yes, doll?" His voice is gravelly smooth in your ear, and you can hear his smile. You fight the urge to grind your ass back into his obvious erection.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"Well..." One of his hands travels down your arm. "I was thinking. I don't have to be home til late. It's, oh..." he checks his watch, "Just gone noon. Why don't we head upstairs, and you... give me a little tour of the second floor bedrooms. Now how about that?"

You inhale, trying not to let his voice get to you. You turn, back to the desk, pressed against it by the writer's proximity.

"You're married."

He backs off a little, and it's as if a dark cloud takes over his face. He sullenly glances away. "Could someone not remind me of that fact for one fucking second?!" He softens a little. "It's not the same as it was. You don't understand-- I haven't had my wife for nearly a year. Almost a year now it's been. Could you imagine what that's like for a man?"

"Most likely just as bad as it is for a woman," you sigh, and brush past him. He lets you go, but follows you into a different room.

"So you're looking for a little too."

"I never said that."

"You understood my frustration."

"I'm empathetic," you try to sound stern, but Jack seems to catch the little hitch of your breath. He starts to smirk, and you feel a little weak. You can't deny it. You are attracted to the man, but he's an insufferable, entitled ass. With a great ass. And a sizeable bulge, packed into tight blue jeans. And really fucking sexy eyes, that are currently undressing you. Desire takes over, and you can't seem to rationalize anymore. Married was he? Your vision fogs until all you can see is Jack, walking toward you, feeling his hands on your arms again, only this time he's doing it with intention. You moan softly, and just as he gets to your skirt, he drags a thumb across your chin.

"Now despite what you may think, I'm not that kinda guy. I won't touch what isn't mine to touch, babygirl." He gives one of those wide, splitting grins, and you bite your lip.

"Do it."

That's all he needs. In a fluid motion, he bunches your skirt up, and lifts you onto the table easily, fitting himself between his legs. You tilt your head back, and he holds you by the arm as you grind your panties against his clothed bulge. He looks down at his corduroy pants, at how a wet spot it forming where you're dragging.

"That's really something, darling," he muses, groaning softly, then stalls your movements, pressing a hand to your crotch. He then starts to drag his finger up and down, brushing your clit, massaging just around your entrance. You clench for him.

"You think you're ready for daddy?" he whispers, and you sigh.

"Yes, Mr. Torrance."

"Hm. I like this Mr. Torrance thing, Miss (y/l/n). See, it makes me feel important."

"Yes, sir."

He bites his bottom lip, glancing down at you. He wants you bad, you can tell by the way he's staring hungrily, and you can't say you're far behind him.

"When does that fuck Ullman come back?"

"He'll be finished preparing the boiler room for a tour in probably," you take Jack's wrist, checking his watch, "Ten minutes."

"Think he can hear us from down there?" Jack asks, rocking his hips a few times into you, grinding himself against your clit. You nearly moan again, but bite it back.

"I... couldn't say."

"Let's see if we can't get the shit back up here to check, the uh... strange noises," he chuckles. "Ghosts are the least of his problems."

You giggle, and he reaches down, palming himself with a moan before taking himself out. You lick your lips, and lean back on your forearms on the table as Jack pulls your hips down, fitting himself inside you.

"Fuck," you hiss, "Yeah."

"Good?" he breathes, wincing.

"Uh huh."

He huffs as he draws out and gives a good thrust back in, belt jangling. "Now remember what I said, doll. It's been a while. Don't expect me to be Superman here."

You moan, feeling him stretch you. "Tha-that... that's okay... daddy..." you whine, and he smiles, gently rubbing a hand up your torso.

"What a pretty little whore you are."

"Ohgod," you murmur, eyes slipping shut. He's building you fast.

"H-he'll hear us."

"So what..?"

"N-no Jack, he will!"

"As long as you keep making those fucking noises, then yeah, sweetheart, he will."

You try to keep quiet. "Sorry daddy."

His aggravation blossoms into a full grin. "Not to worry. Daddy'll always forgive his girl. Plus, I thought we were trying to give him ideas. Maybe next he'll hire the Ghostbusters."

You both laugh darkly as he continues to pound you. Your hair is stuck to your neck, and he has his own sheen of sweat glistening. You grip on to burgundy jacket, and his hips stutter.

"Mmf," he mutters, and turns you around so you're bent over the table. He uses both hands to knead your ass as he fucks you even harder, and you can't help it-- you let out a loud moan of his name.

He gives your ass a sharp spanking. "Look at you now. Mrs. I don't want you to fuck me, Jack. Little miss refuses my advances then drops her panties like a wanton slut."

You reach back and take his finger into your mouth coyly, giving him doe eyes from where your head is turned back and pressed into the table. He groans, hips stuttering once more and eyes rolling back. Before he can pull out, he comes hard inside you. You gasp, feeling his cum leaking out of you, and climax as well, holding onto the table.

You both breathe heavily as you recover from the quickie.

"I'm sorry," he says quietly, "I really didn't mean to finish in you. I really meant to get offa you in time--"

"Hey," you smirk, "It happens."

"Yeah. Well, so do kids," Jack mutters, rolling his eyes as he smoothes back his messed up hair, "Or as I like to call them, happy little accidents!"

You maintain your smile, tugging down your skirt. "I'm on the pill."

He huffs a sigh of obvious relief. It made sense-- he does have a wife, and he already has a kid. He gives you one last up and down, then smacks your ass.

"Feel free to drop by the hotel anytime this winter. I hear it gets cold, so, uh..." He nods down to your peaked nipples, "Wear a fucking bra this time, and I'll supply the snowplow to get you home."

You laugh at his joking as he leads you by the arm out of the small office. Ullman comes up the stairs from the boiler room to see you holding onto Jack's arm. He gives Jack a cold stare.

"Better acquainted now, are you?"

"Oh, sure." Jack nods, giving a big, fake smile. "(y/n) makes one helluva cup of coffee."

You all laugh politely, voices echoing in the vast, empty lobby of the Overlook. The two of you follow along behind the boss, as Jack's hand slides up your back.