#funny how a crowd that feel so superior about themselves over being 'woke' can be this nasty

[mzannthropy]

People commenting under Barbie trailer on Instagram were complaining that Ryan Gosling was too old to play Ken. Is Ken supposed to be of certain age? Or is it true, and I'm not crazy, and these kids really do have a weird thing about age?

[toosicktoocare]

ooh, an It fic idea if u want: maybe the losers come home after their first semester of college and kind of like. the memory loss has started but isn't solidified yet, so things are a little awkward, like seeing a friend you haven't seen in 5 years instead of one semester. and because they haven't seen each other in so long, they decide to go to bill's while his parents are away. richie doesn't want to ruin the holiday by telling them he's incredibly sore and running a fever, so he doesn't :)

Love the prompt @taylortut!

BEV

BEV

BEV -- WHAT’S UP LOSERS! I’m coming to Derry over Christmas break! Will you all be there? I feel like I haven’t seen you all in YEARS!

Big Bill-- I will be. If everyone’s up to it, we can meet at my house? My parents won’t be back until late Christmas day.

Ben (is getting kinda hot??)-- I was thinking about dropping by for a few days. 

Mikey Mike-- Yep. 

Stan the Man-- If everyone else shows up, I can be there. Mini reunion? 

Eddie Spaghetti-- I, unfortunately, don’t have a choice. Mother’s orders. 

A soft, high-pitched beeping pulls Richie’s focus from his phone to the thermometer he plucks from his mouth. After he woke up feeling questionably sore and heavy, with a headache that could give his hangovers a run for their money, he made a surprisingly adult decision to swing by a drugstore on his way out of the city to pick up some Ibuprofen and a thermometer. 

According to the two-dollar device, he’s sporting an annoying fever of 100 degrees Fahrenheit. He shrugs and dumps two pills into his palm, dry swallowing them with a wince. 

Richie is the superior friend-- Eddie, did your mom not tell you that she extended a personal invitation to me?

A low sigh slips past Richie’s lips as he tosses his phone onto the passenger seat and swaps his car into drive. It’s just a small fever, he tells himself. He’ll be fine.

                                                          *****

Richie’s drive is a rough blur of chills, random bursts of heat that have him swerving as he tugs uncomfortably at his coat collar, and aches that squeeze at his bones. By the time he pulls into Bill’s driveway, he’s completely exhausted. His head is pounding at the temples, and the chills have picked back up. He turns his car off and drops his head onto his steering wheel, arms wrapped tightly around himself. He musters up a groan as his eyes flutter closed, but a light knock on his window has him shooting up with an impressive string of curses. 

Stan’s peering into his window with a frown and a slight tilt of the head, and Richie smiles and opens his door. His muscles protest when he slips out of his beat up truck, but he smiles through it. 

“Stan the Man,” Richie breathes out. The icy, snowy wind feels like burning needles against his skin, and he can’t suppress the sharp shiver that shoots up his spine to his shoulders. 

“Hey, Richie. You okay? You look pale-- even for you.” 

Richie waves off Stan’s quiet concern. “Long drive after a week filled with little to no sleep and too many finals, but enough about me,” he draws out dramatically. “How are you? How’s the whole math engineering study stuff going?” A strong gust of wind billows past the two, and Richie hisses, crossing his arms tightly around himself. 

“It’s fine,” Stan says with a light laugh before he wraps an arm around Richie’s shoulders. “Let’s get inside.” 

“You’ve always been the smart one,” Richie breathes out through chattering teeth. He leans into Stan’s warmth. “It’s cold as fuck out here.”

Stan hesitates when the two reach the door. His hand hovers in front of the doorbell, and Richie steps away from him with a shrug. 

“Fuck it,” he says, and Stan laughs as Richie opens the door and steps inside, with Stan close behind him. 

They follow the sound of quiet chatter to the living room, where Bill, Eddie, Mike, Ben, and Beverly are sitting around a fire. 

“Richie! Stan!” Beverly’s out of her seat and running toward them before Richie can utter a word. She wraps her arms around both of them, and Richie can’t help but laugh as red curls smack him in the face. 

“Ah, Beverly, you look as beautiful as ever.” 

Beverly pulls away from the two and punches Richie in the shoulder. “Shut up, loser.” Her voice is fond, and Richie smiles and pretends that the punch didn’t hurt way worse than it should have. 

“Come on, “ Beverly tugs Richie’s coat off and hangs it on the rack beside the one Stan is hanging up. “We are swapping Uni war stories.” 

There’s a brief moment where Richie locks his eyes to his long, heavy coat, missing the added warmth it provided. Without it, he’s feeling chilled through, and he crosses his arms and grits his teeth before following Beverly and Stan toward the others. 

The next few minutes pass in a surprisingly awkward exchange of hugs and back pats despite everyone only being separated for a few months. Richie waggles his brows at Ben’s taller, leaner form, grabs at Mike’s beefed up triceps, throws both arms around Bill, and pauses with Eddie. The two share a silent conversation before Richie pulls Eddie into a tight hug. He chases Eddie’s warmth for as long as comfortably possible before Eddie pulls away with a soft smile. 

“So, Richie,” Ben draws out when everyone’s seated once more. “Theater major?” There’s a smugness to Ben’s tone that Richie arches his brows at. 

“It’s my specialty.” 

“Acting?” Mike asks, and Stan scoffs. 

“No, being dramatic.” 

“At least I’m not majoring in creative writing.” Richie deflects, pushing the attention toward Bill only because he can physically feel his face growing hotter by the second, and he’s mentally cursing leaving his thermometer with his bag in the car. He sinks back against the couch, and he can almost hear his muscles sigh in brief relief. He crosses his arms over his chest once more, fingers digging into his arms, and he tries really hard to follow the conversation despite the pain gnawing at his head and bones. 

For what feels like hours, the seven chat about Uni, about fuzzy memories, about how it feels to be back at Derry after... 

Richie smiles when something funny is said, offers input when he finds it necessary, but as the night drags on, his headache worsens. Despite the fire and the heat on, he’s ice cold, and his muscles are painfully stiff from suppressing chills that threaten to take over. He feels like shit, and he’s beginning to think that he can’t even blame this on a rough finals week, not with a spiking fever. 

He doesn’t want to say anything, though. He doesn’t want to ruin this time. It took at least an hour for everyone to get over the initial awkwardness, and he doesn’t want this old feeling of friends to end. 

“You guys should spend the night.” Bill finally says after another hour, and Richie breathes out a low sigh. 

“Wish I could, but I promised my parents I would come home at some point today.” Richie lies with ease.

“That sucks,” Ben says. 

“Will you come back tomorrow?” Bill asks, and Richie nods as he gets to his feet. He has no idea if he will even be able to get out of bed tomorrow, but no one needs to know that right now. If anything, he can just lie to them tomorrow if he’s too sick to pry himself from bed. 

“I’ll walk you out,” Beverly gets to her feet, but Richie waves her off with a wide smile. 

“No way-- it’s way too cold out. I’ll be a-okay, so you guys just carry on.” He manages out a weak accent at that last bit and says his goodbyes before turning quickly on his heel. The longer he’s standing, the less sure he is that he can remain standing. He walks down the hall in long strides, shrugs his coat on, then slips out the door as quickly as he can. 

The wind takes his breath away, and now that he’s away from everyone, he doesn’t bother trying to stop the shivers that begin to uncontrollably wrack his body. He struggles to get his key into the lock, but when he does, he all but throws himself into his truck, anything to get out of the wind. 

His teeth are chattering hard while he reaches a shaking hand around the dark to find the thermometer. He needs to know what he’s potentially dealing with, so he presses the on button and shoves the tip of the device under his tongue. He leans his head back and closes his eyes while he waits. When the thermometer starts beeping, he pries his eyes open, gaze darting toward the door when it opens. 

Eddie’s faster than Richie. He snags the thermometer from Richie’s mouth, and Bill crowds in behind Eddie. 

“103.5 degrees, Richie! What the hell? Stan said you looked a little sick, but this bad?”

Richie winces at Eddie’s shouting. Fuck. “I didn’t want to ruin all of this,” Richie mutters, defeat lacing his tone. Fucking fuck. 

“You’re not r-ruining anything, Richie.” 

Richie frowns at the small stutter, but he doesn’t say anything as Bill steps forward and presses a palm to his cheek. 

“How do you feel?” 

“Terrible,” Richie admits, looking away from the sharp gaze Eddie shoots him. “It’s fine, though,” he starts, reaching for his door handle. “I’ll just go home and sleep this off--” 

“Of you could stay here.” 

Beverly, Mike, Ben, and Stan appear behind Bill and Eddie, and Richie realizes he’s officially outnumbered. 

“I’m probably contagious.”

“Probably,” Eddie spits out. “And with a fever that high, you won’t even make it home.”

Richie wants to argue with that, but Eddie and Bill are working out sleeping arrangements between themselves while Stan and Mike help Richie back out of the car. Beverly grabs his bags, and the seven hurry back into the house. Richie’s uneasy on his feet, but Mike’s gotten stronger thanks to a few years of football, so he’s able to lean most of his weight on Mike. 

“I’m really sorry,” Richie mutters as he’s led into Bill’s room. There are people tugging off his jacket, and someone’s easing him onto the bed while another person is working on his shoes. “I’m really dizzy,” he adds. The room’s spinning, and he’s shaking. 

“Richie?”

There’s a hand on his burning cheek, and he blinks around swimming vision to see Eddie watching him with wide, worried eyes. 

“Have you taken anything for the fever?” 

 “A couple of Ibuprofen,” Richie manages. “Before I left for Derry.” 

He doesn’t see who leaves to retrieve more medicine, but soon he’s taken two more pills with blessedly cool water, and he’s being helped under the covers. He can’t stop shaking, no matter how tightly he pulls the covers around him. 

“I’m really cold,” he chatters, teeth clacking together. He feels like complete and utter shit. 

“Just give us one second, okay?” 

Richie hums and presses Bill’s blankets to his heated face. He’s almost drifting off when he feels the bed dipping in different directions. He pries his eyes open to see everyone but Eddie crawling onto the bed. Eddie’s setting up blankets on the floor beside the bed. 

“What are you guys doing?” 

“We will probably all end up sick anyway,” Ben says nonchalantly. 

“Yeah, and we don’t want you to suffer alone.” Beverly adds.

Richie pulls his gaze to see Eddie getting comfortable on the floor. 

“Sorry,” Eddie mutters, and Richie shakes his head. 

“You guys don’t want this-- whatever this is,” Richie mumbles. “It’s the worst.” 

“We’ll be fine,” Bill says. 

After a few moments of adjusting, everyone has a spot that’s comfortable. Richie’s curled around Stan, with Beverly pressed to his back. His leg is close to the edge of the bed, and Eddie’s hand is resting on his ankle. Ben is tucked behind Beverly, and Mike and Bill are both squeezed in behind Stan. It’s a tight fit, but it’s warm, comfortable, and Richie smiles despite feeling like shit. 

“I’ve really missed you guys,” he whispers before drifting off to sleep. 

[justjessame]

Not A Loser Anymore Chapter 2

Morgan felt pretty damn pissed that she hadn’t followed Clay when he left the bar. She stood looking up at the burnt remains of his hotel. Fuck, she’d spent months watching him and his fellow assholes. Watching to make sure something idiotic and news catching like a fucking hotel catching fire. Shit. Oh he had made absolutely good on his promise that his team were responsible, she groaned and walked back to her own small hotel.

Where would they end up next? She had to think that they wouldn’t stick around after something this massive happened. After all, if they were found faking their own deaths, then they’d be up shit creek without a paddle. She was always their paddle in shit creek. Keeping their lifeboat above the rushing water, until they truly needed her.

She sat down on the crappy bed that her hotel provided. At least there weren’t bugs, she thought, holding her head as she considered what had gone so horribly wrong that she was sitting in fucking Bolivia doing recon to keep her former team safe from themselves.

WEEKS BEFORE THE OP IN BOLIVIA

“Fuck you, Clay!” She’d screamed, slamming the door of his bedroom as she stomped out to the main living area of their base. She didn’t pay attention to the open mouthed stares that the rest of her team were giving her. She wasn’t aware that she’d left every piece of her clothing behind with Clay and was stalking to her own room in nothing but her bra and the briefest scrap of lace that could barely be called panties covering her.

Morgan hadn’t wanted to be unprofessional. She fought against ever repeating their first meeting. He was her superior officer. Her BOSS for fuck’s sake. She’d left the note, as impersonal as it could get, and scurried from her apartment the morning after simply because that wasn’t her. She was a fucking doctor and a professional. So waking up next to him, even if he was the best sex she’d ever had, was a nightmare. She would have blamed the booze, but she hadn’t felt that tipsy when she pushed him against the building steps away from the bar. She definitely wasn’t drunk when he slammed her against her front door and fucked her senseless. Or the multiple other times they came together that night. When the light of dawn woke her, she’d been pressed against his chest, his arms holding her tight, and his head pressed against hers.

It felt good, but it was wrong. Wrong, wrong, and dangerous to her career. She booked it after jotting down that fucking note. The note they just fought over, again. After another slip off the wagon that she was on trying to keep from fucking her boss. Again. And again. And again. Worst recovering addict ever.

And every single time after that first night, Clay had to remind her that she ran. That she didn’t trust what they felt enough to stay and talk to him. Usually he waited until they were naked and at least partially sated, but tonight he started as they were taking their clothes off. And ruined it by making her feel like an idiot. Reminding her early the reasons she had rushed out that first morning. Reminding her how wrong their screwing around was, and as it was, how wrong this whole fucking situation was for them. For the team. For him and for her.

She was clothed and packing when she heard a knock on her door. Fuming, but certain it wasn’t Clay she grunted her assent for her visitor to come in. It was Jensen. Tech geek, and sweetheart, even if he was the most awkward human on the planet. Shame really, because he was very attractive.

“Mo,” he started, seeing her bags being filled with her shit. “Come on, Mo, this too shall pass.”

She rolled her eyes and glared at him. “No, Jensen, it won’t. That’s the problem. It never passes, not for long.” Morgan sighed and tossed the last of her possessions in her duffle. Zipping it up, she sat down on her bed and tried to smile at the computer nerd with arms of a Greek god. “Look, I can’t stay, not anymore. Cougar is a great medic, you guys don’t need me.” She forced herself to stand. “I have to go, fuck this stress is worse than putting aloe on the burned ass of monkey.” Grabbing her duffle and suitcase, she walked to the door of her room. “Don’t worry, Jen, I’m sure I’ll see you again.” He leaned down and she kissed his cheek. “Tell the others bye for me, would you?” He nodded and she was gone.

A WEEK AFTER THE OP WENT WRONG

Morgan could still see the commanding officer coming to her door. She couldn’t understand why they came to her, until he told her that Clay had named her as his next of kin. The officer stood in front of her saying all the usual platitudes that came from informing someone their loved one was dead in the line of duty. Even if it was unsanctioned. Even if it was a fuck up of massive proportions.

She had stopped the man, just as he was telling her that she would be given the folded flag, “What did they find?”

“Ma’am?” The officer asked, trying to understand her question.

“Of the bodies, what was found?” She asked, watching the man’s face. He looked uncomfortable. “They did find bodies, didn’t they?”

“It was a helicopter crash of sorts, ma’am.” He looked down at his shiny boots. “There wasn’t much left of anything, they found the dog tags of the team.”

She nodded, feeling that Clay and the team weren't dead at all. And she’d make it her mission to find out just what the hell had happened.

It had taken months. Months of bureacratic red tape and calling in every favor she’d ever made over her years of saving lives, or at least saving the shame of some idiotic decisions. She struggled, and fought against giving up, but in the end it had paid off.

The OP was requested on the behest of some shadowy figure called “Max.” Morgan couldn’t find much to prove Max was a human, but clearly he had to be. It wasn’t a mission she’d known about when she left the team, so it had to be one that wasn’t given much planning, which didn’t sound like Clay at all. The man was an asshole, but he was careful with his people.

From what she could gather, it was supposed to be a simple in and out type of job. So why were so many people dead? And why did Clay take the team underground? Morgan had realized that she’d have to go to Bolivia. Finding out information on the ground would have to be easier than pulling teeth in the U.S.

Finding them was easier than she’d expected. She had set up her headquarters in a small rundown, but clean hotel on the edge of town. Walking down the main street the first night, and there he was. Dressed in that damn dark suit of his, with the white shirt gleaming against his tanned skin, she nearly tripped. He walked into the very dive bar she watched him in the night of the fire, and every night after.

She didn’t only focus on Clay, though she was itching to find out why he’d choose her of all people as next of kin. No, she found Jensen and Cougar working at a baby doll factory, of all places. Jensen was always easy to pick out of the crowd with his loud t-shirts that barely held together under the strain of his muscles. Cougar was also fairly simple to pick out of a crowd. Women flocked to the sniper who didn’t use many words. And eventually she’d seen Roque and Pooch, too.

Confirming they weren’t dead, she wondered about Pooch. His wife was due to have a baby, and soon. That had to make this self imposed “death” difficult on them both. She’d checked in on Jolene before making the trip. She found the pregnant woman as disbelieving as she was that they were dead. Her reason? Pooch’s wedding ring wasn’t with his dog tags. Why would he suddenly take it off the chain if he hadn’t been alive to keep it?

Morgan agreed with Jolene, and Jensen’s sister when she checked on her before leaving for Bolivia. Same story, with less proof and more of a feeling. Funny how only the women seemed to realize that the story didn’t mesh with the men they knew.

And so, Morgan kept watch. She knew her former team. Knew all of them well enough to know that one of them would fuck up, and she had hoped that she’d be able to swoop in and make sure the fuck up wouldn’t end up with them actually dying.

A WEEK AFTER THE HOTEL FIRE

Morgan was on her cell phone, rolling her eyes at the dickhead on the other end. “No, I don’t want to know about the endangered animals being smuggled into the United States. I’m sure it’s a terrible and horrifying situation, but what I TRULY need to know is whether there have been any strange shipments scheduled to come into the states that don’t seem ‘right’ to you.” She sighed, “Look Skippy, I’m sure that the plight of the average custom’s agent is just fucking the most stress a human could possibly experience, but if you don’t tell me what I want to know, the stress you’re feeling is going to be raised by one hundred percent.” She listened as he described the plane. The caskets. The number of caskets. Nodding, she jotted the information down on a napkin. “Well, thanks Skippy. I’m glad that we don’t have to meet face to face after all, but I promise, you and your team can expect a nice surprise for lunch.”

Guess I’m headed to Florida, Morgan sighed to herself. She’d been surprised when she learned that the team was coming back to the states. It wasn’t that difficult to get some information, but the U.S. isn’t exactly a shoebox, so she had to finagle more information, and Skip with US Customs was one of the tactics she had to use. Grabbing her duffle that she kept packed and lived out of, she was calling using it to find a flight as she rushed downstairs and into the open.

She hadn’t taken two steps before colliding with a wall of muscle. Damn it. Looking up she literally groaned out loud. “Roque.” She said, glaring up at Clay’s second in command. “What a pleasure.” She glanced down at her phone, locking the screen so he didn’t have a chance to see the flight information.

“You don’t sound surprised to see me,” Roque said, stepping back and crossing his arms across his chest. “In fact, you don’t seem shocked that I’m in this pissant town.”

Morgan bit her lip and looked up at him. “Did you guys really think that people who KNOW you would believe that a helicopter crash without the right number of bodies and just your dog tags left behind would be proof that you were dead?” She scoffed. “Pooch kept his wedding band. Jensen’s sister said the online view of the Petunia soccer games is showing someone watching faithfully from BOLIVIA of all fucking places. And Clay? He was dumb enough to name me his next of kin.” She unzipped her duffle and pulled out the folded flag and handed it to Roque. “I thought he’d like to have his flag.”

“Mo-” She shook her head, stopping him. He held the flag loosely in his hands. He knew that Clay and her relationship was complicated at best, and screwed from the beginning at worst, but this, her here?

“Look,” she said, another sigh and tipping her head back to look up at him. “I got used to keeping all of you in one piece. I had to make sure you were all alright. I-”

“Had to see him again for yourself.” Roque finished, pulling her into his arms. “Fuck, Clay and you, never quite understood it, but he shouldn’t have put this on your shoulders, Mo.”

She shrugged in his arms. “I wanted to be sure that all of you were safe. I know-” she stopped, giving up intel would suck, but she had to know their plans. Or at least something to keep her sanity about them staying safe. “I know you’re heading back to America. I know you won’t tell me anything, but-” She closed her eyes, pushing away the pain of not being with them, with HIM. “Tell me you’re going to be safe. Tell me that, and I’ll happily go back to my house. I’ll start up with the hospital that wants me so badly they can taste it, and I’ll move on.”

Roque’s arms stiffened around her. He heard her pain. The pain of being apart from Clay and from their ragtag group. Mostly, he thought, from being apart from Clay. He didn’t trust the new girl. He didn’t believe her story or her insistence about what she wanted. Clay could be completely fucking ridiculous, but this chick? She was going to bring them low. How could he promise Morgan that they’d be safe when he didn’t believe it himself. “I’ll promise that we’ll stick together, Mo. I’ll promise that I have their backs and they got mine. That’s all I can promise.”

She nodded and drew back. “Guess that’ll have to do, won’t it?” Her eyes were glassy and Roque realized he’d never seen Morgan cry. Pissed, screaming, and bossy he’d seen all that with her, but this? She was broken. He tried to hand her the flag, but she shook her head. “That’s Clay’s. Give it to him. Tell him goodbye.” He watched as she got in a waiting cab and drove away. He remembered the night she left them all behind. Remembered how it changed Clay. This? This was going to be the reckoning.

Clay looked up from the intel that Aisha had given them about the plan to be smuggled back to the states. He heard Roque walk in and was about to call him over when his second thumped a folded triangle of the stars and stripes down on the table in front of him. “What the fuck?” Clay asked, looking up at the glaring face of a man he’d count on anytime in his life.

“Mo thought you’d like your flag.” Roque growled, throwing himself into a chair nearby. He looked up at Clay’s startled face. “Don’t worry, she’s gone.” “Gone?” Clay was afraid to touch the carefully folded flag, afraid he’d smell her on the fabric. “She was here?”

Roque nodded. “She was checking on a feeling she had about us. Mo knew we weren’t dead, Clay.” He glared up at his commander. “She saw us, all of us. And she wanted to know why you named her next of kin.”

Clay closed his eyes and fought the pain in his chest at the memory. He’d completely forgotten about that. He’d changed it when she joined them. He knew she’d be the only person on Earth he’d trust with his body, living or dead. “Fuck.” He gritted through his teeth. “What else does she know?” He had to force himself to the task at hand. Killing Max, hopefully getting their lives back.

Roque shrugged. “Not much, that she’d tell me anyway.” He pulled out one of his knives and rolled it between his hands. “She wanted me to tell you ‘goodbye’. She said it was time to move on.”

“Move on?” Clay growled. “Move on? Is that a fucking joke? She’s the one who walked out on us, Roque. Her, not me. She walked out and told Jensen to tell us goodbye the last time. Morgan fucking Dean has walked out on me more times than I can fucking count. Move on, well fine let her fucking move on.” He pushed the flag out of his way and went back to the plan. “Aisha wants to have us unloaded here-” He was showing Roque the plan, but in his mind he was remembering that night. The last night he’d seen her in the flesh.

Morgan had worn a dress that would make any grown man fall to his knees. Then, as though she wasn’t a fucking walking wet dream already, she’d started stripping for him. Baring her shoulders, that fucking blue lily tattoo on her right shoulder blade shining against her pink skin, he’d watched mesmerized.

She got down to the wisp of lace she jokingly called panties, and a bra that barely held her breasts. And what had he done? He opened his fucking mouth and ruined it. Again.

“You aren’t gonna run away as soon as we’re done, are you?” He’d been teasing, that’s what he told himself, but he didn’t believe it anymore. He was harboring the pain of waking up in her bed that first morning with the stupid note. He watched the pain flit across her face at the reminder. A reminder he gave EVERY goddamn time she gave herself to him. EVERY fucking time, but this time they didn’t even get to the giving part.

She glared at him, hands on her hips and feet shoulder width apart. A soldier, through and through. “Every time, Clay, every time.” She shook her head as he tried to tease the stupidity of his own fucking mouth away. “You know what, Clay?” She started for his door, and turned back long enough to give him that heated look that could either ignite his fire or douse it. “FUCK YOU, CLAY!” She slammed the door behind her.

Clay had sat on his bed, back against the wall, waiting. Usually she’d force herself back, to have even more of a verbal match, but she never came. He fumed that she’d just walk away, again. She always walked away. Always. It wasn’t until morning, when Jensen gave him a sad, but terrified look that he knew. She was gone. This time she wouldn’t just walk back in and get back to work.

His team had looked at him like he was the biggest fucking loser of them all. And for a while, he had to agree. As the other men joined Roque and him at the table, he tried to convince himself that he didn’t agree with the feeling like he’d ruined something. That he hadn’t pushed her right out the door that she’d slammed. That it wasn’t his butthurt pride that ruined his last time with Morgan. That looking at the flag they’d given her upon his death didn’t pierce right through him. Because that flag meant what words and screaming matched never did. She was done. Finished with him. And he had to blink away the pain, because she was his medic and she wasn’t here anymore.

[imaginedisneydescendants]

Summary: (Y/N) was neither an Auradon princess nor a villain from the Isle of the Lost; she was just a simple servant girl that worked within the confines of Beast Castle. King Ben never treated her any less than he would that of his friends or family. They’ve always shared a special bond with one another, but when confessions are made. A budding romance begins to bloom but being from completely different worlds, they realise that they can't possibly be together...or can they? (( Reader x Ben ))

Table of Contents:

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six

It was just another typical day; you woke up at the crack of dawn and already were you scolding yourself for staying up late last night. You were absolutely exhausted, but getting some alone time with Ben was worth being tired the next day. Yawning, you started on your long list of chores that were supposed to be done that morning. You weren’t so much as a morning person but your job left you with no other choice but to be such a person.

Going about your chores, you hadn’t noticed the time had flown by as it was already lunchtime, which meant that you could take a well-deserved break. You smiled to yourself, as you were glad that the day was half over. You made your way to the kitchen, where you had prepared a light lunch for yourself before settling down at the small dining table to eat.

After a couple of bites into your lunch, you suddenly heard your name being called out.

“(Y/N), there you are. I’ve been looking for you everywhere for you,” One of the older maids approached you, “Agathe wants to see you. She is waiting in her quarters.”

You swallowed thickly, standing up from the table. This can’t be good; anyone who was called into Agathe’s quarters was either in deep trouble or fired. You hoped that it wasn’t the latter.

“D-Did she said what for?” You questioned nervously, picking up your plate with your half-eaten lunch.

The maid grimaced, “No, but it doesn’t sound good.”

“Thank you for telling me,” You nodded a thank you before you discarded your lunch into the rubbish bin, placing your plate in the sink before you quickly made your way to Agathe’s private quarters.

The walk of shame; not many maids have walked it and this was your first time. Terrified, you began to wonder what you had done wrong this time, but nothing came to mind. You prayed to Fairy Godmother that you weren’t going to be fired for some reason that you couldn’t think of right now.

You just couldn’t wrap your head around it. You followed orders, you never talked back to your superiors, you were most often on time, you got your chores done by the end of the day. In your mind, you were one of the best maids there were in the castle.

Coming to a stop, you stood silently in front of a dark oak door, which was much bigger and wider than yourself. Your (e/c) eyes were filled with fear and uncertainty as they fixated themselves on the door. Taking a deep breath in and out, you knocked on the door lightly.

"Come in," A harsh voice spoke from the other side of the door.

You flinched at the sound of Agathe’s tone before you turned the doorknob, grimacing as the door opened with a loud creak. Cautiously, you slid into the room before closing the door behind you as softy as you possibly could. 

Looking around Agathe‘s quarters, it was noticeably larger than the one you slept in with the other maids. She didn’t have to share with anyone, which made you slightly bitter because you had to share a room with the rest of the other maids.

You wrung your fingers together anxiously, “Ma'am, y-you wanted to see me?”

Your superior was sitting in a big armchair next to the fireplace, sipping on a cup of tea and for a moment, she didn’t even acknowledge your presence. The silent treatment that you were receiving meant that what you did was bad and that Agathe was punishing you further by making you wait.

"(Y/N),” Agathe looked up from her tea before she surveyed you with a cold glare, “It has been brought to my attention that on a number of occasions, staff have seen you slip into the King’s office…after hours,” Agathe hissed harshly, “This is true?”

You flinched at her poisonous tone before you brows furrowed in confusion and shock. You didn’t understand it, you thought that you were being discreet and always made absolutely sure that no one saw you enter Ben’s study. Besides, why now was this brought to Agathe’s attention?

“W-Well, you see —” you gulped.

You were shaking like a leaf; should you tell her what you were really doing in there? It wasn’t anything bad, so why were you so worked up about her question? Oh, that’s right, you shouldn’t even be up after hours, let alone near the King!

“T-The King often requests my hot chocolate, a-and I also keep him company for a while b-but that is all. I swear,” You told truthfully, trying not to stutter but failing miserably.

Agathe didn’t look convinced, a scowl was plastered across her face. “Do you really think I’d believe that?” The older woman questioned rhetorically, “I’m sorry, (Y/N), but if you aren’t willing to tell me what you’re really doing in there, I have no other choice —”

“But I am telling the truth, ma’am! Honest and truly!” You cut her off, trying to make her understand that you were for a fact telling the truth.

Agathe snapped, “Enough! Don’t you dare talk back to me, young lady!” 

Her sudden outburst made you shut your mouth and shrink back. You’ve never seen Agathe this angry before, especially at you. In your mind, you could hear a little voice inside your head singing ‘you’re fired, you’re fried, so fired’.

Once Agathe had a chance to calm down, she cleared her throat, “As I was saying. I have no other choice but to forbid you from talking or go anywhere near his royal Highness until further notice, and if I ever see you anywhere near the King, I shall personally see to it that you are fired…immediately. Am I understood?”

Your mouth was slightly ajar, shocked after hearing Agathe’s words. You wanted to argue the point but your job was already hanging on by a thread, so you decided to not argue with her.

You sighed before to nodded your head, “Yes, Ma'am.”

You thought that Agathe’s punishment was extremely harsh, but she was your superior and you certainly didn’t want to lose your job.

“Good,” The woman stated, “Now as punishment, you will be extra chores, starting with scrubbing this castle from top to bottom as well as cleaning the stables, washing, hanging and to finish, dying every piece of clothing in this castle.”

You nodded your head again sombrely, “Yes, Ma'am.”

Satisfied, Agathe went back to sipping on her tea, “Then after all that, you will report to me so I can give you other chores to do.”

For the next couple of weeks, Agathe made sure that you were provided with lots of distraction, so much in fact, that you were too exhausted to visit Ben, let alone even have time to think about him. It broke you to ignore him on purpose but you didn’t want to risk losing your job. You were given the difficult jobs that none of the other maids didn’t want to get stuck with. You were at the point of exhaustion and on the verge of begging Agathe to give you your old work schedule back.

Meanwhile, it didn’t take Ben long to notice your absence. On multiple occasions, he had desperately tried to get your attention, even go so far as to send for you every night but you never came. Ben thought he had done something to have made you not want to talk to him. His time alone gave him some extra time to think about his feelings for you and his current relationship with Mal. Ever since he became King, his relationship with her had begun to wither away. They rarely talked to each other anymore; Ben had more in-depth conversations with you than he did with Mal.

The two of them didn’t spend a lot of time together, due to Ben being busy with his royal duties. Despite their withering relationship, they managed to keep up appearances at royal occasions but as soon as it was over, they were back to fighting and arguing over every little thing.

Being with you, was a breath of fresh air for Ben. You were easy going, despite your busy and stressful schedule. You were kind, beautiful, funny and smart. However, you weren’t without flaws, but Ben admired every single one you had. He needed to tell you how he felt, but how could he when you wouldn’t even talk to him?

FOUR WEEKS LATER Tonight, Belle and Beast were hosting a Gala, people that were related or associated with royalty and nobility were invited. The castle staff was working overtime that afternoon, getting the castle ready for the Gala. Agathe put you on the waiting staff, serving food and drinks to the guests. However, you were not to serve food to the King as Agatha warned you to stay well away from Ben.

The Gala was in full swing; all royal nobles alike had gathered together in the ballroom. There was an exuberant atmosphere in the room that made even the most dispirited light up with joy. Ladies were dripping with jewels, each one sparkled like a thousand stars, and noblemen were dressed in the finest tailored suits money could buy. Everyone was having a wonderful time, either sipping on expensive wine, dancing or making small talk with fellow guests.

Slipping through the crowd with a platter of food in each hand, you couldn’t help but be caught up in all the glitz and glamour of the event. How you wished you lived the royal life; it was as every bit as enchanting as it seemed. After receiving a few weeks of hard labour, this is what you needed; an easy night like this, just walking around and serving food.

You were in your own little world as you went about offering appetisers to hundreds of guests. You were in a chipper mood until you unknowingly made your way over to the royal family you worked for. Belle and Beast were conversing with King Aladdin and Queen Jasmine; Mal was hanging off Ben’s arm. 

Both you and Ben couldn’t take your eyes off one another. Mal noticed the two of you were staring at each other for quite some time before she tugged on his arm and started a conversation with him, Ben turned to her but he wasn’t fully listening to her.

You shook yourself out of your daydream before you held your platter out for the Royals to pick off from. You tried to avoid making eye contact with Ben and you tried to ignore the glares coming from Mal. You just wanted to get away from them as soon as possible but Beast and Aladdin added to your suffering as they were loading up on appetisers making you stand there longer than necessary.

After a while, Belle and Jasmine scolded their husbands and they both stopped picking off your platter. You quickly took off after that, your emotions were all over the place. You couldn’t help but let out a low growl escape from the back of your throat as you thought back to a certain purple haired girl. The mere thought of her touching Ben drove you mentally insane.

She didn’t deserve Ben. There so much was gossip about her, and not the good kind either. You couldn’t help but believe all the bad things everyone was saying about that witch spawn.

Calmly as you possibly could, you made your way to the kitchen to get more appetisers when your platter was suddenly taken out of your hand. You turned to see Ben thrust the platter towards another maid that was passing by. She fumbled with the platter in her hands as she watched the King turn towards you. She was just as surprised and confused as you were. Ben then firmly gripped your wrist and pulled you along behind him, shoving past anyone that was in his way. Everyone in Ben’s path was staring at the both of you, no doubt gossiping.

“Ben? Ben, what are you doing?!” You hissed at him, but he didn’t answer.

He exited the ballroom, with you in tow. Once you were out of sight, you began to struggle in his grasp but he retained a tight grip on your wrist. If Agathe found you like this, she’d fire you on the spot for sure. After a while of struggling, you both reached his office. He opened the door and pushed you in before locking the door behind you. 

Ben whipped around to face you. Confusion was whirling around in his soft brown eyes. "Why have you been ignoring me?” he questioned firmly.

Your eyebrows furrowed. "I-I haven't been ignoring you,” you assured, "I'm strictly following orders that were given to me by Agathe."

"Which were?" Ben pressed, raising an eyebrow.

"Which were to not talk to you or even go near you until further instruction,” You spoke softly, looking off to the side.

Ben’s expression turned to one of shock. You explained further, “I was punished because some of the staff have seen me, on a number of occasions, slip in and out of your office after hours and ratted me out.”

Ben didn’t say anything for a while. "Well, I order you to ignore Agathe's orders when it concerns me,” he finally stated.

This was the first order Ben had given you since...ever. You blinked before your gaze dropped to the floor, "Yes, your Majesty.”

There was a lull in your conversation until suddenly, without warning, Ben grabbed your chin firmly and forcefully titled it up just so that your gazes met. You tried to back away from his grip but you had unknowingly backed yourself up against the wall.

"B-Ben!” You whispered as you pushed onto his chest, he didn’t even flinch, “What are you doing?“

“(Y/N), I need to tell you something —”

“What could be so important that you had to go and pin me!” You huffed.

Ben intensely stared into your (e/c) eyes, “Mal isn’t the one I love.”

Upon Ben’s statement, your breath got caught in the back of your throat. This was an interesting development, to say the least. But a question still lingered in your mind; who was he in love with?

Ben continued, “Mal and I’s relationship is hanging by a thread and we don’t see each other often anymore, much less talk. My time away from the both of you has given me some time to think and I finally realised that...it’s you that I love, (Y/N).”

You were in complete and utter disbelief that you couldn't even control your thoughts, “You...you love me?”

Ben nodded his head, “For a while now.”

“Ben, I...” You drifted off.

It fell on you like a tone of bricks. He felt the same as you did. He was in love with you. You should’ve been happy in this situation, but you could only focus on the negatives of this situation. As it pained you to admit it to yourself, you couldn't be together, it wasn't meant to be.

“No...no, Ben, we can’t be doing this,” You warned, shaking your head, “I could risk losing my job because of this!”

"I won't let that happen," Ben promised. He always had an answer for everything.

You started to look for another reason to convince him why their relationship couldn’t work, “B-But, what if Mal finds out, and your parents?”

“What they don't know won’t hurt them, right?” Ben smirked before he slipped an arm around your waist.

Being this close to Ben, in his arms no less, was making you lose the fight as you were starting to give into him. While your heart was beating widely, your mind was racing. You were conflicted; this was wrong, and yet, it felt so right. Ben was fully aware of what the consequences were about this forbidden romance, however, he didn’t care as long as he was with the one he truly loved.

Subconsciously, Ben’s gaze flickered to your lips and started to lean in slowly. You noticed his movement and couldn’t help but follow his lead. As his lips were centimeters away from yours, a soft knock on the door made the both of you freeze.

"Ben, dear, are you alright?" A muffled voice came from the other side of the door. 

It was Ben's mother! You tried to stay calm and quiet as you possibly could.

"Uh, I'm fine, mum, I'll be out in a moment!" The King called out rather hastily. Okay, well, don’t be too long. You have guests waiting for you!” Belle reminded.

The clicking of heels on the marble floor indicated that Belle had taken her leave. You released a ragged breath you didn't know you were holding before you turned your attention towards Ben.

The King’s gaze was still latched onto yours before his lips spread into a smirk that made you weak at the knees. "To be continued," Ben whispered before he lifted his head to place a kiss on your forehead.

With that, Ben left the room without another word and closed the door behind him. Wide-eyed, you leaned against the wall for support, feeling very flustered and trying to process what just happened.