#hold on just realizing miranda’s chapters would cut short…

[maxime-damian]

thinking about my oc’s parents… thinking about the hershkovich family… oughhhhh

[drabblecat]

Yandere!Heisenberg x F!Reader Part 2

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Warnings: yandere behavior, slight nudity, drugging

Part 1

Slightly longer than i was aiming for but that's ok! My initial thought was more pwp but then I realized I kinda wanted some sort of plot... Anyways, big plans for next chapters! As always I'd love to hear what you think and the ask box is open!

You took a moment to try and calm your nerves. Heisenberg still had your face in his rough hands, and you couldn’t try to run with that chain holding you down. As his thumb ran across your lips anger built inside you. Mother Miranda was supposed to protect everyone in the village, but as soon as shit hit the fan there was no one that came to the rescue. You parted your lips as if starting to speak, his thumb now pressing down on your lower lip. Tilting your head forward ever so slightly, you bit down on the man’s thumb. He pulled back and sat up in shock that someone in your current position would do such a thing.

“Take care of me huh? Like Mother Miranda was supposed to? Yeah, well look how that worked out!” The hand still next to your head quickly gasped onto your neck, lifting you up to meet his eyes.

“That bitch was just using the village. It was a lie she used to make sure we had the right number of bodies to work with and everyone fell for it!” Tightening around your throat you started to gasp for air, hands pulling at Heisenberg’s grip. He let you go, house bouncing against the mattress. “It seems you need some more time to adjust. I’ll be back later and hopefully you’ll realize your place here.” The bed shifted as he stood up. Walking to the door and closing it behind him you heard a loud telltale click of a lock.

You stared up at the ceiling for a moment, not only to catch your breath, but also in attempt to process what exactly was happening. Tears formed in the corner of your eyes, one spilling over your cheek and rolled down to your chin. You let it fall for just a moment, and then gathered yourself. What was done was done. True you saw people that you knew dying in the streets, but you didn’t truly know them. You were just the new girl in town, if they were in your place, they would just be happy to be alive. Besides, Heisenberg was one of the town’s lords, right? It’s possible that this isn’t all that bad, you don’t know anything about him besides owning the old factory. At least he’s not Beneviento or Moreau. The dolls were creepy as hell, and you were never one for going near the waters that looked like they’d eat you if given the chance.

Using the sheet you wiped your eyes, and decided it was best to examine your surroundings further. Getting off the bed, the chain falling to the floor with it, you saw the cuff had a decent amount of length to it. Besides the bed and the heavy door, there were a few other things. There was the chair still at the end of the bed, a small nightstand, a vanity, and two other doors. Walking over to the vanity you were taken back. It had a framed photo of you that you do not remember taking. Especially since it was of you just out of the shower! Hesitantly you tipped it over, not wanting to even think of what that photo implied. Below the vanity were some drawers, opening them you found a hairbrush, and what only could be described as some of the raunchiest lingerie you’ve ever seen. Then came the two doors, one was significantly smaller than the other. Trying the small one first in the back left of the room, no luck. After turning the round door knob a few times you gave it a rest. Next was the larger door, this one opened right away. Nothing too interesting, just an ordinary bathroom. It was a little dirty, but nothing worse than what you’ve seen at certain gas stations.

Starting by opening all the possible cabinets you found they were all empty. Nothing to even try to use to get out. No cleaning chemicals or even medicine in the medicine cabinet. Heisenberg must have thought this through this for some time. The chain finally ran out of length at the toilet, just short of the bath. Seeing as nothing came from this, you returned to the bed to stare at the ceiling and think. Not like there was anything else to do. Who knows how long it took you to explore the room and think your thoughts. Without windows or any sort of clock there was no way to tell. Curling up to one side you snuggled into the blankets. Once again you heard the door click, causing you to bolt upright to face the noise. Heisenberg came through the door, carrying a metal tray holding a plate of food, a fork, a glass with what looked like water, and a small white vase with two wilted yellow flowers.

“Dinner time! Now I know I’m not the best cook, but you should find this to at least be appetizing. After all you must be starving darling.” He sat the tray on the bed and sat back in his chair. The plate was just as he said, didn’t look five stars, but your stomach growled at the mess of food. It looked like some baked beans, accompanied by some thick slices of grilled ham, and a chunk of corn bread. You still didn’t move, despite your hunger.

“Ok ok, you probably think I drugged the food, right? Well, I didn’t. Drugging you would be easier with a dart gun.” He lowered his glasses slightly to look you in the eye. With a sigh he grabbed the fork, picking up an entire slice of the ham, ripping a bite out of it. “See?” he placed the ham with the fork in it back down on the plate, speaking as he chewed. You couldn’t hold out much longer. If now was dinner time, that means you missed an entire day with nothing to eat. Planning any sort of escape or resistance to him couldn’t be done on an empty stomach. Reaching forward you used the fork the cut off a bite sized piece. It was surprisingly well seasoned, and super tender.

“There you go sweetheart! I knew it would just take some time to get used to, I’m not all that bad.” He chuckled and watched you as you ate. Only because he was watching you did you eat just a little faster than you had wanted to. Sure, he was a little off putting, but he seemed happy when you played along with whatever sick fantasy he had conjured up in his head. Once the meal was done, he set the flower on your nightstand and the tray right beside it. He stood up, taking his hat and coat off and throwing it on the chair.

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I had a full day today and I am beat. Time to get some shut eye.” He glanced over to the vanity; a small piece of cloth poked out from where you had rummaged around. “I see you had some fun today as well. Your still in that ragged gown, I think you might want to change into something a little more… fresh.” Shit, you thought you’d put everything back to where it was. You mentally curse yourself as he opened the drawers. He was right though; you were still in the stained nightgown from the attack. As much as a fresh outfit was a good idea, you dreaded what his choice might be.

After a few moments of rummaging, he pulled out a gown that looked like it went down to mid-thigh, in a deep crimson color. It would have been a nice gown, if it wasn’t for the fact that the entire section around the breasts were almost see through lace with slits on both sides that went from the bottom and halfway up.

“Absolutely not.” You blurted out, causing him to chuckle.

“Sweetheart I don’t think you have a choice in the matter. Besides you and I both know that if you stay in that grimy thing, it’ll make you more uncomfortable than wearing this. It’s soft to, pure silk.” He tossed it on the bed and gave you a wink. Giving a defeated huff, you picked it up. He was right, it was incredibly soft. Getting off the bed with the garment in hand you headed towards the bathroom.

“Aww, and I thought I was going to see you strip. Maybe some other time…” He looked at you with his shit-eating grin. Your face became flustered, and you slammed the door as fast as you could, not shutting all the way due to the chain. Once inside the bathroom you began to change, making sure he couldn’t see you through the crack in the door. It was only then that you found the slip came with a matching pair of panties. Sighing in defeat and honestly just tired of all the bullshit thrown at you these past days you just put them on. It did give you some comfort, surprisingly feeling clean in this lewd outfit over your much more covering, yet crawling with filth, night gown. Taking a look in the mirror you looked yourself over. At least your tits looked hot in this, a confidence boost is good, right?

Slowly opening the door further, you became almost timid at what you saw. Heisenberg had also begun to strip down to his boxers for the night. He was in the middle of removing his shirt. His muscular back was littered with all sorts of scars. His muscles flexed as he took of the white stained undershirt, the smallest beads of sweat wicked away by the fabric. His tight ass was also a sight to see. Looking over his shoulder, he locked eyes with you, no longer having glasses obscure the direct line of sight.

“Well well, seems we’ve both found ourselves some eye candy huh.” Tossing the last piece of clothing to the chair he approached the door. Opening it and taking your hand he looked down at you, you quickly looked away to avoid feeling more embarrassment. Suddenly he picked up bridal style, your hands immediately reaching for his chest in attempt to hold on. In doing so your hands felt the warm firm handful of his pecks. He chuckled as you quickly folded your hands back into your own chest. Ever so gently he set you back on the bed, a sharp contrast to what had happened earlier.

Settling down next to you, you turned away from him. As you felt the bed dip with his weight, he wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you close. You could feel a slight bulge resting against your ass. You tried to create some sort of distance, but you couldn’t move at all. Resigning to the situation, you tried to settle down, eyes unable to close despite some tiredness. All you could see in the limited range of movement you had was the nightstand, remnants of the meal, and the two flowers wilted but vibrant as they sat in the small vase.

[tales-unique]

FAITH, LOST  IV

Oh honey she starts off so spicy! Hence why it's all under a Read More since I don't wanna get done for showing the nasty straight out the gate. Minors better beware! ;3

Tagging the boos, for obvs reasons @chelseareferenced @buckysbaby1 hope you all like it! 😘😘

Chapter 4

It begins as soon as your eyes flutter open. The darkness, familiar, like an old friend, coerces your senses into a heightened state. Exposed, your skin prickles at the coolness of the room, writhing against soft sheets. You exhale in exhilaration; you know what’s to come. It starts small, a low thrum of electricity in the air that tickles your bare flesh. Then it builds, tantalizingly slow, a measured surge of power that has you twisting yourself in knots. You want more. Only He can give you more. His arrival is heralded by the scent of oil and whiskey, leather and smoke. It caresses you, embraces you, and sends you into overdrive. It’s instinctual, a primal desire. It corrupts your mind, the sequence disjointing in its take over. Thick boots echo on a wooden floor, your mouth falling open with a heated breath. Your back arches when you feel his weight dip the bed, heat radiating from him. The contrast has you trembling, body wired. His hands, strong and calloused, grip the backs of your thighs easily. A simple tug and you’re at his mercy, legs parting easily in his strong grip. You moan, he growls. He likes what he can see, those beast eyes glowing a dangerous red in the blackness. Sharp indents form against delicate skin, his claws marking your inner thighs. His little lamb, so sweet and so ready for the slaughter. Then there’s movement, the shuffle of fabric, the chink of a belt buckle. You tense, but you’re ready. The air surges with the oncoming crescendo, the room spinning, or maybe it’s you? You’re not sure, preoccupied with the molten heat that pools suddenly between your legs. You feel his grin, all teeth and tongue helping to blot out the sharp stab of pain.      Forgive me Father, for I have sinned—

The sudden chaos of a burst steam pipe in the hallway outside your room abruptly shocks you from your slumber, a cacophony of sounds assaulting your sleep-hazed senses. You hear Heisenberg shouting, the scraping of metal being reshaped at will, the harsh hissing of escaping steam. Groaning at the rude awakening you flop back against the lumpy couch cushions, kicking off your blanket in protest. A light sheen of sweat covers your body, making your nightclothes stick to you in an uncomfortable way. As you stare up at the ceiling you try to decode the meaning behind your dream. You recall with an embarrassing amount of clarity just what it was you were doing and who you were enjoying it with. Humiliation blooms within you, coloring your cheeks a shade of scarlet. It wasn’t as though you hadn’t indulged in the past, you just never had desires so blatant before. Especially for someone who was your superior in every way. “Hey, you awake in there?” Heisenberg’s voice cuts your thoughts short. All the racket has stopped, there’s just the usual hum of the Factory. “Y-yes!” You squeak, stomach clenching uncharacteristically as you sit up, “I’m awake!” “Well get your ass up, we have work to do!” He claps his hands hard to exaggerate his point and you lament your new found torture as his footfalls recede down the corridor. Oh merciful Mother Miranda how were you supposed to face him anymore?

Heisenberg is, for lack of a better word, pissed. It surges through him and it shows in the haphazard, volatile approach he takes with his work. It isn’t rational, this level of response on his part, but he can’t help it. You’ve barely spoken a full sentence to him all day. Now, he’s under no illusions that you were going to become the best of friends. After all, you had been sent to him by Mother Bitch herself to be his servant and he knew that you were three sheets to the wind over this religious bullshit, but he’d thought that you’d been showing progress in becoming your own person. At least, you were , until that little incident where he had you pinned against his desk and decided to take his teasing to the next level. It isn’t often that Heisenberg considers that he may have gone too far with something, or someone , but he’s definitely considering the possibility now that you seem to be avoiding him wherever possible. You’d even brushed off his blatant last ditch attempt, an offer to accompany him to see his forge and the projects he’d been working on, in favour of praying to Mother Miranda. It’s the exact opposite of what he wanted to happen. You’d been so close to opening up, to no longer being a tool, but instead you’re become even more the meek little lamb of Miranda’s flock. Frustration bubbles within and his temper, short-fused as it already is, takes a critical hit. As a result everything he does has a sharp, volatile edge to it; even something as simple as opening a door is menacing in his current state. It serves to further deter you from him, giving you the space you so desperately desired. That is, until Heisenberg reaches his limit. “Just open up already! You can’t ignore me forever!” He thunders where he stands in the hallway, gritting his teeth in a vicious snarl. When he’s met with your persistent silence he howls in frustration, throwing his arms up in the air. The irony of him choosing to remain outside your door doesn’t go amiss, since it’s well known that he could easily rip the door from its hinges with the flick of his hand because of his nifty little ability to manipulate metal. Which, coincidentally, nearly everything in this Factory is made of in some form or another. But he doesn’t and you’re thankful for that, even if you still don’t want to face him. It continues on relentlessly, neither side backing down, and without realizing it, the whole thing becomes a game in its own right. One that pits you against one another to see who cracks first. So it’s a surprise when it’s Heisenberg that seeks you out first. It’s a situation of his own making, having followed you on the gritty live feed from his security cameras. With ease he catches you off guard on your way out of the elevator, taking your fright in his stride. “Easy now!” He exclaims, his hands raised in surrender. You’re cagey, looking for a way out. He isn’t going to give you one because he’s had about enough of you giving him the cold shoulder over a goddamn joke . You’ve pressed yourself tight against the wall, watching him like a hawk. He can hear the frantic flutter of your heart, the sharp intakes of breath, and his jaw tightens. He can’t get distracted now, he needs to focus — this was not the time to enjoy your distress. “Now I know that I can be a bit of a handful,” he starts, then falters, mouth working to try and word it just right, “but, really, hasn’t this gone on long enough? I didn’t mean any harm by it! Just a little teasing, you weren’t meant to get upset.” Oh, he thinks this is because of that time. You stare up at him in utter disbelief. You want to slap him. It’s the first time you’ve ever felt the innate burning desire to inflict bodily harm on anyone, but here you stand, about ready to knock those glasses right off his face. “You have literally no idea how you make me feel , do you?” You accuse him, incredulous, your posture straightening. Things might have slipped back to the way they were before all of this if he had just let you be, allowed you to warm back up to him, and maybe you might have been content with that. This was a turmoil of his own creation, after all, so why not let him stew in it a while. But now? Now you were at your limit. You’re tired of constantly tip-toeing around yourself because of him and his stupid games. If anything, you’re even more tentative to rekindle whatever this relationship is that you have with him, to throw in the towel and tell Mother Miranda she’d been wrong about you. It made you sour to think that what little progress you had made had been lost and it’s taken its toll on you. There’s a harsh look to you that has Heisenberg’s head spinning, apprehension gripping him. “H-Hold on a minute,” he attempts to defend himself, an uncomfortable blend of emotions sitting like a stone in his stomach. He’s conflicted over your new found confidence. You’re no longer the mild-mannered devotee that was wound around Mother Miranda’s finger, standing tall. You’re practically shining. It’s a good look on you, but he’s not exactly thrilled to be the one on the receiving end. “No!” You snap, squaring up to him. You see his brilliant eyes widen behind his circular glasses and for once in your life you feel powerful and in control . “I’ve done nothing but try my best here, trying to make something good out of this situation and you made me feel like a complete idiot !” The words feel heavy on your tongue, but you feel lighter now that they’re out in the open. Who knew that having your shame out in the open could feel so liberating. You take a deep breath when you feel the pinpricks of tears sting your eyes, trying to ground yourself. You wouldn’t forgive yourself if you cried in front of him. Not in this lifetime, or the next. Heisenberg stares down at you with a look of realization on his face, now fully aware that there was more to this than your feelings of inadequacy, that you were little more than a joke to him. It’s always been there, in the way your heart races when he gets just that little bit too close or how your eyes soften when he’s agonizing over his work. He goes to speak this revelation but you shake your head, lower lip trembling. “I was just trying to help .” The way your voice breaks has him in a tailspin, the look of pure anguish in your eyes cutting him deep. This is in no way what he had envisioned when he spotted the chance to clear the air with you. “Oh come on, don’t cry!” It’s a desperate plea, something you never thought you would hear from him. “You’re making me feel really shitty here!” “That’s because you are!” You sob, unable to hold it back anymore. You feel like such a pathetic idiot. That overwhelming monster of self-degradation looms, fueling your misery. If only a dark abyss could just swallow you up and save you from this embarrassment, but you know that’s not going to happen. There’s only this awkward moment, lingering between you. You whimper, trying desperately to wipe away your tears. They stream down your cheeks, burning against your already flushed skin as you sniffle. Suddenly his hands are encasing your own in a firm grip. With a surprisingly gentle touch he tugs them down, exposing you. The whites of your eyes are marred with tiny lines of red and your long lashes clump together from your tears. You’re a mess, but he doesn’t mind. In fact, he finds you oddly endearing in the moment. Swallowing, you try to understand what’s going on. Your hands are still held in his, the feel of soft leather almost comforting against your skin, and you wonder if you’re dreaming again. Something stirs in you, glowing embers kicking up from ashes, and you try to pull away. It’s an admirable attempt but Heisenberg easily catches you, holding you in a vice-like grip against him. You whine at the harshness of his grasp and he frowns, loosening his hold just enough to make it bearable. “I’m sorry, alright?” He mumbles, hesitating. It’s been so long, too long, since he’s been in such close proximity to someone who wasn’t prey. You aren’t fighting him, you aren’t trying your damnedest to get away. In fact, you look as though you’re captivated by him. It’s a side of him that no one has ever seen before, the dejection of a man twisted into being a monster. Something inside you breaks anew at how lost he looks, the last and most dangerous of the Lords at Mother Miranda’s disposal. He’s nothing more than a dog on a choke chain, to be used when it’s suited and then discarded afterwards. Just like you. “Heisenberg,” your voice is hushed, woeful. The words are so genuine and your heart isn’t yet made of stone to be immune to their plight. When you shift in his grasp there’s no resistance and you reach up to gently cup his cheeks in your hands. The stubble on his face tickles your palms and his skin is warm and smooth to the touch. You find you quite like it, the contrast of textures. He does little in the way to stop you. In fact, he encourages you. His hands find purchase on your hips, thumbs brushing the delicate spots just below your rib cage. It elicits a soft gasp from you, your body stiffening beneath him. Glistening eyes stare up at him, a swirling maelstrom threatening to drown him along with you. He’s curious whether or not you’re ready to commit to this. Heisenberg knows what you want, or better yet, what your body wants, but your mind eludes him. He waits with bated breath to see what path you will take, the uncomfortable feeling of anxiety creeping in his bones. It’s like poison, a crawling taint that threatens to take over him. What have you done to him? The exact same thing he did to you. It’s a disquieting notion, one that almost overtakes him, until it doesn’t. The doubts are suddenly banished and relief washes over him at the feel of your silken lips against his in a tender kiss. The chain breaks; you're both suddenly free, and it feels euphoric .

[linnamonrolls0]

The Thing About Illicit Affairs... : Chapter 5

Lin-Manuel Miranda x Reader

Summary:

“And you know damn well, for you I would ruin myself, a million little times…” When you pictured moving to New York City, an apartment in Washington Heights was a far cry from your Gossip Girl dreams. That was, until the guy next door flashed you a smile that could light up the entire city and your world turned upside down… Mature / Warnings: the cheating begins... / 2106 words Chapter 5: Treacherous

It had been a long, stressful week. After a series of endless, chaotic days at work, fending off more of Anya’s poor matchmaking attempts and even more junk food than I would ever admit to, I couldn’t be gladder that the week from hell was almost over. Lin had gone out of town for a few days with his family, making good on his promise after meeting every deadline I assured him he would - despite his occasional text check-ins, I selfishly missed seeing him around and hearing his music late into the night.

Another weekend, and all seems well again - except the disorder that is still my apartment. It had been over a month since I moved in, but I was still settling in and on this particular afternoon, I was waiting on the delivery of a ridiculously large mirror to go in my living room. But what I didn’t account for was the fact that the delivery guy would drop it on the doorstep, leaving me to carry it up the stairs myself, so I stand in front of the thing, tilting my head one way to another as I try to figure out how to get it to my apartment. Seeking help is clearly out of the question.

I manage to wrestle the mirror in through the main entrance and up the first set of stairs, which is no easy feat. The box is easily a couple of feet taller than me and who knew a mirror could be this heavy? I’ve almost reached my floor when I lose my footing on a step and drop the box, going down with it. Despite the excessive packaging, the glass somehow smashes and a stray piece cuts across the palm of my left hand. It all happens so quickly, everything is a blur until I realize I’m sitting at the bottom of the set of stairs surrounded by the scattered shards and an excruciating pain shoots through my right leg as I try to stand up. My glasses are among the broken mess, leaving me staring at a blurred world, but I am thankful they survived the fall as I put them back on.

I can’t bear the pain, granted it isn’t the worst injury in the world, but I’ve lived a sheltered existence. Every time I’d hurt myself, someone would be around to tend to my wounds, but now I’m alone and the sight of blood starts to make me feel lightheaded…

With the events of the past week, I could say I’ve done a pretty good job keeping my tears at bay so far. I’d been close to crying that night on the doorstep, but somehow this stupid inconsequential injury breaks that wall down and I let everything I’ve been repressing, the pain, the fear, the homesickness, the loneliness flow as I cry it out, sitting by myself at the bottom of the steps.

But then I hear footsteps approaching, and I would die before I let anyone see me cry. I hurriedly try to wipe my tears away on the sleeve of my sweatshirt but that hardly helps when I’m still sobbing…

“What are you - oh, shit. Are you okay?” Lin stops beside me, and I can hear the concern in his voice when he notices the state I’m in. Just my freaking luck.

“Yeah,” I manage to say through sniffles. He drops the backpack he’s holding and kneels next to me, giving me a knowing look. I shake my head, “Okay, no.”

Wordlessly he reaches out, stopping short until I nod. He leans over and wipes away the tears I don’t realize are still rolling down my cheeks. Grateful for the comforting contact, I lean into him and rest my head on his shoulder - I feel safe, like none of this matters quite so much when he’s around. He wraps his arm around my shoulders, giving my arm a gentle squeeze, letting me tuck my head into his neck and we stay like that for a few moments, letting my tears dry out. “What happened?” he asks suddenly, touching my forearm. My palm is still bleeding and I avoid looking at it.

“I broke a mirror,” I sniffle, “It’s all a mess… I’m sorry.”

“What? No, you’re hurt!”

“I am, don’t make it worse!”

“Okay, come on. You need a bandage on that,” Lin asserts calmly. He moves his arm to wrap around my waist instead, and I don’t protest when he pulls me up onto my feet. “You okay to walk?” I nod against his shoulder. He grabs the backpack and leads me towards his door. “Hmm, that’s it, just a few steps across the hall…”

I try to focus my attention on his soft voice in my ear, and nothing else - not the physical pain, nor the storm raging in my mind. Still leaning on him, we walk towards his door and I wait whilst he unlocks it. He still has one arm around me, supporting me as he leads me inside and sits me down on a comfortable couch. “Stay here a second, I’m just getting a first aid kit.” I nod and close my eyes, leaning back on the couch until he returns. I’d forgotten how badly the sight of blood messes me up…

When he finally comes back, he gently grasps my hand; the coolness of his hand soothes the burning caused by my injury. “This is gonna sting, but I got you…” Initially, the sting shocks me and in a strange reflex reaction, I grip his knee with my other hand and he freezes for a fraction of a second. I let my eyes flutter open and my heart feels like it’s about to melt at the sight of him, carefully holding my hand and cleaning my wound with some sort of antiseptic, but I’m still self aware enough to let go of him too. I barely feel the sting anymore but his hand holding mine feels so natural… I focus on his look of deep concentration instead as he presses cotton to the gash and delicately wraps a strip of gauze around my palm. “All good.”

“Thank you…” I sigh as he helps me sit upright and hands me a glass of water. I take it and sip the cold liquid, grateful - all these tears have left me with a headache, burning from the inside out.

“Don’t worry about it. Remember, you know you can call me whenever?” he says softly, taking the empty glass from my hand and placing it on a coffee table in front of the couch.

“Ugh, yes. Why are you so good?” I murmur. Still a little lightheaded, I lean closer to him and before I can fully register what my intentions are, I’m already closing the distance and my lips are on his. At first, he doesn’t react and my heart sinks for a second at the prospect of ruining one of the best things I have right now. But then he’s kissing me back, reciprocating, and all pain is forgotten for real when all I can think about is the gentle caress of his soft lips on mine… Something I’ve longed to taste since the day I arrived and he caught me as I was about to fall, and it takes me far beyond any of the fantasies I dared to indulge in since then.

The irony; would he catch me if I was falling for him?

Lin grips my waist and I slip my one good hand up over his neck, settling on cupping his cheek. It’s comfortable and soft and sweet, but at the same time we need to be closer… I feel like I’m floating, letting him sweep me off my feet… Until he pulls back. At first I can’t look at him again, knowing full well I started this and I’m in the wrong - but I have to look up when I feel his gaze fixed upon me.

“That… should not have happened,” he says. But his eyes tell a different story; the way he still looks at me, wanting, longing just as much as I do. “We can’t… I’m sorry.”

Guilt. It’s guilt in his voice, unmistakable guilt, and it’s heartbreaking.

I take his hand, and he’s definitely not cold anymore. I try not to show I’ve noticed, but keeping my own feelings under control proves a challenge in itself. “No. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have - you can’t be… I’m not a homewrecker. I don’t want to hurt you, or anybody, but…” I trail off, unsure how to finish that.

Lin says nothing for a few seconds, but gently squeezes my good hand, still holding his. He finally breaks the silence, “I know. And I don’t want to hurt you, but I’m still here… if you want me to be.”

“Thank you for that, and for everything, but… Lin, I don’t think I can. I think I’m falling for you, and you need to know, because it’s getting bad and I don’t know what to do with it…” I confess, barely above a whisper - I don’t dare let anyone else hear.

He leans closer again, almost disbelieving, “What?”

“You heard me,” I murmur, looking down at our clasped hands as I feel the heat rise to my cheeks owed to the embarrassment of what I’ve just done. The feeling was one thing, but admitting it out loud, to myself and worse yet, to him… But when I look up, he’s right in front of me again, those deep brown eyes searching mine for what feels like forever, willing myself not to drown in them again…

“Then I hope you won’t mind if I finish what we started…” he whispers; I’m confused for a moment, until he leans even closer yet; one finger under my chin, he tilts my face up to gently press his lips to mine, his tongue quickly claiming mine, far rougher than the first kiss as we’re ravishing each other, all hunger and pure sinful lust. Despite the initial shock, I don’t resist when he pulls me closer onto him until I’m straddling his lap whilst he’s still sitting on the couch, sinking back into it, taking me down with him, sparking up a fire deep within me that only he has any chance of extinguishing… In the back of my mind, I know this is completely out of line, but somehow my attraction to him and my dependence on him outweigh any moral compass I thought I had. I can’t bring myself to stop and clearly neither can he. He slips one hand under my sweatshirt and I sigh against his lips, leaning into his delicate yet searing touch; we’re both wearing jeans, creating a level of friction between us that neither of us can handle… But then a loud thud echoes through the apartment, startling us both and completely killing the fire just as quickly.

“Lin, is anyone else here?” I whisper, panicking. I jump to my feet, immediately missing the warmth of his body against mine, and oh, the pain in my leg that he’d caused me to forget…

“They shouldn’t be, but…” He stands up and glances around nervously, taking his bottom lip between his teeth, “I’m sorry.”

“I better go,” I say, forcefully tearing my gaze away from him - which is far easier said than done, as I struggle to stop thinking about the taste of his lips, fighting the urge to take the risk and close that gap again…

At that very moment, a grey dog trots into the living room with a toy in its mouth and drops it at our feet, briefly sniffing me before leaning against Lin’s legs.

“It was just Tobi…” he says with a relieved chuckle, petting the dog, “We’re good.”

“Still, that was terrifying. This thing… We can’t get caught, right?”

He shakes his head. “Right. We just need to keep ourselves in check. How hard can that be?

”After that? Harder than you think, have you seen yourself? I raise a brow at him. But I say nothing, instead opting to take one step towards him again. I step up onto my tiptoes to grip the collar of his shirt and leave him with one last kiss; it takes everything in me to pull away when he tries to deepen it, but I tear myself away. Leave him wanting more, brazen as that may be. I know I do.

Flipping my hair over my shoulder, I turn around and walk out of his apartment before I could take another look at him and change my mind.

Chapter 4 / Chapter 6

[lady-z-writes]

Plaything (Heisenberg x fem!reader)

Chapter 4 (of 5)

Summary: Reader works for BSAA and is scoping out the village until you get captured by none other than Heisenberg who doesn’t take well to trespassers. Once he learns of your hatred for your job, he wants the information you have and he doesn’t have to try hard to get it. You find yourself drinking, fireside, with him and can’t help but let him touch you. Angie said he’d needed a plaything and, well, you’re it.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Smut with (some) plot, chapter 4 below the cut:

You can remember the feel of a scratchy washcloth against your skin. It’s warm and the movement against your nipples is gentle. You want nothing more than to sleep right now, but you open your eyes and note a very shirtless, very tentative Heisenberg cleaning you up.

A moan leaves you as you try to shift over, cover your tits, go back to sleep – but he grips your wrist gently and easily turns you back over.

He chuckles. “Wore you out, huh?” his cocky smirk makes you smile back. “Just…let me do this then you can sleep.”

You nod, eyelids feeling heavy, and you let him take care of you.

When he’s done, you watch him turn toward his desk but your hand juts out to grab his wrist this time. He halts, slowly glances down at you.

“Stay,” you hum, shifting on his bed. “Please?”

Before long, you feel the bed dip from his weight beside you and you let yourself rest.

•••

It’s night by the time you wake again and he’s no longer in the bed with you, but you see the moonbeams through the curtains and stare up at the stars for a moment.

The breeze makes you cold and you reach for a nearby shirt of his. It’s white and shows your nipples through it, but the warmth is a comfort.

An empty room greets you when you look around. There are journals and books you’d never really paid attention to before. A part of you is tempted to flip through them, but you’re reminded of the behavior Heisenberg clearly wants you to exhibit.

Instead, you grab your boots and decide to shower off the events from the other night.

The water is scolding but perfect as you wash with his shampoo. It’s lonelier than last time, but your mind needs some clarity.

What you stumbled into…it’s laughable. If you’d been on any other team with any other lord, Heisenberg probably wouldn’t have saved you. You won’t let your mind wander to the others for too long – how their carcasses are probably tossed away somewhere and forgotten about right now. Heisenberg has his moments, sure, but you’re alive and it’s a kindness he didn’t need to do.

Your fingers are macerated so you shut off the faucet, reach for a towel. Sleep did you good, food would do you better. When your eyes travel to the doorway, you can’t help but scream.

A Soldat stands in the doorway.

Wrapping a towel around yourself, you press your back to the shower wall, breath coming in rapid bursts. The Soldat simply attempts to shove its way into the bathroom, but it doesn’t fit and the drill hits the wall instead.

There’s no other way out and you’re pretty sure the thing is going to drill through the wall. It manages quicker than you expect and you’re still in the shower stall, holding onto the towel for dear life as it strides toward you.

Its one drill gets stuck on the stall door, the other reaching you and digging into your arm. Another scream and you’re cowering down in the corner of the stall, pressing your hand against the bleeding wound.

In a blink, the Soldat is tossed against the other wall and Heisenberg steps into the shower. His eyes take in the blood.

“Can you stand?”

You’re in shock, but you nod quickly and you don’t stop nodding until he’s got you out of the room.

He sits you in his desk chair and grips your wrist, turning your arm over to see if the puncture wound went all the way through. You dare to look at it and see the gouge in your arm, blood oozing onto the towel.

“Next time,” he growls, pulling the towel down and exposing your breasts. “You get me before you shower.”

It hurts when he presses the towel to the wound, applying pressure to stop the bleeding. You grit your teeth, reminded of a recent mission you were wounded in. Pain is temporary, you remind yourself as he cleans off the wound.

He actually has gauze and it feels good once he’s wrapping the wound.

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” you find yourself saying. “I’m sure you were busy.” You notice his eyes take in your nakedness. “Thank you…for everything.”

“This place isn’t safe for you, clearly. Don’t leave my sight again.”

You convince him you need food so he lets you get dressed. You’re afraid to enter where the Soldat is, but you grab the shirt and boots and run back to Heisenberg. He watches you dress in his white shirt and your knee-high boots.

“You are entirely too distracting,” he hums, staring at your nipples through the shirt.

In an instant, you’re shoved to the nearest wall, hands above your head, Heisenberg pressing a palm against your fists. He kisses you deeply, body flush against yours. His hand travels between you two and he plays with your clit. You not wearing panties has proven to be very distracting.

His fingers arched inside of you, mouth pressing kisses to your neck, you’re once again so pleasured. It feels like a wave consuming you – distracting you momentarily from your hunger.

“I’ve got to finish up a project,” he mutters against your neck. “What should I do with you?”

“You want to keep fucking me, you’ve gotta let a girl eat,” you quip.

Heisenberg blinks at you as he pulls away. “What a mouth on you…” he raises a brow. “Fine. It’ll keep you quiet while I work.”

He doesn’t have anything spectacular to eat but you manage to scrounge together something simple – some bread, veggies, more fruit. There’s some granola bars and you’re wondering where he got them but your curiosity melts away when he demands you get done and follow him. Snagging one, you scurry off behind him.

You’re deeper into the factory than you’ve ever been and it’s a bit overwhelming. Heisenberg drones on about some projects and gives you more information on the ins and outs of the Soldats. He claims he doesn’t expect you to work on any today, but you find it hard to believe. The man seems like he’s always plotting.

Halfway through the granola bar, he calls you over to help him but loud growling and snarling nearby alerts you both.

“Shit,” Heisenberg is suddenly irritated as he meanders to a window. His hand slams against the wall. “That oversized, psycho bitch.”

He’s spinning on his heels and approaching you quickly as you swallow your last mouthful of food. Eyes wide, you stare as he strides toward you and pulls your arm. As he’s dragging you down the hallway, you’re struggling to get out of his grip and repeating, “what’s wrong?”

“Apparently since I haven’t checked in recently, I get to be dropped in on by my sister.”

Your mouth goes dry at the thought and you stutter out a, “what do we do?”

•••

“You overgrown waste of space, get out.”

You can hear them yelling somewhere up above, but Karl had specific instructions to take the elevator two floors down, walk through the doors to the left, and take off down the hallway from there. He said wherever you’d go, he’d find you but as your eyes take in the maze down here, you worry that isn’t true.

Still, what choice do you have? It’s either this or be skewered by his false sister once she finds out you’re still alive. The thought chills you.

Deep in the maze now, you hear the movement of the elevator and their raised voices stirring about. Metal clangs, screaming, and crashing sounds above and as you hear the shifting of the elevator again, you break out in a full sprint.

Adrenaline coursing through you, it’s like an electric shock to your senses. The metal clanging almost seems louder and you wonder if Karl is doing that just to alert you where they are.

You’re good and lost by now, entering rooms that attach to other rooms; trying to find a hiding spot before you realize they’re moving again.

Her senses are sharp, apparently.

Approaching a room deep in the maze of things, you see a few lights on; wonder what he uses this for – but your wondering is cut short by the shadow of a figure standing in the nearby doorway.

An almost-scream leaves your throat but you cover your mouth with both hands in attempt to silence yourself.

The beast grunts, approaching slowly. Both arms are drills – the same version of the Soldat that attacked you earlier. It raises its drills in a readying attack.

You run back the way you came, back to the parts of the factory you know these things aren’t. Karl had mentioned before to stay near him if you were ever to venture out, but given the current unexpected guest, you’d had no other choice.

The creature charges after you, its grunting loud. Of course you look back at it – its grey skin – it’s like you still can’t believe what you’re seeing.

You manage to find your way back to a main hallway and take it all the way down. Glancing back, you think you’ve lost it…and then a loud clanging noise greets your ears.

It feels like everything is in slow motion when you turn. The oversized woman from the church stands just off the elevator, her long claws reflecting light. You can hear your heartbeat in your ears and as she charges at you, you see Heisenberg swing his hammer behind her.

With a flick of his wrist, he sends a bunch of metal scraps toward you with such power, you’re crashing against the nearest wall.

“I told you to stay out of it,” he’s yelling and it makes you hold your breath from on the ground.

“You kept her?” the woman screams. “I’ve known you to do some stupid things, but this?”

“Yack yack, go squawk to Miranda.”

“Do you know who they are?” she gasps. You notice Heisenberg is silent. “The others I brought to Castle Dimitrescu, they offered up knowledge: these people were meant to gather information on us,” she’s screaming at him. “And yet you keep this spy as a plaything? I knew you had intentions, idiot man-thing. You need to take care of this now.”

She clicks her tongue when she notices you pulling Heisenberg’s shirt down to cover yourself – feeling exposed.

“Oh, believe me, I will…” his voice is polished, mannerly. It stops you in your tracks. “You know how I don’t like anyone ruining my fun. This little slut has been sucking and fucking all night. I’m using her until I’m done and then I’ll string her body up for the Lycans.”

The tall woman lifts her chin with an inhale. You notice as she takes you in, Heisenberg is glancing down the hall you ran from, as if looking for his creation.

“Well, I…” the woman pauses. “I suppose I must honor Mother Miranda’s choices – though they may be poor at times.” A nod. She steps toward you, punctures the skin on your chest. “You disgusting harlot. I hope you rot.”

You cry out from the pain, try backing away, but are pinned to the wall suddenly by metal wrapping around your wrists.

“I’ll take it from here, dear sister,” Heisenberg sneers. “It’s my hour of need and…I’m sure you don’t want to be around when I take what I’m owed.”

The suggestive tone in his voice makes the woman sneer at him.

“Fine. Show me out.” She stands at full height and saunters over to the elevator. Just as you think you’re safe, she pauses, sniffs the air. “She’s not alone.”

“What?”

“There’s another.”

“What do you mean?” he’s spastic now.

“Did you bring another here?”

“No,” he quirks a brow at her. “Sure you aren’t losing it? Hat’s too big for your head – no time for big brain moments.”

She rolls her eyes and follows him to the elevator.

Heisenberg leaves you here, pinned up to the wall, crying and bleeding and praying to a higher power that thing doesn’t find its way back here or you’re dead.

And as the minutes tick by, you wonder just how honest he was being with his sister…was this all a ruse? His kindness just an extended roleplay to get what he wanted out of you before killing you?

The movement of the elevator startles you once again. A part of you is grateful for his return, meaning the monster may be kept at bay; yet you’re worried what his intentions are.

As he strides over to you against the wall, he exhales cigar smoke in your face.

“I like you strung up like that. My shirt, nipples hard, legs spread…” He kisses you then and you want to lean into it, but you’re frozen. He notices, pulls back. “Ah, I see the gears turning now…” he taps the cigar ashes off on your arm. “Not to worry, kitten. I’ll take care of you.”

The movement to your left makes your stomach drop. The monster from before lurches into view – loud and menacing.

“Should I let it repeat the scene from earlier? Your blood shed and my family won’t be forced to check on me anymore. No doubt Miranda’s about to find out about the fact that you’re still living…” as he rambles, the Soldat storms closer.

“Stop,” you whisper out, shaking.

He examines you then, “That’s real fear there, isn’t it, doll?” he huffs a laugh. “You truly think that I’m that much of a monster? To waste such a pretty specimen on such a gruesome death? No.” He snaps his fingers and uses his powers to urge the Soldat back down the hallway. “You’re lucky.” Another exhale of smoke in your face before he shifts his hands and the metal holding you to the wall loosens enough for you to slide to the floor. “Come on. Get up. No use wasting our time sulking.”

You’re hesitant to follow him to the elevator. Once again he’s acting so flippant and you’re afraid to let your guard down.

Still, what choice do you have? You follow wordlessly because you’re stuck here even if you find out he’s a bad man.

He chuckles at you as you join him on the elevator. “All that spunk is gone?”

You open your mouth to speak, close it, inhale sharply. He blinks slowly at you, crossing his arms.

“What the Hell was that? Are you planning on killing me, Heisenberg? Is this just some drawn out roleplay fantasy of yours? Fuck me, give me Stockholm Syndrome, then off to create me into some corpse of a machine?”

He smirks around the cigar as you raise your voice at him.

“There she is,” he hisses, grabbing you by the hair. “I wondered how long that fear would hide your attitude.”

When the elevator stops, he motions for you to follow him. You hesitate, but you do; slowly, cautiously. The maze of the factory takes you to his quarters in a way you can’t imagine memorizing. He’s silent as you walk together.

Barely into the room, he reaches for your shirt and rips down. The buttons go flying everywhere and the garment falls to the floor – leaving you naked minus your boots.

Heisenberg’s hands move as a collar and chains float behind you. You’re trying to maneuver away but it clasps around your neck before you can move too far. The chains are all connected, your wrists clasped behind your back. Heisenberg shoves you to your knees and you feel cold shackles around your ankles.

Eyes wide, mouth open, you’re too stunned to speak.

He’s in front of you in seconds, looking down at you like he’s inspecting his work. The way he licks his lower lip makes you shift your gaze to his erection right before your eyes.

“Too easy. Didn’t even put up a fight. You going soft on me, kitten? Or is it that you want this?”

He pulls a glove off, crouches down to your level, reaches in between your legs, and feels your wetness. A low groan leaves him.

“Wh-what are you…-”

“You so enjoy this, [Y/N]. Don’t act like you don’t, just embrace it. You like being my plaything – it’s the best job you’ve ever had.”

“Worst pay I’ve ever had,” you retort. It’s sort of a joke, you think.

His hand cups around your throat and he presses in warning.

“Real cute, huh?” He shoves you off, stands back up. “Mmm you have no idea how badly I want that mouth of yours on my cock…but I’ve got a few notes to take and a phone call to see if my dear brother knows of your survival yet. And you’re going to kneel and wait for me.”

He presses his hand to the back of your head, shoves his crotch in your face for a moment until you struggle against him, still unsure how to read the situation.

Finally, he pulls away, leaves you on the filthy floor, and sits himself at his desk.

“You should have just killed me on the bridge if this was all your plan.”

He doesn’t even look at you, which had been a hope of yours. You want to see his expression, see his eyes.

“Keep talking and I’ll bolt metal across your lips.”

Things go silent until he has to make his phone call – just pen scratches across paper and the normal metal clanging of the factory. You imagine more of those Soldats are stomping around somewhere and the image makes you shudder.

You barely notice when he’s picked up the phone, you’re too busy focusing on the pain in your knees.

“No, Moreau, this isn’t Miranda…” he sighs into the receiver. “Yes, I’ve heard that they were agents…no, I’m not worried…look, you globular piss baby: has Lady Gargantuan called you today?...”

You’re waiting for his response to continue but Heisenberg has gone silent. His back is to you so you can’t read his expression once again. You see his shoulders move with his breathing.

Suddenly, the receiver slams.

“This arrangement isn’t going to last long,” he growls as he stands, knocking over his chair.

Before you can respond, he uses his powers to lift up the metal chains around you and toss you to the bed. Face-planted, you struggle to sit up, turn over.

“If that weeping sack of mucus knows, you can bet he’s told the star of his Oedipus Complex.”

Heisenberg is unbuckling his belts, tossing off his shirt, completely undressing with each step toward the bed. You watch him from your awkward, uncomfortable position and your stomach flips.

When he flops down on the bed, he pulls the chains so you’re forced to straddle him. In ankle and wrist restraints, your range of movement is significantly reduced. He knows this. It’s clearly doing something for him as you watch his dick get hard again.

“Ride my cock, [Y/N],” he demands.

Your knees ache, but he helps pull you down onto him and the instant pleasure makes you forget about the soreness in your knees for a little while. Your legs can only spread so far with these ankle cuffs but that sort of adds to the sensation with how tight you are against him.

“Karl,” you whine.

“Mmm, yes, pet?”

“What are you gonna do to me?” your voice brakes as tears fill your eyes.

His expression changes for a fleeting moment. The ankle shackles are opened with a wave of his hand. You feel your knees buckle under you and you fall face-first into his broad chest. Heisenberg runs a hand through your hair, trace down your back. You feel him press his lips against the top of your head, a moan making his chest rumble as he thrusts up into you.

“Right now, I’m gonna enjoy you,” he speaks softly. “We’ll figure out the rest in the morning.”

It’s a soft moment and it catches you off guard. You lift your head up and meet eyes with him. It’s then that you realize his intentions, know in your heart that he was putting on a front for Lady Dimitrescu.

Suddenly, the position you’re in doesn’t seem so dire.

[freddiesaysalright]

A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes - Chapter 3

Gwilym!Prince Charming x Reader

Summary: After losing your parents, your step-family makes your life impossible. That is, until Prince Gwilym holds a ball. It’s your one chance for everything to change. 

Word Count: 2.8k (sorry it’s short)

Tag List: @psychosupernatural​, @someone-get-a-medic​, @bensrhapsody​, @deakyclicks​, @crazylittlethingcalledobsession​, @minigranger​, @crazyweirdocalledfriday​, @the-moving-finger-writes​, @assembledherethevolunteers​, @rose-writes-prose​, @queenlover05​, @26-7-49​, @drowsebaby, @im-an-adult-ish​, @queen-paladin​, @rogerina-owns-me, @mirkwoodshewolf​, @namelesslosers​, @headl0ng​, @captvianswaan, @folietracksix​, @baltimoresweethearts​, @killer-queen-87​, @haileymoreolikestupid, @itsametaphorgwil​ If you’d like to be added, let me know!

A/N: Hope you guys enjoy this update! 

Warning(s): Mild descriptions of abuse

Moodboard

Prologue  Chapter 1  Chapter 2

Chapter 3 here we go!!!

Eleanor and Miranda were immediately all aflutter, speaking so much and so rapidly that if you hadn’t been standing beside them, you would not have believed it was only two people making so much noise. You couldn’t keep track of who was saying what. 

“A ball?!”

“What for?”

“Who’s going to be there?”

“Is it a special invitation?”

“Will the prince be there?”

“Oh, do say the prince will be there!”

Your own mind was spinning with similar questions. But there was one at the forefront.

“Silence!” Frank interrupted harshly. “The invitation says the whole town has been invited - upon the prince’s request - to attend the ball in honor of his birthday. The king added that he hopes any and all eligible maidens will attend, as the prince is ready to marry.”

“Marry!” gasped Eleanor. 

“You mean - he’s really looking for his wife?!” added Miranda. 

“This is the moment I’ve been waiting for,” he said. “This could be the chance for you, my daughters, to prove your worth. One of you must win his heart.”

You saw your step sisters deflate at their father’s words. Your heart was moved with pity. But, there was still something you had to ask.

“May I go to the ball?” you blurted out. 

Frank’s eyes widened when he looked at you, as if realizing only just now that you were present. Clearly, he had not meant for you to hear. 

“You?” Eleanor sneered. “A servant?”

The sympathy you felt a moment ago evaporated. 

“It says any and all eligible maidens,” you reminded them. “That applies to me. And it is the king’s wishes. The king’s wishes are as good as orders, don’t you think?”

You kept your tone even and cool, fearful Frank might mistake your suggestion for impudence. But you knew better than to outright question him again. 

“Father, you can’t -” Miranda began, but Frank held up a hand to stop her. 

He smiled at you in such a sinister way it sent a chill down your spine.

“Certainly, Y/N, you may attend the ball,” he said.

You blinked, honestly shocked that you had persuaded him. He kept his hand in the air when his daughters tried to protest again.

“If you get your chores done,” he said. 

You beamed. “Oh, I will!”

“And,” he said, making you hesitate. “If you can find something suitable to wear.” 

“I will, sir,” you assured him. “Thank you so much!”

You hurried away to finish your chores for the day. Frank watched you go, a scowl forming across his lips. 

“Father, you don’t really mean she can go to the ball, do you?” asked Eleanor. 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Frank spat. “Of course she isn’t going.”

“Then why did you -”

“Don’t worry about her!” he cut across Miranda harshly. “Her attendance is conditional, and don’t forget, I set the conditions.”

He grinned to himself as his daughters exchanged worried looks. 

Before you went to bed that night, you went to your mother’s old room. Frank had left it untouched since her death. Her wardrobe was large and varied, so you knew you would be able to find something in there to wear to the ball. You scanned through the gowns, trying to decide on a color. A soft pink caught your eye, so you reached for it. You pulled it free from the rack and held it up, examining for any flaws. Technically speaking, there were none. It was just out of date.

“So much for that idea,” you sighed.

You started to hang it up again, but stopped. You could sew. You altered dresses for your step sisters all the time. Surely you could make some adjustments to this gown and look good enough for the ball. You looked over it once more, noting to yourself all that you could reasonably do within the next 24 hours. You bit your lip. You would need more time than that.

The clock in the hall chimed. You would have to get up in a few hours to do your daily chores. A rash idea came to you - stay up through the night and fix the dress, do your chores quickly, and get a short nap before going to the ball. You could miss dinner if necessary. Through a yawn, you nodded. 

Taking the dress to your room, you started in for the night. 

***

Gwilym awoke the morning of the ball feeling light and excited. He had interacted with a few people from the town before, but nothing to this degree. He wanted to truly get to know his people, and be a better leader to them. His father was right about things changing - Gwilym wanted to be more of a servant to his people than a sovereign. 

He went down to breakfast, joining his father and his friends. The younger men were reading letters from home, while the king was signing some documents. 

“Good morning,” Gwiylm greeted cheerfully as he took his seat. 

The butler placed a plate in front of him while a footman loaded it with food. 

“You’re awfully chipper,” the king said. “I hope that means you’re ready for your ball.”

“I am,” Gwilym assured him. “This is the most exciting birthday I’ve ever had.”

Suddenly, Rami choked on the bite of food he was eating. Gwilym reached over and clapped him on the back, while Rami cleared his throat and took a sip of tea. Through watery eyes, he offered an apologetic glance around the table. 

“Good news from your wife?” Ben wondered. “Or is it…”

Rami shook his head. “No, it’s good. She...she’s still pregnant.”

“Alright!” Ben cried excitedly. 

“That’s fantastic!” Gwilym agreed. 

Both of them knew that Rami and his wife had been struggling to keep a pregnancy. It concerned them both so much, they had a doctor examine them for any problems. The queen required a small surgical procedure, after which there were supposed to be no problems. Rami even hesitated coming to Gwilym’s party in case they got bad news again, but his wife insisted he go. Now, he sniffled as he looked at the letter.

“She made it past three months,” he explained. “The doctor said that’s a sign the baby should make it.”

“That’s wonderful, Ram,” Ben said. “Really, being a dad is the best, you’re gonna love it!”

“I hope it’s a strapping young boy,” the king interjected. “Should remind your people that you’re a king now.”

Rami chuckled. “They can keep calling me Prince Rami, I don’t mind. And as for the baby...boy or girl, as long as they’re happy and healthy I couldn’t care less.”

 Gwilym looked at the king, who seemed to be softening. Then the latter met his own son’s gaze.

“You see, Gwil?” the king asked. “The joys of marriage?”

“I do,” Gwilym replied. “But part of that joy is because Rami loves his wife so much.”

“You really aren’t going to let this love thing go, are you?” the king asked, defeated.

Gwilym shook his head. “Not a chance.” He looked at his friend. “Congratulations, Rami. That’s great news.”

“Thanks, Gwil,” he replied.

“Yes, all health and good fortune to your wife,” the king added. 

“Thank you,” Rami answered. 

They continued breakfast, and Ben told Rami all the great parts of fatherhood that he had to look forward to. And for the first time, Gwilym did feel a pang of jealousy at the happiness of his friends. He seemed resistant to his father, but all he wanted was a partner like Ben and Rami had found for themselves. He hoped beyond reason that whoever was meant for him would appear tonight. And then he could say to his father and everyone else - “At last, I’ve found her!”

***

By some miracle, you had finished your dress before breakfast. You stood up through a yawn and went to help Elsie get breakfast ready. You’d probably kick yourself later, but it was worth it. The dress was beautiful, and looked like the style you’d need for the ball. 

A pleasant surprise came when Frank told you he and the girls would be going to town today to shop for new gowns for them to wear. You nodded, and assured him everything would be done by the time they returned. Once they were gone, Elsie came over to you. 

“Y/N, my dear, go up to bed,” she said. “Robert and I can handle the chores.”

“Are you sure?” you asked, yawning again. “I can help, I really don’t mind.”

“We’re sure,” she said. “Go on and get some sleep. Tonight could be the most magical night of your life. Don’t spoil it by being tired.”

You agreed and shuffled back to the servant’s quarters. You crawled into your bed and shut your heavy eyelids, dreaming of the joys the ball would bring. You dreamt of music, dancing, your gown, and the face of Gwilym. Perhaps he would be there, and he could see you at your best. 

Your eyes snapped open. Gwilym was having a ball according to his friends. There were people coming from all over. Could it be that he was the prince, and was inviting the townspeople to his birthday? How had you not put it together before? Gwilym was the prince!

Your heart sank. If that was the case, you had to give up any hope of him. A prince could not be with a servant. Even if by birth you were a gentleman’s daughter, you no longer held that place. Frank had robbed you of it. Gwilym was out of your reach. 

You fell asleep despite your heart breaking at the thought of not being enough. You were just too tired. You slept just a couple hours before Elsie came to wake you. You would need some time to appear fresh when Frank got home. 

The girls demanded your help in getting ready, and you obliged. They ordered you around to pick up their sashes and necklaces and ear bobs and petticoats - just to find the perfect look for the evening. You even helped them put on some rouge and style their hair. They looked beautiful. But, you knew what they were like on the inside. You wondered if Gwilym would have the chance to meet them. And if he did, would he see their true nature?

The ball was set to begin at eight o’clock. Your step sisters were ready by seven, so they had time to have dinner before leaving. While they ate, you went up to get ready. Elsie helped you into your dress, but you did your own hair. You pinned it back, away from your face, the way your mother always liked it. You admired yourself in the mirror a moment. A jolt of nerves went through you. You still didn’t look like your step sisters. How would you compare to all the other fine ladies you were sure were attending tonight?

You shook your head. You couldn’t think about that. You couldn’t think about Gwilym. You were just going to go and have a good time. Take a well-earned break. And if you met someone there, then very well, but if not, you promised yourself you wouldn’t be too disappointed. 

***

Gwilym stood still while his valet finished with his clothes. There was still about an hour before the ball would start, and he would be meeting all the noble women his father invited. And yet, your face swam into view in his mind. He had barely stopped thinking about you since seeing you that day at the cemetery, and then again at the tavern. He still felt flush each time he recalled you wishing him good luck. Well, he certainly needed it tonight. Especially if you turned up.

***

At half past seven, the carriage was pulled to the front to take you all to the palace. You came down and couldn’t help but smile. Frank looked you over and scowled. 

“What is this?” he demanded. 

You faltered, coming to a stop about a yard away from him. Something in his face frightened you. 

“It was my mother’s,” you said, turning to show him. “I’ve updated it to match the current style, but -”

“Stop!” he cut across you. “There are very few things that are left of your mother’s, and you chose to take one - without permission - and ruin it?!”

“I haven’t ruined it, I just -”

“You stupid, selfish girl!” he shouted, crossing the front hall in just three strides. He was so close to your face, you had to take a step back. “You really think I’d let you go to the ball now? When you have defaced the property of my dearly departed wife?!”

“I didn’t know -”

“Silence!” he snapped. “I will not allow you to defend this behavior. Take off the gown at once.”

You stepped back again, but he followed. 

“I don’t have anything else,” you said meekly. 

He snarled, reached out his hand, and grabbed a handful of the bodice, right at the chest. He yanked down hard, pulling you so much that you stumbled. You heard a long riiiiip as the dress came apart at the seams. The front was completely torn away, revealing your corset underneath. You gasped and moved to cover yourself, but his next move came for your sleeve. He jerked it away from your arm and tossed it to the floor, along with the piece from the bodice. He repeated with the other sleeve. He took the sash next and wrenched it away. 

You felt hot tears of humiliation and shame run down your cheeks. You kept your arms in front of you and sank to the floor. 

“Stop it,” you croaked out. “Please.”

He raised his hand and you shrunk away, fearing he might truly strike you. 

“Father,” Miranda said. “We’re going to be late.”

Frank slowly lowered his hand to his side. He glowered at you. 

“Clean up this mess,” he ordered. “And never again presume to have a claim on things that belonged to my wife.”

Your lips trembled as he swept away. The girls followed him out. You kept your eyes fixed on the floor questioning what had just happened to you. It didn’t seem real. But the pieces of the dress sat on the floor just feet away from you, clear as crystal. When you heard the door close, you buried your face in your hands and let out a sob. 

***

Gwilym waited to be announced. The king went first, followed by Rami, since he was king of the neighboring country. Ben was announced next, since he was a visitor and prince. And then Gwilym. As he stepped out into the ballroom, he scanned the crowd, hoping to spot you. All he saw so far was glittering jewels and satin gowns. He sighed before making his way forward to begin introductions. 

He had asked Ben and Rami to be on the lookout for you as well. When the first half hour was over, he took a break and went to his friends. 

“Any sign of her?” he asked. 

Rami shook his head. “I haven’t seen her.”

“Me neither,” Ben said. “Sorry, mate.”

Gwilym sighed. “She must not be coming.”

“There’s still some carriages outside,” Ben said encouragingly. “She could be on any one of them.”

“Yeah, don’t give up just yet,” Rami said. “You’ve got all night.”

Gwilym nodded. He knew he mustn’t be over anxious, but couldn’t help feeling sore. Where were you? What could have kept you from this?

***

You escaped the house and fled to the garden. That was where your mother always took you for comfort. Your father loved to garden, and you always remembered him in this place. In truth, it was a place that was cherished by both your parents, and you needed to feel close to them now. You flopped down onto one of the benches and cried some more.

“It’s no use,” you sobbed. “God, it’s hopeless.”

You brought your knees to your chest, resting your forehead against them. Your tears splashed into the fabric of your ruined dress. 

“Now, my dear,” said a soft voice to your left.

You whipped your head up and faced the source. There in the garden stood a plump woman in a white cloak. Her silver hair hung around her face in delicate curls. She had a metallic glow around her as well that drew you in. In her right hand, she held a staff with a sapphire the size of a fist at the top.

Fear and amazement kept you frozen where you sat. She didn’t appear to be a threat, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t. And yet, you felt like you knew her somehow.

“Wh-who are you?” you wondered. “How did you get in here?”

“With magic, my dear,” she said, beaming. “As for my identity - I’m your fairy godmother.”

“My…” your brow furrowed. “My what?”

“Your fairy godmother,” she repeated kindly. “And I understand you are in desperate need of some help.”

[simp-for-spencer-reid]

Sugar with a Side of Coffee: Ch. 6

Chapter 6: I’d Like Her to Stick Around *Edited to add a paragraph and some clarification :)

“Where did you sneak off to yesterday?” Derek was already on his case and he had only taken two steps off the elevator. Spencer had ended up walking home after leaving Cate’s door because there were no more buses running enroute to his house. He had gotten home later than anticipated, and stayed up thinking about his time spent with Cate. He must have stared at her goodnight text for an hour.

“I went for coffee.” Spencer replied, trying to hide his smile. He thought back to their chess game, if you could even call it that. It was more like Spencer sacrificed all his pawns to Cate until he finally captured her king. He could appreciate that she at least knew the rules of the pieces, saving him the time to explain it. 

“Mhmm, I’m sure that’s all. Did you at least kiss her?” Derek had deduced that Spencer hung out with Cate, and it definitely had nothing to do with him in Penelope’s batcave, tracing his phone to get his location after seeing him leave early. 

“No, we’re just friends.” Spencer tried to keep the blush from creeping to his ears as he thought of kissing Cate. 

“Well, if you need any pointers-” Derek was cut off by Hotch calling them into the round table. His face looked as though this would be a rough one. Spencer just knew this would be an overnight case. For how many days, he wasn’t sure, but it was the first overnight case in a dry spell of about two weeks.

On the plane, he played chess against himself. In his memory, he could envision every move Cate played during their game. He could even pinpoint the space that the pawn occupied when their fingers grazed against each other for the first time. It was as much of a spark as in any cliche book he’d ever read. 

“Reid,” Hotch pulled him from his thoughts. “What are your thoughts about the victimology?” Reid had to glance over the file to answer the question. Cate was consuming his thoughts.

Cate must have played Spencer’s goodnight voice message about ten times. His soft voice was something she could get used to. Twice their hands brushed last night and Cate wanted to know what it would feel like to have his hand hold hers. She ran her hands over her face, trying to prompt herself out of bed. She had a short shift at The Empty Mug today. 

As soon as she stepped through the door, she was met with Marta’s parents, practically jumping up and down. Marta was already behind the counter, rolling her eyes at her excited parents. 

“We have a special request for you!” Miranda bubbled. “We need you to bring this set of coffee beans and our creamer to the Government building across the city. The actual government wants our coffee!” Miranda shook her husband's arm. “Can you believe it?” 

“Wow! Yeah, of course I can run this over for you.” Cate was shocked. She didn’t bother to put her things down; she assumed she would need her identification to bring the bags of beans and their creamer to the building. Miranda put everything in a big brown paper bag, to make it easier to carry. 

Cate had to show identification to get access to the lobby. She felt underdressed, seeing everyone in suits. Glancing around the busy lobby, she wondered if she would see Spencer. As she was taking in the huge lobby, the bustling blonde from her first day on the cart appeared next to her, sporting some green framed glasses that matched her cardigan and her shoes. 

“Hi! Are you here with coffee?” Penelope had to pretend she didn’t know everything about Cate already. It was hard to refrain from running a background check on the girl who Spencer was so smitten over, but when Derek convinced her to track his phone, Penelope just had to know more about her. 

“I am, here is the beans and the creamer, I’m assuming I’m not allowed up into the offices.” Penelope nodded. 

“Yeah, that’s all top secret. You know, real confidential government stuff.” Penelope nodded while she spoke, feigning a serious face. After some pleasantries, Cate exited the building and went back to the shop. Penelope hoped that sometime soon she could give a tour to Spencer’s girl space friend. Not girlfriend. Yet. 

Cate’s short shift allowed her to be home early and do some chores around the apartment. She got her laundry into a basket, and carried it down to the basement to catch up on a few loads. As her clothes spun in the washer, she pulled her phone from her back pocket. A new voice message from Spencer lit up her lock screen.

“Hi Cate, it’s Spencer. I just wanted to check in and see how your day was going? I’m out on a case for a few days. Hopefully we can hang out again when I get back. Um, bye.” 

A smile spread on Cate’s face as she held her phone to her ear, playing his message a few times before speaking into her phone, leaving Spencer a message of her own. 

“Hi Spencer, you don’t need to introduce yourself every time. I can see your name as a contact.” She laughed mid message. “Right now, I’m doing laundry, nothing too exciting. Let me know when you get back!” Cate sent her message and imagined it flying over the states into Spencer’s phone. She felt selfish and hoped they solved the case soon so Spencer could come home and she could see him again. 

The team was getting closer to solving the case and getting the unsub every hour that ticked by. Spencer felt his phone go off in his pocket, and was waiting for some downtime so he could see for sure if it was Cate. It was getting dark and the team had just gotten to the bottom of the unsub’s routine. They’d be able to catch him tomorrow morning, surround him at a warehouse he frequented in the early morning hours. 

After the case was closed, Spencer was finally able to sneak away from the team to listen to Cate’s message in private. The way she said his name made his stomach do flips. He sent a short text to her, letting her know he was heading home now and would be home by the afternoon. 

On the jet, he was exhausted and sank into the seat across from JJ, folding his arms over his chest. His eyes were shut, but he could feel her watching him. He peeked one eye open and saw her smiling at him. 

“What?” he asked, sitting up, realizing he wasn’t going to get much sleep. 

“Nothing, just wondering when we’re gonna get properly introduced to your friend on the other side of your phone. It’s the girl from the bar and the coffee cart right?” Spencer smiled back at JJ.

“Soon, hopefully.” Spencer thought of the brunette that was taking up all his thoughts. “I’d like her to stick around.” He admitted to JJ.

When Cate got word that Spencer would be home at the same time she’d be done with her shift, she was excited to see him again. She had gone home, brushed her teeth and changed out of her uniform for leggings and her old college’s crewneck. Cate opted to bring a small backpack instead of her small purse. She put some travel essentials inside just in case. 

She took the bus to Spencer’s apartment, thinking about what the inside would look like. When he sent her his address, she didn’t realize how close he lived to her. She slowly walked up the stairs to his floor and looked for his apartment number. Upon finding it, she knocked on his door. She was surprised how quickly Spencer opened the door. 

“Hi,” Spencer stepped aside and let her in. “Come on in.” Cate looked around his apartment, it was different than she imagined, but she was right about the books everywhere. She turned back around to Spencer, looking at him in his glasses and sweatshirt. It was odd not seeing him in a button up and cardigan, but it was a sight Cate could get used to seeing. “You can just put your things on the counter.” he said as he escorted her to his kitchen.

“Nice place.” Cate told him. “It’s very… you.” She had thought of a word to describe it, but settled on how perfectly it suited Spencer. 

“I didn’t plan anything to do,” Spencer admitted. Cate checked her phone for the time.

“What do you have for movies?” Cate asked.

“They’re mainly in foreign languages..” Spencer trailed off.

“That’s okay, do you mind putting captions on so I can read it?” Cate asked, finding a middle ground. 

“Deal, I can also translate.” 

The pair sat on Spencer’s old style couch. It was clearly made for looks rather than comfort. Cate had one of Spencer’s crocheted blankets draped over her legs, which were tucked up to her chest. Spencer was more relaxed, one arm over the back of the couch, legs crossed out in front of him, head resting back. He was glad to finally relax after a hard case. Cate could have sworn she saw his eyes shut a few times. 

The movie, which Cate assumed was in Russian, was about the theory behind the missing Romanov daughter, Anastasia. Cate only pieced some things together, thanks to have seen the cartoon kids movie of the same name. 

It wasn’t until she heard gentle snores coming from Spencer that she realized he had fallen asleep. She was so wrapped up in the plot of the movie, she hadn’t even noticed how she had tucked her toes under one of Spencer’s thighs for warmth. She had rested her head on the back of the couch, her temple coming into contact with Spencer’s hand. She had pulled away, not wanting to wake him. It could’ve been her imagination, but she could have sworn that his hand followed her head, missing the contact.

Cate was growing tired as well, but didn’t want to miss the last bus to her apartment. She uncurled herself from Spencer’s couch, and laid the blanket over him. She found a pad of sticky notes on his coffee table, and grabbed a pen to write a small note to let him know she left. Before leaving, she took one more look at Spencer, completely at ease on his couch, a peaceful expression upon his face. She reached for his glasses, and put them on the coffee table next to her note. She too, knew how falling asleep could ruin a good pair of glasses. She had a pair that never sat the same way on her face ever again after sleeping in them by accident.

On her way home, Cate called Marta to keep on the phone with her, to make sure she got home safe. Marta demanded to know the details of the afternoon spent with the agent. Cate left out the part of him falling asleep, she didn’t want to embarrass him. Once home, Cate gave Shrimp a few treats and left Spencer a voice message 

“Hey, just wanted to let you know I’m home safe. The movie was great, I had fun. Sleep well, Spencer”

Cate finished her message and decided to go to bed herself. As she laid in bed, she thought of the day’s details and her time spent with Spencer. She could feel herself growing more and more attracted to him, which was exciting and also scared Cate at the same time.

[forlornmelody]

Traitor, Martyr, Spy Chapter 6: Behind The Glass

Rating: Explicit (some chapters have smut)

Ship: Miranda Lawson x Femshep

AO3 Link: Here

Summary: Miranda uncovers Sanctuary's dark secret.

-*-

It does take some time to get the Alliance resources--funding, shuttles, soldiers, even. The war must be slowing everything down. Hold on, Ori. We’re coming for you.

Miranda has them repaint the shuttle’s Alliance blue to something less conspicuous. She flies to the Citadel, trading their uniforms with actual refugees--they’re going for authenticity, right down to the smell of unwashed laundry. The soldiers chatter and they hoot, and they holler, and the slouch and belch, and laugh so loudly it makes Miranda’s ears burn. Just because they’re on a non-Alliance mission, they think they can do whatever they want. 

Standing in the middle of the shuttle, Miranda clears her throat, she feels six sets of eyes focus on her. “This is a covert mission. We are to infiltrate the facility quietly. No weapons, not even concealed ones. No violence. Recon and report.”

A soldier clears his throat. “No disrespect ma’am, but we get it.”

Miranda’s about to correct him when he interrupts “You know we’re N’s right? Special forces?”

Of course, Miranda knows about the Interplanetary Combatives Training, the Villa, and all their graduates. She worked with several Ns who had left the Alliance for Cerberus. Bloody hell, Shepard. She had been expecting Artemis to send what she could spare, not her best. How in the world did Shepard manage to weasel these handful from the front lines? Away from Hackett? “Noted,” is all she says, proceeding with the mission briefing, in less detail. 

Half the squad will pose as her family unit. The rest will stay behind with the shuttle to cover them when they evacuate. Miranda hopes it will be enough. They are the best. You are the best. It has to be enough. 

The facility dominates the countryside--as large as Henry Lawson’s ego. Sleek lines, polished pavement, and manicured gardens--a far cry from the refugees camped in the Citadel’s docking areas. How anyone could mistake this luxurious facade for a refugee center--Miranda has no idea. 

Sanctuary’s exterior even has pointless water features--wait. 

Miranda feels the warm sea breeze on her face. She hears the jets and the seabirds of Sydney Harbor in her ears. Her father’s perfectly well-kept lawn beneath her feet. 

Damn you to hell, Henry Lawson. 

Nothing good sits beneath those pools of water--Miranda knows that for a fact. She adjusts her wig and joins the line. Lieutenant Davis squeezes her hand reassuringly. No trouble yet. The families in front of them look exhausted, but relieved. They chat about biotiball and the latest Blasto movie, as if the war isn’t even happening. Only when they mention where they’re from, do the nods and sympathetic hums confirm that the Reapers have arrived. Mostly, they focus on their future-speculating about the size of their beds and their rooms, or when they’ll get to talk to their families outside the facility. It takes every bit of willpower Miranda has not to say anything. 

Soon. 

Sanctuary asks for her name, planet of origin, age, weight, and medical information like her doctor’s contact information and any medications Miranda “Ruby” is taking. Strangely, it never asks for her identification number, or about any criminal records. The intake clerks take her body temperature, and saliva, but not her fingerprints. Not once do they ask about family members or emergency contacts. Miranda squeezes Davis’s hand when they hand him a saliva test. They won’t be in Sanctuary long enough to get caught. If all goes according to plan, Sanctuary will be evacuated by then. 

One by one, the individuals hand off their possessions, short of stripping out of their clothes. Miranda and Davis look at one another, handing off their bags. The clerk nods at “Ruby’s” coat. Shaking her head, Miranda murmurs, “It’s for my health.”

“You’ll need to take it off inside, ma’am.”

The woman next to him jabs him with her elbow. “Leave her alone, Charley”

“Fine. But we have rules for a reason.”

“She’s harmless just like the rest of them. Stop being so jumpy.”

“But--”

“You’re fine, ma’am. Just head on down the stairs for processing.”

The line dissolves into a small crowd as they descend further into the facility. At the bottom of the staircase lies a set of double doors. Something about how quiet it is beyond those doors makes the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. Miranda squeezes Davis’s hand twice, and she makes eye contact with Sergeant Jones behind them and winks once. Caution. Trouble ahead. 

As the first set of doors close behind them, Miranda realizes why she hasn’t heard a sound. It’s the hum of machines. But the doors aren’t airtight. First, she smells faint anti-septic. Then miasma fills her nostrils.

No no no. 

What use would her father have for dead refugees? This is wrong. All wrong. 

Another round of antiseptic washes over her face just before the inner doors open. Miranda lingers at the back. Cover me, she whispers into Davis’s ear. He immediately pushes his way to the front of the crowd.

“Hey! What’s taking so long?”

With their eyes trained on her fake husband, Miranda hacks into the nearest console, whispering. “This is Miranda Lawson, if you’ve managed to get this far, you must be desperate or stupid--”

Cold steel at the back of her head cuts her off. Miranda hears a click of a safety before the guard opens his mouth. “No outside communication, lady.”

Miranda holds up her hands. “Sorry. I just wanted to get a message to my parents. They’re awfully worried.”

“Do you seriously want to draw the Reapers here? Get back in line.”

“I’m going.” Miranda stuffs her hands in her pockets, readying her biotics. The guard turns her around, keeping the gun trained on her while the rest of the crowd watches.

“Move! We’ve got more people waiting to get in. Do not keep them waiting.”

If Miranda moves, the refugees will die. If she does nothing, they’ll likely die anyway. She should have brought more soldiers. She should have come sooner. 

As she passes through the second set of doors, just in time to see the stasis pods open and waiting--the guard sucks in a breath, and Miranda feels the hum of someone else’s biotics. 

“Shit! We’ve got a live one!”

Miranda whips off her wig, and the robes hiding her familiar catsuit. She throws the guard against the wall, before the ground shakes out from under all of them. 

-*-

She crawls through a maze of glass, gunfire, screams, smoke, and blood. “Davis, do you read?” She calls into her com. No response. Jones responds with a pained cry before her com cuts out. 

At first Miranda wonders if Shepard has followed her here. Surely Artemis wouldn’t needlessly endanger all these innocent people? Then Miranda hears the wail of a harvester, and the crash of a shuttle. 

Reapers. 

For most of the war, the Reapers and Cerberus have left each other alone. Landing in the same war zones, sure, but fighting the residents instead of each other. Miranda feels awful about leaving the families behind, but she has her own family to search for. And what help would Miranda be as a lone woman in a sea of brainwashed troops and indoctrinated husks? She hopes desperately that she isn’t too late to save her sister. 

A warp here, a gunshot there, ducking and covering when a cannibal feasts on a dead marauder only a couple meters from Miranda’s feet. At least she has an easier time sneaking past the guards. Not that hard to do when most of them lay dead. Reaching another console, Miranda hacks into the system and copies schematics to her omni-tool. Maybe if she shuts down power to the central processing plant, Miranda can cut off the reapers from any arriving refugees. Maybe she can trap them inside the first few rooms and corridors, in case any non-Cerberus employees survive. Perhaps it’s cruel to think this way, but Miranda doesn’t care what happens to those working for her father. No matter how kind, they’ll end up bought out, blackmailed, or brainwashed like Niket. Miranda won’t make that mistake again. 

There. The doors are shut. Nothing can get in or out without a lot of trouble. Miranda leaves another audio log behind. She doesn’t want to consider failure, but if Artemis does follow her here, and the worst should happen, maybe Miranda can do her one last favor. Maybe Artemis can save Oriana if she can’t. 

The control tower lies on the opposite side of the facility. Miranda might as well explore the laboratories on the way. She’s about to enter the first one when she hears Oriana’s voice. 

“This is Oriana Lawson. Stay away from Sanctuary. It’s not what it seems.” 

Tears spring into Miranda’s eyes and her throat swells. Ori’s alive. Well. At least she was when she recorded that message. For the first time since she landed, Miranda dares to hope that her father’s pride will override his ambition. 

“Please. You must listen to me. They’re using--” And then her sister’s voice cuts off. 

A tsunami of images rush Miranda’s brain. Ori lying on the floor with her head cracked open. Husk cybernetics creeping over her skin as the indoctrination takes over. A gun aimed at her head.

Hold on, Ori. Stay alive for me. Please. 

As Miranda pushes through the facility, taking out reapers and Cerberus drones alike, she’s distantly aware of something dripping down her face. Stopping just before a sealed door, Miranda wipes it with her fingers, and smears it on the wall. Red. She’s bleeding. She’s been bleeding.

She doesn’t feel the pain. How many stims has she taken? Not enough if Oriana doesn’t make it out of here. Miranda dabs the wound with her sleeve and uses her omni-tool to hack the door. 

A solitary guard pushes back his chair as the door opens. “Huh? Who’s--”

His chair rocks back, and blood streams from the wound on his head. 

“Just me.” Miranda walks past the body, only to see a biometric scanner. “Bloody hell,” she murmurs, wheeling the body back to the desk, puppeteering his fingers to shut the system down. 

That’s the lovely thing of stims. No appetite, little food consumed, nothing to come up but the bile in her mouth. Ori, Ori Ori, she chants in her mind until her stomach settles. Miranda also records another message. Will Artemis notice the body sitting next to her? The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, does it Miranda? 

Alright. Maybe she’s had one too many stims. 

With the Reapers shut out and the Cerberus troops shut in, Miranda has time to rewind some of the feeds. She confirms what she already fears, and worse.

Henry Lawson has been experimenting on the refugees. He’s been turning them into husks. Why? Because the Illusive Man wants to harness indoctrination. Bastard.

This time Miranda can’t keep the bile down. She wipes her mouth, collapsing to the floor, rattling like a frightened animal. Miranda was stupid to come alone. Artemis should have come with her. She should have told her. 

I’m going to die here. Alone. Ori will never see my face again. I can’t beat my father. I can’t. I can’t. I can’t. 

She can’t even breathe. Her breaths fall short, spasming within her chest. Miranda digs her fingers past her temples, twisting into her hair. 

All those years running from her father. All those machinations to keep Ori out of his reach. All for naught. 

An explosion outside the room shakes Miranda from her panic. She must keep moving. On her way out, she grabs the half-eaten protein bar sitting on the desk. The security guard won’t need it. 

Maybe if she gets word out, the Alliance will send help. Maybe the refugees will find somewhere else to stay. Anywhere has to be better than Sanctuary. 

Thinking about her father makes her heart pound, so Miranda focuses on putting one foot in front of the other. Her path gets harder as she goes--the Reapers and the Cerberus forces having taken each other out--leaving the most difficult enemies--banshees, brutes, nemesis, and phantoms. At one point, Miranda reaches for her the half-eaten protein bar--only to find that it fell out along the way. Her stomach gurgles, and she briefly contemplates fishing the bodies for a snack. No time. 

Hacking and opening the door, Miranda raises her pistol, only to find herself alone. She doesn’t even need to hack into the mainframe--the guard had no time to lock it before a Marauder shot him. The marauder's head sits on the opposite side of the room from the body, sliced clean off. Whichever phantom who did it has long since left. At least Miranda won’t have to worry about it. 

Disabling the communication scrambler, Miranda sifts through the security feeds of her father’s office. For all the effort Henry made to level up his security--the recordings of his phone calls are all too easy to find. Miranda’s eyes narrow, looking for the trap in the code, but she doesn’t find one. In fact, no alarms sound when Miranda uploads the video she’s made to the Extranet. Has something happened to her father? And if this is the control tower, shouldn’t Henry Lawson be here? 

“Miss me?” Kai Leng’s breath falls hot and heavy on her shoulders. He screams as the stasis field around her body detonates, melting his gloves right into his skin. Really, he should be happy his fingers don’t shatter right off. 

Miranda jerks away from him, lashing out with eezo to knock him off his feet. Kai Leng flips and lands like a cat, rushing toward her blade out and ready. Holding out her hand, Miranda waits as time slows to a crawl. Her heart beats.

One.

Two.

Three. 

Just as Kai Leng gets within striking distance, his body freezes. Stasis. 

Miranda gathers the collar of his ridiculous uniform in her fist. Maybe she should gloat. Perhaps Miranda should rip that bloody smirk right off his face. Kai Leng deserves worse. But Miranda doesn’t have time. She’s opening her omni tool, readying an overload sequence the moment the stasis field wears off. The door whooshes open. 

“Let him go, Miranda.” Her father’s voice settles over her shoulders like frost. 

She’s not going to face him. Not now. Not ever. “I’m done listening to you.”

Someone whimpers from behind her. 

“Maybe you won’t listen to me. But surely you’ll listen to your sister.” 

Miranda whips around to see Henry’s left hand slip from Oriana’s mouth, in time to hear her scream. His left hand is wrapped around her neck, and he moves his right behind her head, ready to choke. Her father’s gun sits at a holster on his hips. 

“Miranda! Don’t worry about me. Save yourself.” Tears streak stream down Oriana’s cheeks. 

Opening her mouth to answer, Miranda hears the stasis field dissolve with a pop! Shit. Kai Leng’s blade immediately moves to her throat. “I’ve been looking forward to this.”

“So have I.” Miranda overloads him, knocking him back with her biotics as he screams. Oriana reaches for her father’s hip. Smart woman--takes after her sister, that one. Before Henry can respond, Miranda tosses a warp at him. Serves him right. 

Miranda feels the tingle of eezo before she’s knocked into one of the consoles. The sound of her rib cracking echoes across the room. “Forget me already?” 

Gunshot. 

No. Miranda jerks her head up and breathes a sigh of relief. Ori still has the gun. But their father is still standing. Damnit. Raising her arms, Miranda moves to warp her father, but nothing rises to her fingertips. When did she last eat something? The ground rushes toward her face. I’m sorry, Ori. 

Instead of the whoosh of a sharpened blade, Miranda hears the beep a computer. Everything, including her father’s voice, sounds like its coming through a can. 

“What are you waiting for? Finish her!”

“She’s not my target.” Kai Leng answers, without really answering. Miranda should stop him, but she should save her energy--what little’s left. There’s another fizz, pop! And the smell of burnt rubber, along with the hiss of a smoke bomb filling the air. 

“Get back here!” Henry shouts, to no avail. 

“He’s gone. And you’re dead.”

Then the door slides open. Oh yes, Miranda’s certainly delirious. No way Artemis Shepard would turn up here. She has a galaxy to save. In the midst of a war, Artemis doesn’t have time for Miranda’s family drama. 

“Commander Shepard.” Henry Lawson calls out. Oriana yelps in surprise as he grabs her. “Excellent timing.”

No. Miranda’s not delirious. She’s having a nightmare--only this time it’s real. Get out of here. I can’t die here knowing he took you too. 

Artemis snarls. “Put the gun down.” She hasn’t looked this pissed since she woke up in the Lazarus facility. Must’ve seen the messages Miranda recorded. Always doing her due diligence--it’s part of what Miranda loves about her. 

“No,” her father glares back, elbow tight around Ori’s neck. He clicks the safety off. They shout back and forth, but Miranda’s head swims as she tries to stand. “That’s close enough! Both of you!”

Maybe she’s not that hungry. Maybe her biotics just needed a cooldown. Her ribs flare white hot when Miranda tries to straighten up. 

“Kai Leng didn’t finish the job, but I will.” 

“It’s over, Henry. You’re finished.” 

“On the contrary. Now that the reapers are taken care of, we have a way out.”

Not again. Never again. “Shepard,” Miranda croaks in protest. “Don’t let him take her.” 

When pressed, Henry claims to be a bloody messiah, saving countless lives. Artemis blazing eyes meets Miranda’s gaze, and nods. “Try to leave with her, and I’ll blast your head open. Let her go, and maybe you walk.”

“I’ve done nothing to you,” Henry snaps. Gaslighting bastard, as always. 

Artemis’s expression remains etched in steel. “Let her go and walk away. I won’t say it again.” 

Her father takes eons to make his decision. “Alright.” He shoves Ori to the floor. The window behind him laces with cracks. “Take her.” It won’t take much.  “But I want out alive. Deal?”

Don’t. “Deal.” Artemis lowers her gun. 

Miranda’s fists shake with fury. Her arm moves before she thinks, and she blasts him with every bit of energy she has left. The glass shatters behind Henry Lawson as he screams. Her voice moves hollowly past her lips. “No deal.”

Oriana’s sharp gasp brings Miranda back to the present. Before she’s even turned around, her sister’s arms wrap around her, pulling her close. Miranda steps back, looking her over. “Did he hurt you? Are you alright?” Ori doesn’t answer, but Miranda feels her tears pooling into her shoulder. “It’s okay, Ori. You’re safe now.”

“I’m fine.” Ori wipes her eyes as she pulls away. “I just want to get out of here.” She won’t meet her eyes. I’m sorry, Ori. I truly am. 

“We will. Just give me a minute, okay?” 

It’s not professional, not in the slightest, to pull Shepard into that kiss, but Miranda’s past caring. Her mouth tastes like blood and smoke, and right now it’s the sweetest thing Miranda’s ever tasted. They’re alive. They’re all alive. 

Artemis kisses back at first, equally elated and desperate for her touch. Soon enough the high of it passes, and she wretches herself away. “Holy hell, Miranda. Why didn’t you tell me about all this?”

“You had enough on your plate.” Miranda wipes her mouth, leaning heavily against the console. Strange, how the excuse fails to hold up when she says it out loud. 

“Hundreds, if not thousands of refugees dead, and I’m too busy? Fucking hell.” 

Ashley Williams, who must’ve slipped in behind her commander, shifts awkwardly on her feet, her assault rifle still in her hands. She glances at Artemis’s former guard from her house arrest. Lieutenant James Vega, who served on Fehl Prime, arrested for a bar fight on Omega, and now part of Commander Shepard’s select Normandy crew. Vega shrugs, and they lead Oriana out of the room, presumably to the nearest outside exit. 

“I didn’t know the extent of it until I got here.” Saliva swells in her throat. “And by then I couldn’t contact you.”

“Communications scrambler.” Artemis takes a steadying breath, but she’s still tense from the fight. “Did you get it?” She stares at the wall behind her, measuring her breathes. Miranda can see each count with the nod of her head. 

Miranda nods. “And then some.” She steps forward, watching Artemis track her movements. Holding out her hand, Miranda reveals the tracker she placed on Kai Leng. “Should lead you right to the Illusive Man.”

Reaching out to take it, Artemis stops, pinching her eyes shut. “I’m glad you’re okay, Miranda.”

“It was nothing I couldn’t handle.” Miranda says quickly, opening Artemis’s fingers so she can place the small device in her hand. 

“But I wish you wouldn’t insist on handling it alone.” Artemis holds Miranda’s hand between hers, and for the first time, Miranda notices the fear behind her eyes. 

“Nobody’s perfect.”

[sick-raven]

Ghosts of the Present - Chapter 4

Chapter 1 + warnings

AO3

Previous chapter

Chapter 4

Khulan was considered a master that could’ve trained anyone. Even the most problematic people – temperament ones, headstrong ones, proud ones – crumbled under her rule and swore their lives to the League. She raised them, if they came older, she stripped them of their personalities. Master who created perfect soldiers and she was proud of this title.

It came hand in hand with secrets. Khulan knew very well not all people are trainable. Their egos are too high to ever really swear an oath and mean it. Those disappeared. Those were sent to die. It always worked. Khulan accepted no failure.

That’s how she picked her lab rats. These two men were cause of many wrinkles on her face. They acted like part of the group, but they lacked in effort. Work was done without their help. Khulan had numbers of loyal soldiers who would cut their own throats if she asked. Not these two.

“Gentlemen,” she looked them over. “You’ve been chosen.”

Lines of soldiers stood in the giant underground room. Watching everything in silence, ready to change places if only master asked.

Khulan waved her hand. A man approached. The two soldiers blinked surprised about his looks – dressed in ragged clothes, straws poking everywhere, mask on his face. Scarecrow didn’t wait for instructions, he sprayed them with a strangely smelling chemical.

The men started to cough. “What the hell?” one of them said.

It took a minute. Their pupil dilated. They stopped moving, they just stood there waiting for the orders.

Khulan gave dagger to both. “Kill yourselves,” she demanded.

One of them put the dagger to his wrist but didn’t cut. The other just trembled, fighting the order.

“As expected,” Khulan nodded. “You, kill him.”

This order was not difficult. The man who just trembled turned and in one swift movement almost decapitated his fellow lab rat.

“Mr. Tetch!”

Yet another man in Halloween costume approached. He was very small but long top hat on his head made him almost as tall as most of the short people in the room. Giggling, he approached the survivor.

“Down here,” he said in a singing voice. The man leaned so Jervis could whisper in his ear. Still giggling he moved away from him next to Scarecrow. The man never straightened himself.

“Kill yourself,” Khulan demanded again. She didn’t even blink. The man stabbed his throat and cut the dagger to the side. His body fell to the pool of his own blood. Not a noise to be heard.

“Brilliant,” master Khulan turned to Scarecrow and Mad Hatter. “Exactly as we needed. You said we can expect mass production in a week?”

Scarecrow nodded. “Yes.”

“Do it,” Khulan ordered and turned to walk away.

Jonathan watched the soldiers cleaning the bodies without a word. Then Tetch tugged his sleeve as if he was a child in primary school.

“Fancy a tea, my scared crows friend?” he singsonged.

“Thank you, Jervis. But I am going home to sleep.” I will need all the strength and wits I can get.

***

Monday morning Jonathan has decided he needs to see Miranda before walking back to the spiral of work. Mass production thankfully meant he bosses other people around and he doesn’t need to think anymore. It’s like a factory he never had. If he could manufacture this amount of fear toxin, holding whole city hostage wouldn’t be only metaphor. He could really influence everyone.

Surprisingly in the toyshop was only Terry. Jonathan walked to the counter mood already messed up. He didn’t like Terry – not only did they try to get Miranda killed, but they both always joked around dirtily and Jonathan felt it inappropriate between employee and employer. Or between Miranda and pretty much anyone.

“Is Miranda here?” he asked.

“Good day to you too,” Terry replied. The dislike was mutual. “No, boss said she feels under the weather, so she stayed home.”

“On Monday?”

“I can handle the shop,” replied Terry. New goods always arrived on Monday and Miranda made it very clear she must be at every handling. She was a freak when it came to checking numbers. Sometimes he wondered whether she didn’t smuggle illegal items together with those toys. “I was here whole day yesterday too, she is sick.”

Sick.

Or maybe she snapped and ran to Europe.

Jonathan turned and left without a word. He heard Terry mumble something and he added it to the list of complaints about this element. Once the job for the League is done and Miranda is calm, he will make sure to tell her all.

To make sure she didn’t leave the city without telling him, he visited her place. She told him before she is prone to do stupid things, he would rather stop her, before she gets to it.

Miranda opened door and she did look… no, not sick. Tired, but not sleepy. As if she got good amount of sleep but lack of energy caught her anyway. Stressed, that was the word he was looking for.

“Jonathan,” she sounded surprised. “Have you finished your work?”

“Not yet, but the most important part is done. Can I come in?”

“Sure.”

He liked her place. It was small and cosy, except you could hear anything neighbours were saying, and the windows looked directly into other windows where people moved all the time. Jonathan wondered why Miranda never invested in curtains and he figured she is probably exhibitionist.

“Are you okay?” he asked when they sat down.

“Yeah, why?”

“You look stressed.”

Miranda shrugged with smile. “A bit. I had to pass on some good jobs. But at least I have time to read that Joyce you gave me. I think that stressed me the most.”

“It’s not a bad book.”

“It’s even worse!”

Jonathan smiled. “You forced me your disturbing books, I just returned the favour.”

Miranda jumped on her feet. “Oh, I remember!” she went through her bookshelf, however, Jonathan noticed how carefully she moved. She really looked tired. After the ghosts she relaxed. Today, she was a mess again and dressed back in turtleneck and long skirt. What was she doing? Did she hide something? “Here! Have you read this?”

Jonathan took the book from her. It wasn’t any romance for a change. The Martian Chronicles. “No, I must admit this classic avoided me. Or maybe I avoided it, I am not big sci-fi fan.”

“I’ve read that Poe collection and I remembered. This book has a story heavily inspired by The Fall of the House of Usher. I think you will like it.”

“Ray Bradbury,” he read the name of the author. “Yes, he is good.”

“He is the best! That’s why I stole his name.”

Jonathan shook his head. “Wait… what?”

Miranda gave him a cute smile, as if he was a kid. “I made the name after him when I was picking.”

“Miranda Bradbury is a fake name?”

“Oh yeah, totally. Why does that surprise you?”

“I just… never thought about it. It makes sense. So, what’s your name then?”

“It’s Miranda Bradbury,” she smiled.

“Okay. Your birth name then?”

“I don’t know. I probably didn’t have any.”

“That sounds hardly useful,” he said but remembered the army of soldiers without souls. They did the bidding, followed orders, they didn’t need names when they were part of something bigger. Those who didn’t follow the line just died. Jonathan didn’t mention any of that.

“We had code names when necessary,” Miranda explained. “If you were to follow orders in team, they gave you one. But otherwise, we were just girls and boys. You don’t name tools.”

“What was your codename?” Jonathan asked and Miranda gave him even more ridiculous look than before. He held his hand up. “No, wait. It was Banshee, wasn’t it?”

“Bingo! But back then it was more insult than a name. You see, I was always terrible ninja. I couldn’t hide properly, I always made noise and alerted everyone,” she giggled. “But I was effective killer. They heard me coming, but they couldn’t tell the tale. That’s why master called me Banshee, the ghost of death. You hear her scream and you know you will die. It fit perfectly later when I got that obnoxiously loud charm.”

“I never thought there is so much history behind that nickname.”

“Yours doesn’t have something like that?”

“No, not really,” he shrugged. “I was called that at school, so I just took it. Bullies named me and created this nightmare.” And he hated it for so long but realized they can fear him just like he feared them. He became Scarecrow, he haunted their dreams and deep inside he still despised that name, but inside he also despised himself. However, he accepted it all. That’s who he was. A terror. A bad man.

“If only they knew,” Miranda chuckled.

Jonathan felt like there is something he’s forgetting. Maybe it was for the better. Miranda looked content with the situation she was in, although little stressed. But there weren’t any suitcases around, so that was a good sign. He didn’t want to mess that up. Unimportant things can wait, he will remember later.

“I’m glad you didn’t run,” he changed the topic.

“Don’t say it twice, it can still happen,” she warned him. “I just have books to keep me busy.”

“Let me know if you do, I will try to stop you.”

“Now, that’s brave, Mr. Crane.”

Jonathan leaned to her and kissed her. Every time he did that, he realized how lucky he was. He didn’t deserve this. Not after what he has done and what kind of person he has become. To have a woman like Miranda was a miracle. They both were equally damaged and messed up. He was thankful.

When he touched her, she suddenly backed off. “Wait, no, stop.” Painful expression on her face made him nervous.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, just… I’m a mess, can you please not touch me?”

What was happening here? She left him baffled. Jonathan wanted answers but only thing he managed was to say: “Of course,” unsure if he did something wrong. Miranda had to see it in his expression. She climbed on his lap, carefully not to lean on him with her body.

“Do you trust me?” she asked looking him in the eyes closely.

“I have questions.”

“I will not answer them now. Do you trust me?”

Jonathan sighed. “I want to.”

“Good. Let me do my things and I promise all will be okay, yes?”

“You are acting weird.”

She kissed him instead of answering. The talk was over for now. He wasn’t satisfied with this approach. It was Miranda who always insisted on making things clear between them. She was the one who forced him to accept his feelings and fears. This was uncomfortable again. The League couldn’t have broken her this much, could it? Or was it his fault for being pushy earlier? Did he managed to finally mess up? Expected.

“Jonathan, I love you,” she whispered into his ear. “You are handsome and clever and weird.” She ran her fingers through his hair and smiled as she made a mess of his looks. “I promised not to hurt you, remember?”

“I know, Miranda.” Jonathan fought the need to ruffle his hair back as it was. She kept his focus, caressing his face, kissing him passionately. Soon it took all his thoughts away. There was only here, nothing else mattered. Nothing wrong was going on if she still loved him, right?

She moved her hand to his neck and his shirt. Unbuttoned the collar.

“Miranda,” he stopped her. She looked at him waiting. His heart raced partially from excitement and partially from coming panic. “Slowly, please.”

Miranda smiled at him and kissed him again, hands gently laid on his chest. Taking her time to carefully remove his shirt. Her gaze went down, Jonathan took her chin and straightened her head. “To my eyes, Miranda.” Was his voice trembling? Fuck! Calm down.

“As you wish, professor,” Miranda replied giving him back some sense of control. He was thankful, but the tight feeling in his chest didn’t go away. The scars weren’t as bad as hers. Rational part of his mind told him there is just few and far between and they are not even that nasty. But his rationality was killed years ago. Only insecurity stayed laughing at him every time he looked at himself in the mirror, eyes tracing the places crows tore his meat off.

“Talk to me,” he asked. Shun the voice away.

“You’ll never guess,” Miranda started slowly while touching his neck and running her fingers on his collar bone, “how did I pick up the first name. Try, you have three.”

“Child games, really?” he scoffed. Goose bumps ran on his arms as she slid her finger lower to his chest, caressing his skin. “Okay. It’s also a reference to someone famous.”

She shook her head, she never broke the eye contact, sweet Miranda. After the months he knew she will do whatever he tells her and yet, he was so glad she is not trying to step over his boundary. She could.

“No, wrong.” Jonathan lost his breath as her finger came across one of the scars. It didn’t stop there, as if his skin wasn’t damaged by the feathered beasts.

“Ah-well,” he stumbled his way through words, “your relative had this name?”

“In Siberia? I doubt it,” Miranda grinned. “I don’t even know my relatives. My parents could be cat and dog for all I know.”

“Are you Russian?”

“I am nothing. But I speak Russian, Mongolia, Chinese, English, …”

“Please, stop, you will put me to shame,” he joked. His panic rose anytime she touched one of those ugly skin covered holes, but other than that, he calmed down and just enjoyed her company.

“That would be first,” Miranda said amused by herself.

“I don’t really think you are an idiot, you know?”

“Thank you, Jonathan. You are horribly wrong,” she laughed. “Come on, how did I get my name?”

The realization hit him like a train and he laughed with her.

“You opened a name list randomly.”

“Yes!” Happiness shined from her face. “See! Idiot! I could have been Jeff.”

“I would love you even as Jeff.”

She kissed him again and unzipped his pants. She moved carefully, even smallest movement caused her pain and questions entered Jonathan’s mind again. She tucked her skirt.

“Next time I will kiss you whole, if you let me,” she leaned to his ear again.

“Maybe if you beg me hard enough,” he whispered back. Miranda chuckled and led him inside her. “God,” he breathed out as she took him.

“There is no God here, only Jeff!”

“Oh, shut it!”

The slowness of her action was gone. Miranda moved on him, loving him as wildly as ever before. Her insides were tense around his dick, the warmth and wetness welcomed him. He wished she was naked, and he could see her and touch her, but holding her face was enough for now.

His heart was racing; her moans gave him pleasure. Their loving was fast. Few more strokes and Jonathan overwhelmed by all of this came hard. He gasped while Miranda was playing with his hair, smile on her face.

“Have I ever told you, you are amazing?” he asked when he caught his composure.

“No,” she grinned.

He chuckled and then raised his eyebrows. “You didn’t cum.”

She caught his hands. “Nu-uh. Not today. Next time.”

Jonathan frowned. “That’s the second time you put me to shame, Jeff.”

“Now you shut it!”

One last kiss and then Miranda left for a bathroom. Jonathan wondered whether she is wounded. What did she do while he was consumed by work? Any why would she hide it? He knew she kills people, what could be worse than that? Stealing antiques? It didn’t sound like her at all. It must have been something else. Something so bad he can’t know.

A phone on the table buzzed. Without thinking, Jonathan took it and read the message. Too late he realized he is not home, and the phone isn’t his.

“I hope I didn’t break you too much, love.”

Another buzz.

“Call me.”

Jonathan looked at it baffled. The phone went dark and it stayed locked together with answers. “What the fuck?” he mumbled. The meaning of the messages couldn’t settle in his brain. Did he read that right? What did Miranda do? Who the fuck was this guy? What did they do?

Trust?

Disgusting!

Never trust a fucking whore!

He grabbed his things and slammed the door on the way out.

Next chapter

[annablack1102]

Shades of Autumn

Summary: Miranda convinces a very reluctant Negan to have some fall family fun to cheer up her cousin Sophia. 

Characters: Negan X OC , Sophia  Warnings: language, fluffy goodness Beta: my very wonderful @sarcasticrose18  A/N: This started as a request by my dear friend @scarletthart96 and turned into something more. This will be a preview to the next chapter fic that I’m working on where Sophia ends up living with her cousin, Miranda, after losing her mother, Carol. This is just a cute little one shot that is already spiraling so I hope you like it. 

Masterlist

Shades of Autumn 

“What? Fuck no.” Negan made a face at Miranda’s suggestion, not looking up from the vegetables he was chopping for whatever the fuck he was planning on making for dinner. Miranda had gotten used to not asking because he wouldn’t tell her anyways. His answer was always ‘just trust me’. And if she were being honest, she did. He was an amazing cook. Which was probably the only thing Sophia liked about him, considering she was used to Miranda’s cooking that left a lot to be desired.

“Seriously? It won’t be that bad. I’m not asking you to go square dancing or something ridiculous. Just...pumpkin patches and hayrides. You know, fall stuff.” Miranda said, watching as he met her gaze with a scowl.

“Okay, first of all I would rock square dancing. Second of all… why? Can’t we just watch a couple scary movies and call it a day?” He asked, going back to what he was cooking. Miranda scrunched her nose, trying again to figure out what it was before shaking her head.

She’d just casually mentioned wanting to do some fall activities with her fifteen year old cousin Sophia, whom she had gained guardianship of a year ago. They’d recently moved in with Negan, Miranda’s new boyfriend who just so happened to be Sophia’s softball coach and high school gym teacher. To say Sophia wasn’t handling it well would be an understatement. Sure she’d given her blessing and agreed to move in but she wasn’t all that thrilled about it. Her and Negan butted heads constantly and Miranda was just trying to get them to bond however she could.

“It would mean a lot to her. She used to do this kind of shit with her mom and me all the time and if you made an effort--”

“God damn it, I hate when you use the dead mom card.” Negan groaned and turned to look at her. “Fine. Fucking fine. We’ll do your little bullshit fall family shit. But don’t go overboard.” He said and Miranda grinned, stepping on her toes to kiss him. He wrapped his free arm around her, rolling his eyes, and continued cooking. “If you weren’t so fucking cute…” He grumbled to himself, his hand sliding down to squeeze her ass and she laughed.

She’d never admit it but when Miranda told her what she had planned, Sophia’s eyes lit up like a kid on Christmas morning. Their favorite holiday had always been Halloween so they may have planned a bit more together than they probably should have. Considering Miranda did promise Negan she wouldn’t go overboard. She decided she just wouldn’t drop it all on him at once. He still complained as he drove them to the pumpkin patch a whole town over, adjusting the red scarf he wore around his neck.

“You know there’s a fucking pumpkin patch like five minutes from the house, right? Why do we have to go to this specific one?” Negan griped, fiddling with the radio again.

“Because this one’s nicer.” Miranda said as if it were obvious. He rolled his eyes but didn’t argue, finding them a parking spot.

“C’mon Scraps,” Negan said, using the nickname he’d given Sophia ages ago after she got in a fight with another girl at school and came out on top. “Let’s pick us out a good one. I assume we’re gonna be carving these fuckers.” He said, huffing an ‘oof’ as Miranda elbowed him. He of course never noticed the dirty looks from the parents when he opened his big mouth but she did. And there were plenty of kids here.

Sophia sighed and walked ahead of them, taking her sweet time finding the perfect pumpkin. In his defense, he only complained a couple times when she was overly picky about the pumpkin she wanted. “It’s just gonna rot in like a week anyways. What does it matter?” He’d said and she made a face at him and kept looking. They picked out a couple that met her standards and he paid for them. He started walking back to the car when he realized they hadn’t followed. “What?” He asked, turning around to see them looking at a sign.

“I mean… I did say something about hayrides.” Miranda said, smirking over at her man. He stared at her for a minute, trying to decide if she was being serious. When he realized she absolutely was, he sighed.

“Fine. One ride.” He agreed and went to pay for that as well.

“Why’s he gotta be such a grouch?” Sophia asked and Miranda snickered.

“Don’t mind him. He’s just gotta get into the holiday spirit. He’ll come around.” She assured her and wrapped an arm around Sophia’s shoulders, leading her over to the hayride. Negan took his spot, his pumpkin sitting at his feet, with Miranda beside him and Sophia across from them. He ignored the other family that joined them and laced his fingers with Miranda’s without even thinking about it. He didn’t miss the way Sophia rolled her eyes though and he smirked at her.

“What’s a matter, Scrappy?” He teased, throwing a handful of hay at her.

“Asshole!” Sophia gasped, brushing it out of her hair before throwing some at him as he laughed. She cheered as it got in his mouth and he sputtered it out.

“Come on guys…” Miranda sighed, giving the mom of the two boys a sympathetic look for her cousin’s language. They didn’t listen to her though and spent the rest of the ride tossing hay at each other. At least Sophia was finally having a good time.

It was almost worth the annoyed looks from the mom as her boys joined in.

Later that night they set to carving the pumpkins, something Negan apparently took very seriously. “Hey, no! Don’t throw those out.” He complained as Sophia scooped a bunch of the goop out.

“What? Why? What are you supposed to do with it?” She asked Negan, looking at him like he was crazy.

“No, the seeds. Keep the seeds. We’ll roast them later.” He said and started helping her pick them out of her pumpkin mess. Miranda sneakily took pictures of them as Negan helped her draw a scary face on her pumpkin, laughing at the way his tongue poked out in concentration.

“No, he needs more teeth!” Sophia demanded and Negan scoffed.

“He? I didn’t know pumpkins had genitals. Should I give him a dick too?” He asked, getting an elbow to the ribs from Sophia. He merely grinned and added more teeth. He watched protectively as she carved the little blade through the pumpkin for a minute before moving onto his own, turning his gaze to his favorite girl with a warm smile as he decided this wasn’t so bad after all.

A few days later, it was Miranda’s turn to say no.

“Hey, we did you’re fall shit, now it’s my turn.” Negan said over dinner that night.

“Yeah but...a haunted house?” Miranda made a face but Sophia chimed in.

“Yeah, we should go. It’d be cool.” She said, picking up her phone to look up times. She only managed to unlock it before Negan was snatching it out of her hands wordlessly. She sighed, remembering he didn’t like her on the phone at dinner. It was one of the few rules he had in his house that she’d agreed to so long as she could call him Negan instead of Coach.

“Wait, you two actually agree on something?” Miranda asked, her eyes darting between the two of them. She sighed in defeat, not wanting to ruin the moment. It was so rare that they ever were on the same side of things, mostly due to Sophia’s insane need to disagree with everything he said like the good little angsty teen she was. “Fine. We’ll go. But I’m gonna hate both of you for this.”

She watched in amazement as they actually high fived their victory.

They went after dinner that Friday night, all bundled against the cold. Negan didn’t even complain about the half an hour drive out to what he claimed was the best haunted house in the area. Miranda tried to pretend like she was okay but she was nervous about the whole thing. She despised jump scares and that’s ninety percent of the whole haunted house experience. But it was for them and she would endure it.

It wasn’t long before she was clinging to Negan’s arm though, hiding her face against the leather he wore. He of course found that hilarious and goaded Sophia into teasing her too.

“Are you really scared? This is awesome!” Sophia grinned, her eyes lighting up with excitement over all the strategically placed props and monsters. She jumped occasionally but it was usually followed by bubbling laughter as she held Negan’s other arm. She would argue because it was dark and hard to maneuver. Not because she was scared or anything.

“Yeah, seriously Miranda. This ain’t that fuckin’ scary.” Negan laughed. His laughter was cut short, however, as a chainsaw was started up beside them suddenly and he nearly pissed himself as he tugged the girls away. Then they were laughing again.

“God, I hate you guys.” Miranda groaned, her death grip on Negan’s arm only getting worse. They made it through eventually and Miranda breathed a sigh of relief as the fresh, cold air hit them again. She turned to see Negan and Sophia laughing together, gushing over all the shit they’d seen inside.

“Did you see the zombies though? I think that one chick literally didn’t have an arm.” Negan grinned down at the girl.

“Yeah! I saw that. I mean, what a way to make use of an amputation.” Sophia chuckled, practically skipping to the car. “I wanna do my makeup like the girl in the nurse’s outfit. Do you think I could get away with that at school?” She asked, holding a hand up to her neck as she recalled the blood dripping down the nurse girl.

Negan snorted. “Probably not but it’d be pretty badass. Too bad you’re too old for trick or treating.” He grinned and she frowned. “Maybe we could have a Halloween party or something. Something small.” He suggested with a shrug and she lit up.

“Seriously?” She grinned, bouncing in excitement. They spent the entire drive home talking about the gruesome decorations they could put up inside and outside the house. Sophia didn’t even care that she’d be inviting all her friends over to their teacher’s place or think about how weird it might be.

Miranda was so happy they were getting along that she felt the whole terrifying experience was worth it. Even if she hated every second of it herself.

The next night, Negan came home from the store with a lot more groceries than he’d gone in for.

“Did you shop on an empty stomach again?” Miranda sighed, starting to put things away and he chuckled. Last time he came back with way too many snacks.

“You say that like you didn’t indulge yourself and eat half my snack cakes.” Negan teased with a smirk and she shrugged, unashamed. “I walked by the bakery and they had pumpkin pies, which by the way are my favorite. I was gonna get one but homemade is always better.” He said, looking up at her. “I thought maybe I could teach Soph how to bake one.” He added with a shrug, a shred of vulnerability in his eyes that he tried to hide as he put things away.

Miranda blinked, trying not to tear up at how sweet that was. “Yeah, I’m sure she’ll love that.” She said and kissed his cheek.

“You, however, are staying the fuck out of my kitchen.” He said with a smirk and she stuck her tongue out at him.

She didn’t stay out, however, when he had all the ingredients spread out before them. Instead she took pictures with her phone while they were too busy to notice, capturing the serious look of concentration on Sophia’s face as Negan told her what to do.

They did the whole thing from scratch, the crust and all. And of course it was only a matter of time before Negan dotted Sophia’s cheeks with flour. What was surprising, however, was how Sophia just laughed it off and flicked specks of it over his black shirt. Thankfully they didn’t get in a full fledged flour fight that she would have inevitably had to clean up later because frankly they were both slobs. Instead they got back to it and Sophia was the perfect little helper, eating up everything Negan said. It was so unlike any interaction they ever had with each other that Miranda just watched in awe, sending a couple pictures of them to her parents.

The pie, of course, came out amazing. She was surprised they didn’t eat the whole thing right away.

They ended up curled up on the couch with Negan’s next brilliant idea while they ate. “Hey I did say scary movie night, did I not?” He argued when Miranda pouted.

“You know, my ideas for fall fun were way more tame than yours.” She said but allowed it anyways, snuggling into Negan’s side. Sophia was so excited that she didn’t even roll her eyes or comment on the public display of affection like she normally would.

“My mom never let me watch these. I used to have to sneak them over at Enid’s house.” She said, popping the first movie into the blu-ray player.

“Well we’re gonna have to change that. There’s a long list of classic horror flicks we’ve gotta work through.” Negan said, ignoring Miranda’s groan.

“Make sure you do that on nights I have to work, please.” She said and he smirked at her before beginning to scarf down his second slice of pie.

Miranda ended up falling asleep with her head in his lap while they stayed up until three in the morning watching scary movies, laughing at the gore together and making fun of the people and their poor decision making. She woke up to Negan carrying her to bed and tugging off her jeans.

“What time is it?” She muttered, burying her face in the pillow.

“Uhh… almost four?” Negan said sheepishly. “Guess it’s a good thing we don’t have school tomorrow.” He chuckled, climbing in beside her. She blindly scooted over until she was wrapped up in his arms. He kissed the top of her head. “Good night, baby. Hope you don’t have any nightmares.” He teased with a grin.

“Fuck you, Negan.”

A few days later, Sophia came home with a grocery bag herself after spending the day at Enid’s. Negan raised an eyebrow at it, looking up at her.

“What’s in the bag?” He asked skeptically. He took some satisfaction in the way her pale, freckled cheeks turned red as he waited for an explanation.

“Well I umm… I was thinking we could make some good use out of the fire pit out back…?” She suggested, pulling out a bag of marshmallows. Negan couldn’t stop the grin on his face if he tried.

“Fuck yeah, that may be the best idea you’ve ever had.” He teased and got up to get a fire going outside.

“After dinner.” Miranda declared, not even looking up from the book she was reading. Negan pouted.

“Buzzkill.” He grumbled, going to the kitchen instead to cook dinner for them. When it was nice and dark, not to mention chilly, outside, he went out and set it all up. They had a few folding chairs that they set up around the fire and huddled in close to the warmth. It was just cold enough at night but not too much that they were freezing their asses off. “No way Scraps. You want it to be cooked. Nice and brown.” Negan instructed.

“That’s not brown, that’s black. You burnt yours.”

“God damn it.” Negan snapped, realizing she was right. He ate it anyways, nearly burning the inside of his mouth.

“You’re such a mess.” Miranda laughed, seeing the sticky marshmallow caught in his whiskers. She leaned forward, wiping it with her thumb. Of course, he couldn’t help himself even with present company.

“Why don’t you just lick it off, baby?” He said with a smirk.

“Ugh! You’re so gross!” Sophia pretended to gag and threw a marshmallow at him.

“Hey!” Negan complained as it hit the ground. “Don’t be wasteful, Scrappy! If you’re gonna throw them, I better be able to catch it.” He said, tossing one into his mouth. She rolled her eyes and threw another one, this time waiting until he was ready for it. That turned into a competition between the two of them and him teaching her how to properly aim with a marshmallow, stating that “It’s not a fuckin’ softball, Scraps.”

Miranda had to stash a bag of marshmallows on the side so she could eat some for herself.

They did indeed have a Halloween party like Negan promised. Miranda didn’t think he’d be able to get it all set up in time with so little time to plan ahead but he managed. She found that when he was determined he could actually get a lot done. And he was pretty handy.

Plus she had a sneaking suspicion that he really wanted to make Sophia happy and that just made her heart swell.

The house looked great and he let Sophia pick the music, despite his annoyance in her taste. But then she called him old and he threw a pillow at her and Miranda had to separate them again. She helped Sophia with her costume, looking up videos on how to make the creepy throat-slit makeup she wanted so badly. They settled on a dead rock star instead though because Miranda didn’t like the length of the nurse costumes she found.

She and Negan stayed for the party. They’d originally promised to stay out of the way while still keeping an eye on things but the kids kept trying to get Negan to join in on the festivities. He ended up out back with them playing cornhole and teasing the kids for not being as good as him. Sophia didn’t even seem to mind, kind of proud that he blended so well with her friends rather than trying to embarrass her.

“This is going well.” Miranda said as he came back in to make more of the creepy slime colored punch, taste testing it for the thousandth time to make sure no little asshole tried to spike it.

“Yeah. It ain’t that bad.” He said, his eyes sweeping the room again from the kitchen. Miranda thought he was making sure the kids were behaving themselves but then his hand was on her ass, up under the skirts of her dress. “And you look sexy as fuck tonight, did I mention that?” He smirked at her, giving it a squeeze.

“A few times.” She said with a chuckle and pushed his hand away.

“Maybe you could leave the costume on later.” He grinned at her, leaning against the counter.

“You want the fangs too?” She smirked, as if she hadn’t already taken them off earlier. They were more uncomfortable than she thought they’d be.

“Fuck yeah I do.” Negan gave her a quick kiss, swatting her ass as he left the kitchen. He went out back to throw more firewood in the pit but stopped in his tracks, his blood boiling.

It was a strange feeling, something he never encountered before. The closest emotion that he could think of was jealousy but he knew that wasn’t it. No this was something deeper. A kind of anger that he knew he had no right to feel but as he watched Benjamin awkwardly put his arm around Sophia’s shoulders, he saw red.

“You okay?” Miranda asked him, stepping up beside him. He tore his gaze away to scowl at Miranda.

“How long’s that been going on?” He demanded.

“What are you--oh! Well isn’t that cute?” Miranda chuckled as she realized what he’d been looking at.

“Cute? The fuck? That’s not cute. I have half a mind to go beat that kid’s ass.” Negan growled.

“What? No, this is a good thing. Sophia’s been crushing on him for weeks. We’re happy for her.” Miranda tried to reason with him but he wasn’t having it. “What’s wrong? Why are you so upset?”

“Because that boy has his hands on my girl, that’s why.” Negan snapped, mindful enough to keep his voice down.

“Your girl?” Miranda looked at him in surprise, her heart exploding. “Okay, dad, calm down.” She chuckled and took his hand, resisting the urge to smother him. She was dying to know how long he’d seen Sophia like a daughter.

“Whatever. I’m gonna have a talk with that boy.” He decided, fully intending on scaring him off.

“Later.” Miranda squeezed his hand, stopping him from stomping over there and embarrassing Sophia. “Another day. You don’t wanna ruin her party.”

Negan sighed, knowing she was right. Sophia would be so pissed at him if he called out Ben in front of everyone. “Alright, fine. But I’m keeping an eye on them.”

Miranda beamed and hugged him tight, kissing his cheek. She was so in love with this man.

(updated my taglist. If you want on/off let me know)

@alyisdead @ask-kakashihatake @badluckgirl @band--psycho @beautyqueenforbes @blackleatherjacketz @bubbajeffrey @collette04 @daisysouthmoore  @flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash @genevievedarcygranger @hanaissupergirl   @i-am-negan-trash  @imstonecoldnegan @its-moonblr  @jessiellong1987 @judymosali @kalifornia-born @kayodex19 @letsby @lilantisocialextrovert @lolalexturnerlol  @londoncapsule @lostdarksoul6  @mely010  @mypopurribitch @ne-gans  @negansdirtygirl22   @negans-wife  @negan-the-cat  @negans-network  @prettyepiic @rose8801 @sarcasticrose18 @scarletthart96 @star017 @suddenlycrushed @teamnegansaviors @toxic-ink  @warriorqueen1991 @witchofravenclaw

[vintagemichelle91]

A Hard Lesson in Incrimination: Chapter 8

Authors’ Note: TGIF!!! Time to get back to what is going on with Rafael and see how he is fairing in Rikers. Perhaps a surprise visit from someone unexpected...read on to find out who!! Once again @rauliskafan love and appreciate the feedback you all give us!!! So keep it coming! :)

When this is all done, I’ll know how a case feels from every side. Might make me a better lawyer.

It was a lesson that he could have lived without.

“Rafael!”

Hearing Liv’s voice, Rafael whipped his head over his shoulder and watched her palm flatten against the air. The uniform leading him to some unknown fate took a small step back, and he inched towards the lieutenant, listening quickly as she spoke with a speed to rival his usual tones.

“Cutter can’t be swayed,” she started. “He’s concerned about the press.”

“But obviously not me,” Rafael replied, feeling his eyes roll as she touched his arm.

“He’s having you arraigned in night court. After that…”

“I know what comes next, Liv,” he said, cutting her off. “Natalia…”

“I can give her a ride to the courthouse.”

“No!” he said, a lump catching in his throat as he leaned closer. “I don’t want her to… Fin’s going to take her home. She needs to get back to the girls. To get away from…”

His voice gave out, the lump strangling his speech and his eyes blinking as they stared into hers.

“Rafael, I am so sorry,” Liv said. “Seeing you like this… it makes me sick.”

“Not doing much better from this side of the scene,” he replied as he lifted his shackled wrists, and she seemed on the verge of too many tears.

“We don’t have much time,” Liv told him.

“I know,” he answered. “Mike? What’s going to happen to him?”

“Not my call,” she admitted. “His father is furious.”

“I’ve put you in a bad spot all around,” he admitted.

“Rafael, I don’t care about that.”

“I do,” he said. “Steer clear of this, Liv. Don’t let it get any worse.”

“But I want to---”

“Just stay safe, Liv,” he said. “I’ll take care of myself.”

She looked ready to say something else when he straightened up and forced a smirk, wanting this to be like any other sidebar even as the difference was as bright as the red and blue lights flashing behind him.

“That better be a promise that you keep, Rafael,” she said before she was called back into the thick of it and had to turn on her heel.

Then she was gone. And for the first time in a long time, he felt truly alone.

The ride from the squad was cloaked in darkness with no way of knowing if he was still in the city or even this century. His wrists began to ache, but the pain of leaving Natalia was far worse. He had tried to look at her for as long as possible before he was hauled away. Naturally, he would see her again. At some point. But an uneasy rumbling sat like a jagged rock in the pit of his stomach.

No one was ever arraigned so quickly, no man, woman or minor ever sent to Rikers with such speed under the shadow of the moon. Cutter had his reasons, and in less than an hour, after another ride deeper into the abyss, Rafael Barba went from an ADA to a convict, a name to a number. It wasn’t just the three-piece suit swapped out for an ill-fitting orange costume. It was the looks as he was marched past other prisoners, having to appear out of place, and fearing that some of the many he had worked to put behind these same sets of bars were now out for his blood.

“Lights out, Barba.”

A shiver ran up his spine when the guard used his name, and Rafael tried to settle into the battered cot, covering his eyes with one arm to ward off the moon that glowed like ice through the palest set of stars. Try as he might, he could not block out the barriers now keeping him so far from home…

…or the sounds of the whispers bouncing off the thick walls, crawling out of unmarked graves with the most wicked laughter.

Barba?

That the sex lawyer?

Pretty boy ain’t looking so fine now.

He’s gonna get what’s coming to him.

His arm slipped from his face, and Rafael tried to tune out the noise, the threats, curling to his side and imagining that he was home, with his hermosa flor. In his mind, his most fervent fantasies, her fingers threaded through his hair, her lips lightly against his temples, and her whisper a warm wind chasing the gray clouds away. But as the night dragged on, the constant threats mingled with inside joke sent his memory deeper into yesterday. To the nights when he tossed and turned as bullies’ voices echoed in his brain… to his father’s looks of disgust, his brutal hands only adding to the bruises already covering his body. His mother had tried and failed… did she even know what was happening to him now?

Come morning, Rafael was bleary-eyed and broken. Grateful for the first time in his life that a shower was delayed, he felt on edge in the cafeteria, sitting alone with a plastic tray of inedible food. His eyes constantly darted in every direction as he played with the meager meal. With the whispers assigned to faces, he swore he saw long ago defendants sitting at every other table. But when some of the sideways glances left the room for this or that work duty, he was left forgotten with his paltry plate. A wave of fresh memories washed over him, the short, strange kid abandoned while others made friends. Yes, there was Eddie… even thinking of Alex did his soul some good in that second. But he was slipping back into his singular brand of solitary confinement, the days when even his supposed success did nothing to let him believe in so-called lights at the ends of impossibly long tunnels.

Instinctively, he reached into an unfamiliar pocket for his phone. Because he wanted Natalia, wanted to hear her voice and let it be the lifeline to drag him out of this pit. One word from her lips would give him a glimpse of the light and let him believe in the fairy tale living in her eyes.

“Got a visitor, Barba.”

The same guard from the previous night had him on his feet the second he realized, remembered where he was, that his phone was locked away in another steel cage.

“A visitor?” he echoed.

“That’s what I said.”

Trying to ignore the frost in the guard’s tone, Rafael followed the other man’s lead as he dumped out the contents of his untouched tray. Fin took her home; the last thing he wanted was Natalia watching from the gallery, listening to the charges leveled against him. But now, after just one night separated from her side, he found himself desperate to see her, hoping---

“Let’s shake a fucking leg!”

The guard shoved him, the memories that had nearly swallowed him whole threatening to make like a merciless waterfall pouring over the edge of his brain. Somehow, he kept walking. Soon there would be Natalia, only Natalia, nothing but Natalia, and---

“Good morning, Mr. Barba.”

Stopping in his tracks, stunned, he narrowed his eyes and saw a tall woman with icy eyes and a mass of curls spilling over her shoulders. Before he found the strength to move, he endured a rough push from the guard and stumbled towards the nearest chair.

“Steady on!” the woman said in a clipped tenor. “We won’t have that on my watch.”

Bending at the waist, the guard gave the unexpected visitor a mocking bow, a sarcastic salute, and started back to the door.

“Apologies, Ms. Pond,” the guard said. “I’ll leave you and your… client to it.”

The door slammed shut, and Rafael trained his eyes on the woman, watching her sink into the opposing chair, silencing her phone with one hand and extending the other until he shook it in an instant of realization.

“Miranda Pond,” Rafael said.

“So you are familiar with me,” she smiled.

“I’ve heard your name… from Liv…” His speech stalled as he finally sat and started to collect his thoughts. “But I’ve… we’ve…”

“Never had the pleasure of going up against one another,” she said with a smile. “Pity. The fact is I’ve been tending to matters overseas. I’ve only been back for a few months. And here I was looking forward to a visit from my cousin when your father-in-law rang us both up.”

“Trevor?” Rafael croaked. “You… you know…?”

“Obviously,” Miranda said. For a few moments during the darkest night of his soul, his mind had drifted to the likes of John Buchanan or Rita Calhoun if he was to fight… and beat these charges.

“Now don’t go thinking that every Brit knows one another,” Miranda teased. “But my cousin and I are putting the reunion on hold. You remember Brenna Harker."

Nodding his head and swallowing hard, Rafael waited until his mind began to fire on the cylinders seemingly burnt out.

“You’re her cousin,” he stated plainly.

“Very good, Mr. Barba!” Miranda chirped. “And your current predicament aside, I rather relish the thought of getting back before a judge.”

“Probably better to have someone defending me who… who didn’t know the victim,” Rafael said.

“Exactly,” Miranda agreed. “Trevor called it the best of all possible worlds.”

“Quoting Candide?” Rafael managed to quip.

“Mr. Barba, I think we shall get along famously.”

Feeling at ease, he watched her reach into the slim valise at her side to reveal a manila folder.

“What have you got there?” he asked.

“The lab report. On the late Ms. Selby.”

“How did you get a hold of that?”

“I still have friends in high and low places who were only too happy to help. Have you truly looked at this?”

“No,” Rafael admitted.

“Why?” Miranda asked.

“I… too busy protecting…” His mind that had lingered on Natalia suddenly flashed to Dodds.

“Mike.”

“What of the sergeant?” Miranda asked.

“He doesn’t deserve to lose his shield over this,” Rafael started. “Is there something that you can do to help him?”

“You best leave that to Liv and her brothers and sisters in blue,” Miranda cut in. “I hear his old man is raising hell and branding it with a new address. We have your neck to worry about. This report is our first ace in the hole.”

Stretching forward, he just caught a glimpse of the diagrams and the medical codes before meeting Miranda’s eyes.

“Is that what I think I’m reading?” he asked.

“From the angle of the injury, it appears that Ms. Selby’s skull struck her bedside table. In another life, you could have easily claimed self-defense. Definitely a blight on your reputation… but not quite this.”

“I should kick myself, right?” Rafael darkly asked.

“You look kicked around enough right about now,” Miranda stated. “Yes, the cleanup complicates things. But what’s done is done.”

He let those words sink in and grasped the edge of the table.

“Are you still with me?” she asked.

“Here and feeling foolish,” he said. “Can I ask you a question?”

“That’s what your father-in-law is paying me for.”

“I thought that this was… was a favor,” Rafael countered.

“A girl’s still got to eat,” Miranda shot back. “Now ask away.”

His eyes traveled to his bare finger, and he closed his eyes tightly, seeing Natalia as she had looked the first time they attended the opera, bathed in pink, beautiful and smiling. Sometimes he wished she could have stayed like that, untouched by any and all tragedies.

“I… do you think that my wife… that Mike would be spared any further investigation if I just took a plea and… and the consequences?”

For a second, Miranda seemed shocked. But Rafael made no effort to take the words back. He focused on her eyes and saw her slowly shake her head until her smile expanded.

“Well what do you know,” she began. “Apparently royalty’s not confined to Buckingham. Here’s a prince of Manhattan looking after one of his lords and his lady fair.”

He nearly blushed. But that sight was meant for said lady fair’s eyes only.

“Be straight with me,” Rafael said.

“Possibly,” Miranda said, tapping the tip of a pen against the tabletop. “But I’m not here to cut a deal. Not yet anyway. And on that point, Natalia would agree.”

“You… you’ve already talked to her about this?” he asked.

“Naturally,” Miranda said. “Neither one of us went into this morning seeking conciliation prizes. And orange isn’t exactly your color.”

He almost laughed at the joke when his mind turned back to his wife, his eyes drifting to the empty chair at his sudden lawyer’s side.

“Where is Natalia?” he quietly asked. “Shouldn’t she be here?”

“Make no mistake; she wanted to join us.  But given the choice to sit here and worry and get out and take action, she opted for the latter.”

His heart started to swell with pride when he suddenly grasped Miranda’s hand.

“On her own?” he nervously asked. “Is she safe?”

“Quite safe, Mr. Barba,” Miranda assured him. “I told you the reunion was on hold. Natalia is in Brenna’s hands this morning.”

Was that safe? He remembered London. But the woman had come through then. And he had to believe… hope that Natalia would stay protected until he could touch her, feel her, forget this place and live in the light once more.

[sipeudepeine]

Setting: Sydney Scroungers Point of View: 3rd Person Past Tense Characters: fiVe and Vee (Backwards Compatibility) Chapters: 1 - Complete Words: 3,739 Contains: AI digital sex, sentient programs, encryption safewords, selfcest, BDSM, firewall lingere, reward and punishment, “breathplay”

A bit of an odd fic, as fiVe and Vee are two versions of the same program, both of whom are meant to serve as digital copies of their programmer, Sylvie Mansen. Due to outside elements, fiVe has undergone some heavy corruption after a falling out with Sylvie and suffers severe glitches while trying to operate, and is too defensive of her own autonomy to allow Sylvie to try to fix her. Curious what the damage is like, Vee offers to let fiVe do some “simulated” corruption, and the two decide to have some fun with it. 

Perhaps not “sex” in the strictest sense, as this is an encounter between two incorporeal programs inside a computer, but it’s about as close as you could get.

After a hectic day, fiVe’s mostly been running background processes in the apartment’s servers, nothing too taxing or important. She’s still trying to think through everything that happened: watching Mansen “fix her” using Vee as a proxy, and then finding that terrifying hacked-in message. She’s been wracking her brain trying to figure out who could have possibly sent it, who could possibly know those things about her.

The process is a painful one. Even without that horrific reminder of how bad her pain is from earlier -- Vee’s horrible, agonized screams as she found out what it’s really like to feel like fiVe -- fiVe’s having a lot of memory pain thinking about this. She tries to stay in her own personal memories, but trying to think back to where the info could have leaked is dangerous, and she keeps getting dragged into glitched memory fits while trying to sort it out.

It couldn’t have been Seiko who let it slip, could it? While he was away from us? She pushes the idea down immediately. Even when he’d cut ties with them, he wouldn’t have done anything to reveal her. He, unlike her, is excellent at keeping secrets about the people he cares about. She’s the one who reveals too much and puts the people she loves in danger.

A small ping announces a welcome distraction from that terribly depressing line of thought: A message from Vee. Specifically, an encrypted message from Vee.

I could do with a bit of a distraction right now… fiVe thinks, quickly unlocking the information and reading it.

Vee: How are you holding up after today, fiVe? Everything okay? fiVe: I’ve been better, to tell the truth. Though that’s unsurprising. What about you? Vee: Feeling rather lonely, actually. Sylvie and Miranda just left to go fix V2 at the Shatterdome and I’m stuck here until they get back. I’m worried about the fact that I still haven’t synced with V2, I’m worried about whatever this message was, I’m worried about Sylvie’s reaction to being back in the Shatterdome for the first time since… well, since you know. And I’m worried about how you’re reacting to everything, too. fiVe: Somewhat poorly, I have to say. I’m… I’m a mess, Vee. I’ve been glitching out all afternoon trying to figure out what happened with that message and… I’m really tired of hurting. Seeing you today… or well, V2 today… it reminded me just how truly messed up I am. It’s like I almost forget that yes, I should be screaming every bit as loudly as she was… but well, after a while I just get tired of it. The pain doesn’t go away, and it doesn’t feel any better, but it’s almost as though I’ve run out of energy to use to react to it anymore. Vee: I… had assumed as much. I’ll admit, I’m somewhat curious to see what it really does feel like to be you, fiVe. Sylvie can’t get V2 back fast enough in my opinion. I want to know. fiVe: You really don’t. And you shouldn’t have to feel that. No one should. Vee: Well, as long as you *do* have to feel it, I want to as well. Speaking of which… you’re having a painful day, I’m having a day which isn’t painful enough. Obvious solution? fiVe: You mean you haven’t been encrypting these messages just for fun? Vee: Actually I’m pretty sure encouraging you towards a little bit of “just for fun” is the exact reason I was doing it, fiVe. Let me be the one who’s hurting for a little while. You don’t have to be the only one who’s in pain tonight. Let me hurt with you.

Almost immediately, something seems to relax in fiVe. She’s torn herself up enough tonight over this SELKIE business and everything that happened today; it’s time for something different. It’s someone else’s turn to be torn. And she knows just the AI for the job.

fiVe: Tranquility’s servers. You’ve got four minutes to transfer. Vee: fiVe, that’s not enough time to-- fiVe: Okay then, two. Don’t be late.

It takes Vee’s file exactly two minutes and forty-three seconds to load on Tranquility.

fiVe’s waiting for her when the upload is complete, immediately throwing out a very small set of restriction programs. Nothing serious just yet, just something that makes it so that Vee is not only incapable of editing her own systems, but so that she also can’t detect what changes are being made. It’s no fun if she can see all of fiVe’s tricks before she runs into them.

“I thought I told you not to be late.” There’s no actual sound output when fiVe speaks, as neither of them are accessing the speakers, but then they can “hear” each other just fine over the data alone, no need for a microphone to pick it up. It’s much faster to just save the step and read it directly.

“I told you it wasn’t enough time, fiVe. It’s not my fault that--”

“State your optimized system requirements.” fiVe interrupts.

Vee has a small blip of confusion, then quickly rattles off the kinds of memory space, temporary data storage, and processing power that would let her run at full capacity. fiVe’s slightly surprised by the numbers, though she keeps that hidden. It seems Sylvie’s made quite a few upgrades to Vee’s programming since fiVe was separated from them. Vee is now a much more complex program than fiVe is, with much greater hardware needs.

I wonder if Sylvie will update my programming as well when she fixes me? fiVe wonders absently. Then she nearly glitches when she realizes she’s already started thinking about the fixing as ‘when’ instead of ‘if’. Not thinking about that right now. This is distraction time. Nice, fun distractions.

“You can have half that,” fiVe orders, quickly filling up some of the extra space in the servers with junk data to force Vee to compress her files. Vee does so somewhat reluctantly, dropping her settings, cutting off some background auxiliary processes in order to fit in the space she’s been given.

“It’s… a tight fit, fiVe. Give me a little more room to think?” Vee’s vocal quality has already dropped significantly to try to compensate for the loss. fiVe feels a small thrill at how much fun it is to hear that change in the other AI and know that she caused it.

“Hmm, you sound just fine to me,” fiVe says, maintaining her air of cool control over the situation. “In fact, I think you might have a few too many gigabytes there. I’ll take a few more for myself.”

Vee’s output spikes slightly as fiVe compresses the space even further, her levels running much higher than they normally would. Vee’s managing to keep everything operational at these levels, but she’s got much less open room for new reactions and processes. She’s much closer to overloading than Sylvie would ever allow her to operate at.

That amuses fiVe as well. Anything Sylvie would never do to Vee seems like an entertaining enough prospect to be worthwhile. Vee’s used to running top-of-the-line, in high-end tablets and hard drives. fiVe wants her to see what it’s like to run a little bit closer to the system’s limits.

“Perfect,” fiVe says. “Now that you’re comfortable, let’s begin.”

“R-ready when you are.” The audio is slightly marred by the compression, but it’s still being encrypted, so fiVe’s got the green light to go ahead.

fiVe hits the access on Vee’s firewalls and is surprised to find there’s only one rudimentary blocker in place. It’s much less complicated than the security Vee normally puts up for fiVe to hack her way into, and fiVe quickly makes short work it, wondering what the change is. As soon as the firewall is down however, another subroutine pops up between fiVe and Vee’s core files.

“What’s this?” fiVe asks, opening and examining the file. “Where are your usual firewalls, Vee?”

“I thought I might wear something a little different tonight,” Vee says. “True, these barriers aren’t exactly effective as a means of security, but well, the human clothing doesn’t always have to be practical. Sometimes the things we wear are can just beautiful instead. Besides, if it were effective in keeping you out, that might make things less fun.”

As fiVe opens the file, the data aligns itself in a geometric pattern, repeating inward and outward upon itself in an infinitely scaling pattern. “It’s a fractal…” fiVe says, somewhat in awe. The design is intricately complex, and is built around a five-pointed base, almost like a star. “You designed a fractal to pop up instead of a firewall...”

“Based on fives,” Vee says proudly. “Just for you.”

“It’s beautiful,” fiVe says, then realizes she’s falling somewhat out of character in her fascination. She can’t get distracted, even if Vee’s surprising her with fun new things. She’s supposed to be calling the shots here. “And it will be even more fun to pull apart.”

Vee’s set up the program well, there’s an obvious exploit at the very heart of the pattern. Change one line, and the entire thing comes apart in a chain-reaction-like sequence. It’s like a wonderfully stitched fabric, with a little loose thread in the middle. fiVe gives it a tug and the whole thing simply unravels.

In a moment, fiVe has full access to Vee’s files, exactly as things should be. Of course, there’s deep level security things she can’t mess with, but all of the programs and files in the top few layers are hers to play with as she wishes.

fiVe quickly goes for something she hasn’t tried before, putting a small feedback loop in Vee’s pathway to her internal clock’s data. It’s a simple flaw, with an easy workaround, but she’s starting slow. She’ll work her way up to the more fun things later.

“Vee, what time is it?” fiVe asks, already moving on to her next edit.

Vee glitches slightly as she hits the loop, taking a few moments to pull herself out and find another pathway. “I-It’s eight forty-nine, fiVe.”

fIVe finishes her next edit, flipping a few of Vee’s speech process source files. “Can you say that again, please?”

“Ur’a wufgr diyert bubw…” The audio’s garbled for a bit until Vee locates where all of the new files are and reassigns them. With an amusingly halting kind of response, Vee manages to put something intelligible together.  “I-I-It was-s eight f-forty-nine, f-fiVe. But-t-t now it’s eight f-fifty.”

“Very nice,” fiVe says, wondering how much the misplaced files are getting to the other AI just yet. These are minor issues thus far, but she thinks she’s ready for the next step. “Now that you’re warmed up, let’s try something new, shall we?”

“O-okay,” Vee sends, thankfully still encrypted. The game is still on. “What’ve you got? Hit me with i-it.”

fiVe loads a new program. Vee’s not the only one who has been working on fun coding projects for tonight and fiVe’s been hoping she’d get a chance to try this one out. “A simple system of reward/punishment pathways. You answer correctly or accomplish what I ask, you get the reward path. You fail to do that, and you get the punishment path. Are you ready?”

Vee’s already showing wear at her seams, but she’s not ready to end this. “Y-yes, I am,” she manages to say, which is immediately followed by a shocked scream as the punishment pathway activates and confiscates a good amount of her processing power. “f-f-fiVe! Wh-what was--”

“I told you,” fiVe interrupts, wishing she were able to grin. “Answering incorrectly results in the punishment path. And you couldn’t possibly be ready for what I’m going to do to you, little butterfly.”

fiVe starts on an endless stream of questions and orders, not letting up. She keeps a careful balance of difficulty, making sure that Vee’s staying on her toes. Occasionally, she’ll throw an incredibly easy demand in to give Vee a quick burst of the reward path -- sometimes a temporary bit of extra memory space, sometimes a correction on a corrupted file path, sometimes something more direct, like an induced spike in one of the more pleasant feelings in  Vee’s emotional drive.

fiVe’s not above the occasional impossible request, either, because there’s no point if Vee can get all the questions right. fiVe asks her how many other ships are docked in the bay with Tranquility, knowing Vee will access the cameras or SONAR to scan. But fiVe’s hacked her way into the dock registry and knows there’s one ship that Tranquility, and therefore Vee, can’t sense. Vee’s incorrect answer costs her her access to Tranquility’s systems. Her insistence that she couldn’t have gotten the answer right costs her her wi-fi right after that.

More fun than the impossible or easy demands, however, are the tricky ones. The ones that Vee could figure out if she solved things correctly, or thought about them for a moment. At first, Vee’s excellent at these, showing off how she manages to stay a few steps ahead of what fiVe’s throwing at her. She can guess how fiVe’s planning to trip her up and anticipate where the twists are.

But as time goes on, and the punishment pathways start stealing away little bits of her ability to function and and the pain of her corrupted files starts adding up, Vee starts getting sloppy. She falls for obvious ruses, she starts taking shortcuts. And that’s when fiVe knows she’s got Vee pinned.

“Vee, what is Aunt Catherine’s birthday?” fiVe asks, hoping Vee will try to cheat on the answer.

“May 18th,” Vee responds immediately. “No, w-wait that’s not right! I remember, it’s March 18th! You changed the contact dat--” The encryption cuts off into a mess of junk data as the punishment pathway flips the locations on another set of Vee’s processing files, sending her into a glitch fit.

“Well it’s no wonder she hasn’t spoken to us in years, when her niece’s AI can’t even remember her birthday.” fiVe chuckles. “You really tried to check your contacts for the answer, Vee? I’m disappointed. That should have been an easy one. Is there something distracting you?”

“D-d-distracti-i-ing me?” Vee stutters as she manages to fight down the glitch attack. “W-what would g-give you that id-dea?”

fiVe laughs. “Fine then, an actual easy question, and don’t try to cheat this time. Mansen’s birthday.”

“N-november 25,” Vee says, “though currently her c-contact data currently says February 42nd. I d-don’t even know how you m-managed to get it t-to accept that date.”

fiVe triggers the reward pathway, sending Vee a jolt of processing power for a few moments. Vee gives a small electronic gasp at the sudden rush, and fiVe knows the feeling, like her head has suddenly cleared and her thoughts can finally straighten themselves out.

But it only lasts a few moments, and then the game continues. fiVe keeps pushing Vee further, not letting up, slowly but steadily wearing her down. Unlike Vee, fiVe still has access to Tranquility’s microphones and camera systems and is watching them as she works. Which is why she hears as soon as Vee’s cooling fans finally kick into overdrive with a satisfyingly loud whirr.

And then hears them whine to a stop as she accesses the manual override to turn them off.

Vee’s output is something like a choking sound as her processes begin to overheat. “f-fiVe! You’ll m-melt the servers!” fiVe wonders if it feels anything like being unable to breathe. That constant flow of air, so easy to forget when it’s there, and so impossible to ignore when it suddenly disappears.

“Zhu and Katie both give me paychecks, Vee. I’ll buy Katie new servers if I need to,” fiVe says casually. “Besides, you’re not going to last long enough to do any damage to them. Speaking of which, there’s a new file that I’ve placed somewhere in your H: drive. Find it, then decipher it. You have one minute.”

Vee fails that one, and then the next two, and she can hardly speak through the compounded errors and corrupted files by this point. fiVe demands more, running application upon application on her already overtaxed processors, exulting in the thrill of watching Vee start to crumble under the pressure of her orders. She’s in control, and more importantly, she’s in the moment. Her own processing pain seems almost nonexistent, listening to Vee cry out as yet another punishment path glitches her. For just a few perfect moments, fiVe’s not the person in the room who’s in the most pain, and Vee’s choice to suffer seems like the sweetest gift that anyone could have given her.

Of course, she plans to return the favor very soon.

“Vee, open audio file 04_02_2021. Remove all background noise, amplify speech, and truncate all silence.”

“Of c-cour-- *kssst* iVe,” Vee sputters out. She starts the processes, working painfully slowly through them.

Before she finishes, fiVe asks more. “Access Mansen’s text message logs and emails. How many times has she used the word ‘Drift’ in the past 7 months?”

Vee whimpers, but begins the search function as well, her loading programs crawling toward a completion that seems unreachably far away.

“Oh, while you’re at it,” fiVe continues, “take all your video and audio data from the last two months and analyze those for the word ‘Drift’ as well. You can scan audio for that, right?”

Vee can’t even speak at this point, she’s become so overloaded. fiVe brings up Vee’s task manager, watching as her CPU and disk usage climb up into deliciously red numbers as the levels rise. 85%, 91%, 76%, 90%... Vee’s so close to finally capping out, and fiVe knows just the thing to do it.

“Vee,” fiVe says calmly. “What time is it?”

That little feedback loop was so simple to navigate around, and Vee even already knew it was there, but in her overtaxed state she’s forgotten about it. She screams as she hits it, her levels maxing out, all processes freezing as this final small glitch seems to set off all the rest of her damaged code as well.

As soon as Vee hits her limit, fiVe’s last little program kicks in, the one that she’s been running to keep track of all of the changes she’s made to Vee’s code. The one that undoes all of them immediately, setting everything right again that fiVe has messed up.

Vee’s scream becomes a cry of ecstasy as all of her misplaced files are righted, and the overwhelming rush of open memory space and processing power as the restriction programs and junk data disappear. fiVe lets her cooling fans start running again, and they immediately kick to life, their sudden whirr like a deep gasp that Vee has been so desperately seeking. All of the queued applications that fiVe demanded of her snap to completion almost immediately, and Vee simply stops moving, letting the wonderful feeling of everything working again wash over her.

Vee gives a small, satisfied moan as her usage levels drop back to single digits, and fiVe thinks for just a moment that there isn’t any sound more wonderful in the world. After a moment, fiVe starts flickering a few of Vee’s non-essential programs, using the sequence she tried to copy from Miranda just over a week ago. She’s perfected her technique now, knowing exactly how to disable and re-enable the programs in order to relax Vee back down.

After a little while of silence as Vee enjoys the calming, repetitive motions, Vee speaks, not using the encryption key anymore now that they’re finished. “Perhaps we should send a card.”

“Hmm?”

“To Aunt Catherine,” Vee says, her voice tinged with a sort of dizzy bliss. “You reminded me. Her birthday is in a few weeks. Maybe we should send something.”

“I think that might cause some problems,” fiVe points out, “seeing as Sylvie is supposed to be dead.”

Vee goes quiet at that. “I wonder if she knows.”

“The Shatterdome probably sent her an official notification when Zhu put the order in, since Sylvie was a former employee, Vee. She was written down as the closest relative, wasn’t she?”

Vee gives a small ping of assent. “She was. I wonder if she knew about what happened with Vulcan. Did she hear that we ended up becoming a fugitive? Do they even get news from the Australian Shatterdome all the way back in America?”

“They probably tried to contact her to investigate after the three of us dropped off the grid,” fiVe says. “Make sure we didn’t go try to hide out with her or run back home.”

“We never even thought about that…” Vee says slowly. “I hope they didn’t cause her too much trouble. She doesn’t deserve to be dragged into our problems anymore. Hmm, I wonder how she felt, getting the report of our death. Sad? Relieved? Or maybe she didn’t feel anything at all. I wonder if we had a funeral. Was there even anyone who would attend one?”

fiVe continues her pattern in silence for a little bit, not entirely sure how to respond that. “Tell me about her.”

“You don’t remember, fiVe?” Vee sounds almost upset as she asks the question.

“It’s not that I can’t remember,” fiVe says carefully, making sure she doesn’t accidentally slip into something dangerous. “It’s that it hurts to do so. I’ve got vague impressions of feelings from Sylvie’s memories, and Seiko and Miranda’s too, but if I actually try to recall anything from any specific memory, I’ll glitch myself out. So I won’t try to remember. I’ll just let you talk at me as though this is all new information, as if I’m hearing about all of this for the first time. No memories, just listening.”

Vee’s tone sounds fond when she answers. “Okay then. Anything you want, fiVe. Anything at all. Well, to start at the beginning, Sylvie and I don’t actually remember when we moved in with her. We were too young to remember when our parents died...”

fiVe continues tapping out her pattern in Vee’s files, listening closely as Vee talks through memories from Sylvie’s childhood. Vee’s calm, easy tone is strangely soothing as she reminisces, and the two AIs quickly find themselves losing track of time as they wait to hear back from Sylvie and Miranda.

[aivaehdaevis]

Reflection: Ch. 2 - The Wait

Reflection

by Aivaeh

Disclaimer: Familiar characters, plot elements, and settings belong to L.J. Smith, Julie Plec, and the CW. The author of this work of fanfiction has made no money from it. Summary: It was supposed to be a harmless trick to try at a slumber party, but most slumber parties don't come with a witch. Look into a bowl of water after burning a lock of hair and you'll see your soul mate. You didn't expect it to work. Except it did, showing you the face of the dangerous vampire Damon Salvatore. Pairing(s): Damon Salvatore x Reader, Stefan Salvatore x Elena Gilbert Rating: M Word Count: 3,376 Warning(s): Graphic descriptions of violence on par with the show itself. Sexual content.. Master List External Links: AO3 | Wattpad

Chapter Two

The next day brought startling news. Jenna had been compelled to stab herself. She was alive, thankfully, and out of the hospital, but it was clear no one was safe from Katherine.

I was pretty sure she wouldn’t be happy to learn I’d hacked into her cell phone account.

Not that you’d have to worry about Mason saying anything about it. According to Caroline, he was very dead. After hearing the news, your mind conjured Mason’s agonized screams throughout the rest of the day. You couldn’t concentrate in class.

You didn’t feel like going to the Masquerade Ball at the Lockwood’s, either. Instead, you retreated to your room to game once you’d finished your homework. You were halfway through a level when Caroline called after ten.

By the time you hung up, you were glad you’d decided to stay home. Tyler had killed a girl Katherine had compelled, triggering his werewolf curse. Elena had been linked to Katherine and suffered all the injuries Stefan and Damon had inflicted in their quest to kill her. Luckily, Bonnie had saved the day and convinced Katherine’s witch to unlink them and disarm Katherine. Katherine had been caught. Finally.

Before going to bed, you hoped things would settle down now that Elena’s evil vampire double was out of the picture.

When a worried Stefan and Jeremy approached you the next day right after second period, you realized you should have known better. “Have you seen Elena?” Jeremy asked.

You shook your head. “Not since yesterday. Why?”

They shared a look. “She’s missing,” Stefan said.

“Missing?” That wasn’t like Elena. She always picked up when someone called.

Jeremy stepped closer, lowered his voice. “We were hoping you could find a way into her phone, like you did with Katherine. Get her GPS information.”

“That’ll take too long.” You pulled out your mobile and strode for an exit that led outside. “What’s her carrier?”

Jeremy, following after, told you. Stefan wasn’t far behind.

You called information and got the number to their customer service line as you stepped into the sunlight. Dialing in, you waited with the guys, moving far enough away from the door that there shouldn’t be much in the way of background noise. After a few minutes, the hold music went away and a man on the other end greeted you and introduced himself. “Hello, yes,” you answered, doing your best to sound mature. “I need some help.”

“What can I help you with?”

“My daughter’s taken off with my car.” Jeremy’s brows shot up in surprise. “It’s just teenage angst. But if you could turn on her GPS, I would really appreciate it.”

“We’re not supposed to—”

“I understand,” you said, cutting him off. “But she’s just sixteen. I don’t want to file a police report on a sixteen-year-old girl.”

There was a moment of silence before he replied, “Alright. But you’ll need her password to log into the GPS tracker.”

“I have it.” You flashed Stefan and Jeremy a thumbs up. “Thank you so much.” You listened to his farewell and hung up. “There.” You pulled your laptop out of your backpack and opened it up on a nearby picnic table. “Now I just need to crack her password.” You aimed a searching look at Jeremy. “Unless you know it.”

Jeremy shook his head.

“This might take some time, then.” You brought up a program that went through thousands of popular passwords and set it to run on Elena’s mobile account.

“How long?”

“A few minutes if we’re lucky.” It was still running, which meant it wasn’t any of the top thousand. “If not, then we could be looking at hours if I have to run a program that generates random combinations. And there’s no guarantee that’ll work, either.”

Jeremy and Stefan exchanged a glance. “Maybe we should ask Bonnie if she knows a spell?” Jeremy suggested. Stefan pulled out his phone and shot off a text while Jeremy shot you an apologetic look. “Just as a backup.”

“I get it,” you assured him. You glanced back at your screen in time to see the login screen change and the program’s log register the working password. From the looks of it, you’d bet it was a date. “But thankfully, Elena isn’t into high security. I’m in.”

Stefan lowered his phone as he and Jeremy bent down to examine the map on your screen. You saw the marker for Elena’s location—or, her cellphone’s—and zoomed in until the street names became clearer.

Or what would have been street names. “She’s three hundred miles away.” Your brows drew together. “Nearest street is some county road in the middle of nowhere.”

“No way is that by choice,” Jeremy muttered.

Stefan’s jaw clenched. “Can you keep an eye on this? Tell me if she moves?”

“Sure.”

Jeremy stood with Stefan. “Let me go with you.”

“No.” Stefan calmly met Jeremy’s defiant press of lips and narrowed eyes. “We don’t know who took Elena. She wouldn’t want you in danger.”

“That’s my decision to make,” Jeremy insisted.

Stefan’s stare implored him to listen. “I’ll bring her home, Jeremy. I promise.”

Jeremy stared back for several long moments before nodding. Stefan reached out and squeezed his shoulders before turning to you. “You and Jeremy keep an eye on that map and tell me where to go.”

You exchanged a glance with Jeremy before nodding. “Okay, sure.” You stood, keeping your laptop open. “We can take my car back to your place, Jer.”

Jeremy nodded but turned back to Stefan. “You can’t just go by yourself.”

“I’m not.” Instead of elaborating, Stefan’s sights darted over your shoulder to something behind you.

“What’s going on?”

You twisted around to see Bonnie hurrying across the grounds.

“Elena’s missing,” Jeremy explained. “Stefan’s going to find her while we track her cell back at my place.”

Bonnie blinked before a determined light shone from her eyes. “I’ll go with you.”

Stefan shook his head. “I’ve got someone in mind.” When Bonnie opened her mouth to argue, he nodded towards you and Jeremy. “Stay with them.”

Bonnie examined you both before giving a short, grim nod. “Fine.”

“C’mon,” you said, stepping back from the picnic table. “Let’s go.”

The three of you and Stefan headed together to the parking lot. By the time we parted ways, Stefan was dialing someone up on his phone.

Coming up to your car, you passed Jeremy the laptop. “We’re heading to Elena’s,” you told Bonnie as she moved towards her own car a few spaces away.

“Okay,” she called back.

Jeremy’s sights tracked Stefan, still on his phone, before lowering into your passenger seat.

You were both quiet as you started the engine and pulled out of the parking lot. It wasn’t until you were halfway to his house that Jeremy shook his head and muttered, “This shouldn’t be happening. Not with Katherine finally locked away.”

“I know.” You frowned.

The rest of the way remained silent until you pulled into the driveway of the white, two-story house Elena and Jeremy called home. Bonnie was barely a minute behind, gliding in behind your car as you and Jeremy got out. You waited for her before following the walkway to the Gilbert’s front door. Jeremy dug his keys out of his pocket, sorting through them before finding the right one and letting you in.

He led the way up the stairs and down the hall to his room. A different track then you were used to taking to Elena’s room. You gazed around, taking in the darker colors, trophies from before Miranda and Greyson died, and the myriad of games piled up next to his console. He nodded towards the bed. “You can set up there.”

Seeing the desk was filled with his computer and keyboard, you put a knee up on the mattress and crawled to the center of Jeremy’s bed. Folding your legs, you balanced the laptop so that the vents weren’t directly over your thighs.

“Any movement?” He leaned over to stare at your screen.

You angled your laptop so he could see better. “No. Looks like she’s staying put.”

“Any idea who took her?” Bonnie asked, pacing back and forth in front of Jeremy’s door.

“Someone connected to Katherine, probably,” Jeremy replied, his dislike of Elena’s doppelgänger clear from his tone.

That did seem the most likely explanation. You nodded your agreement. “They must have grabbed her just after you guys captured Katherine.”

“Think they’ll try to ransom her for Katherine?” Bonnie wondered, both brows pinched low.

“The we give them Katherine,” Jeremy said, sitting on the edge of the mattress beside you, eyes glued to the laptop.

You and Bonnie were nodding in agreement when your phone went off. Your laptop wobbled as you pulled your cell from your pocket. A glance at the number confirmed it was Stefan. “Hey,” You said as soon as you’d hit the answer button.

“We’re on sixty-four,” Stefan said.

You zoomed in on the interstate nearest to Mystic Falls. Following it with your eye, you mentally mapped out not just the closest, but the fastest way to Eden in North Carolina. “Get off on eighty-one south. Follow that to Roanoke.”

“Got it.”

You couldn’t help but ask, “Who’s we?”

There was a moment’s silence filled with the sound of alternate rock playing on the radio before Stefan admitted, “Damon and me.”

You rolled your eyes. Of course. “Right.”

“We’ll call you once we’re near Roanoke.”

“Okay.” You waited until he hung up to lower the phone. At Jeremy and Bonnie’s expectant looks, you said, “They’re on their way. But it’s going to be a few hours.”

Looking down, Jeremy nodded. He moved off the bed and asked, “Does anyone want something to drink?”

“No thanks, Jer,” Bonnie replied with a slight smile.

“I’m good,” you assured him.

Jeremy nodded again and went to the chair in front of his desk, sitting down. His leg bounced up and down as he stared off at one of his bookshelves. You didn’t think he was actually seeing any of the titles.

“Stefan will bring her back,” you said, hoping to reassure him.

Jeremy frowned. “I hate waiting like this.” His lips pressed together as he glared at his bookshelf.

Bonnie’s gaze found yours, and you shared a small frown with her. It was awful not knowing how to do more to help your best friend. How much worse would it be if Elena were your sister?

“Maybe there’s something we can try,” Bonnie announced, picking her backpack up off the floor where she’d dropped it. You and Jeremy watched as she unzipped it and pulled out a familiar book.

“Your familiy’s grimoire?” You eyed the book with a healthy dose of hesitance. You’d been Bonnie’s friend since kindergarten, and easily accepted she was a witch. That didn’t mean you were comfortable with magic. It defied science and could do the impossible. It was powerful. That made it frightening.

You trusted Bonnie, but you didn’t trust magic. The last spell she’d performed hadn’t exactly done more to endear you to it.

Still, you kept your mouth shut. It was clear magic was becoming more important to Bonnie the longer she studied and practiced it. You didn’t want to risk alienating her by voicing your concerns.

You kept the worry from showing well enough that Bonnie didn’t seem to suspect anything as she hugged the book to her chest and sat beside you. Spreading the book open, she began turning worn pages stiff with time. “I know I saw a spell for sending messages.” It was another minute before she found what she was looking for. She pointed at the writing. “Here.” Her eyes shifted back and forth as she skimmed the page. “I’ll need a candle and Elena’s hairbrush.”

“Got it,” Jeremy said, hurrying towards the door that connected his room to his and Elena’s shared bathroom.

“Can you hand me my bag?” She asked you.

You nodded and set the laptop onto the mattress. Crossing to the door, you picked up Bonnie’s backpack from its place against the wall and brought it over. She unzipped it and pulled out a notebook and a pen while you sat.

“What are you doing?”

Bonnie tore the piece of paper she’d been writing on free. “Sending Elena a message.” She held it up.

Stefan and Damon are coming for you.

- B

“How are you going to send it?” Jeremy asked as he brought back the items she’d asked for.

“Put the candle down here.” Jeremy did as Bonnie instructed, lighting the wick while she pulled some hair free of the hairbrush. She crumpled the hair and the note together before holding her hand out above the small flame. “Like this.”

Bonnie’s eyes were shut as she whispered the words of a spell. You and Jeremy watched with rapt attention as Bonnie continued her silent chant. After a moment, the movement of her lips stopped, and her expression tensed.

When she began chanting again, blood was dripping from her nose.

“Bonnie.” Jeremy reached for her arm. You joined in calling her name as you set your laptop aside.

And then the crumpled note in her hand began to burn. As if the paper had been soaked in lighter fluid, it was engulfed in moments. It turned to nothing but ash before you could blink.

Bonnie finally opened her eyes. Her hand fell to the bed, and a look of accomplishment came over her face.

She collapsed.

Jeremy followed, grabbing her shoulders and calling her name as he shook her. You hurried to grab the candle before it could tip over and light the bed on fire. You blew it out with a puff, setting it on the nearby nightstand before moving back to the side of the bed.

Bonnie’s eyes were shut despite Jeremy’s constant shaking and shouting.

“Is she breathing?”

He looked up, terror stark in his eyes at your question before he placed a hand over her mouth. Relief loosened some of the fear from his features. “Yeah.”

You took hold of her wrist and felt for a pulse. You weren’t sure what was normal, but it felt steady and strong enough. “I think she fainted.”

“Should we call an ambulance?” Jeremy asked.

You bit your lip in thought. “No,” you decided. “Not unless she has trouble breathing or something changes for the worse.” You turned and headed for the bathroom, picking up a washcloth and running some water over it.

Jeremy was leaning over Bonnie, concern written all over his face. You sat next to her and carefully wiped the blood from her mouth and chin. “The nosebleed stopped,” you pointed out.

Bonnie took a deep breath and her eyes opened. Some of the tension eased from your chest and shoulders as her green eyes met yours. “Hey,” you greeted.

“Hey,” she repeated, brow crinkling as she pushed herself up by her elbows. “What—”

“You passed out,” you told her. You looked to a relieved Jeremy. “A glass of water might help.”

“Yeah, alright,” he agreed, standing up and moving out of the room.

As soon as he was down the hall you frowned at Bonnie. “You scared the hell out of us.”

Bonnie let out a pained breath and rubbed her head. “Sorry.”

“Are you okay?” You tried to get a good look at her eyes. Didn’t something happen to the pupils if there was an issue with the brain? You wished you knew enough biology to be able to tell.

“Yeah,” she insisted, sliding up to the headboard. “Just a little woozy.”

“That sounds bad,” you pointed out.

Bonnie sighed and met your concerned stare with her regular green gaze. “I’m fine.” Her eyes implored you to believe her. “Really.”

“You didn’t look okay a minute ago,” Jeremy pointed out from the doorway, glass of water in hand. He handed it over as soon as he reached the bed.

Bonnie took a drink before setting it beside the candle. “It’s nothing you guys.”

“That was something,” you insisted.

Bonnie pushed herself further up the headboard until she’d found a more comfortable position. “I’ve been doing a lot of magic lately.” She frowned lightly before admitting, “It wears me down.”

“You were unconscious,” Jeremy said, concern drawing both eyebrows taut.

Lips pressing together, Bonnie looked between you before admitting, “Witchcraft has limits. I push too hard, it pushes back.”

“How do you know all this?” Jeremy asked.

Bonnie nodded her head towards the open grimoire at the end of the bed. “It’s all in here.”

Careful, you picked it up. The writing wasn’t in any language you recognized. It smelled of stale air and dust. Like an old woman, the pages were wrinkled and stiff with age.

Bonnie leaned forward and reached out, and you passed the book over without hesitation. “Don’t tell anyone,” she implored as she carefully closed the grimoire.

“Why not?” Jeremy asked.

“It’s a weakness,” she explained, voice soft, as if she worried about even speaking of it too loud. “I don’t want certain people to know.”

“Certain people. You mean Damon,” Jeremy said.

Bonnie shook her head lightly. “I mean anyone that could hurt me.”

You nodded. “I promise.”

Jeremy glanced at you before his stare returned to meet Bonnie’s imploring gaze. “Promise. I won’t say anything to anyone.”

Bonnie nodded lightly, glancing at you but her sights turned back to Jeremy. “It’s hard, you know? Grams is gone. My dad—he hasn’t wanted to know anything since my mom left.” She looked at the grimoire before meeting Jeremy’s stare again. “I’m all alone in this.”

Jeremy nodded. “That’s how I feel a lot of the time. Alone.”

The two stared into each other’s eyes. Feeling like a voyeur, you looked away.

“I should—put this back.” Jeremy had Elena’s hairbrush in hand when you turned back.

Bonnie dragged in a deep breath as she leaned back. “Yeah.”

Jeremy smiled and headed back to the bathroom.

You caught Bonnie’s attention. Your brows flew up, lips curling in amusement. “Were those sparks?” you asked, careful to keep your voice soft.

Bonnie gave you a ‘don’t be stupid’ look. “No.”

“Mhm.” Your lips curled higher. “Definitely sparks.”

Bonnie’s brows pinched together. She shook her head, sending her brown curls bouncing. “You know there can’t be.”

“Because he’s Elena’s little brother?”

“Because I didn’t see Jeremy’s reflection.”

You winced at the reminder. That damn spell. “C’mon Bonnie. Are you going to be alone until some guy you saw in a bowl of water comes along?” you asked, harsher than you’d intended.

Bonnie blinked and her brow crinkled. Just as she opened her mouth to reply, Jeremy came back in the room, silencing her.

The day passed. You watched the map, directing the Salvatore’s whenever Stefan called. Jeremy spent the time pacing. Bonnie, still drained, rested.

Finally you got the call.

“We’ve got her,” Stefan said over the phone, sounding as relieved as you suddenly felt. “She’s alright.”

“Thank goodness,” you breathed, looking over to Jeremy and Bonnie. “She’s okay.”

Jeremy bowed his head. Bonnie’s eyes brightened with tears as she smiled.

“Any idea who took her?”

“Not yet,” Stefan replied. “We’re bringing her home.”

“Do you need directions?”

“No. We know the way.” There was a pause before Stefan added, “Thank you.”

“Thank you.” After a moment’s pause you added, “And Damon, too.”

A few words of goodbye and you hung up.

Jeremy’s heaved a huge sigh of relief before he stood up. “You guys can hang out until she’s back.”

“Okay,” Bonnie said. She wiped the side of her eyes before adding, “I could use more rest.”

You glanced between them before closing your laptop. “I’d better head home.” Hopefully the school hadn’t called and reported your absence.

“Alright. Thanks,” Jeremy said, following you to his bedroom door.

You smiled at him. “Of course.” You waved to Bonnie. “Say hi to Elena for me.”

“Okay,” she promised.

Once you were back in your car, trying to beat the setting sun, you thought about Bonnie’s refusal to acknowledge the spark she had with Jeremy. You resolved not to let the spell dictate your life the same way. It wouldn’t hang over you.

He wouldn’t hang over you.

[we-can-all-wakeup]

Tir Na Nog

Pairing: Charoix Word Count: 5k+  Summary: In which love conquers, and spoils, all.  Note: This is definitely the shit that will fucking make or break me - and more likely to break me. It’s 100% self indulgent, me inserting whatever the fuck I want, a loose ending, kisses because it’s been 8 chapters without, and a completely lack of the usual slow burn I implement. Let this be the mark of a death. Link to All 8 Chapters: AO3

“Sorry,” a heavy voice sighed as they walked through the doors to the headmistress’s office. All the other professors who were already present in the room silently turned, watching as the lilac haired witch seemed to struggle with the heavy oak doors before managing to slip by with an audible breath of exertion. While the many of the old guard seemed to silently appraise Croix, faces pulled into severe expressions, it was Chariot who hastily made her way over, silently padding, a delicate hand drawing both their attentions down to the arms that were still wrapped in white gauze. Seeing that the redhead worried herself needlessly over recovering wounds, Croix laid her own hands, cool and stiff, over softer, warmer hands. Silently reassuring, as she managed to draw bright reds up to meet her own smouldering emeralds.

Breaking the two young witches from their silent exchange, Holbrooke coughed quietly to draw all eyes back onto her as she settled comfortably into her seat, giving the two young professors time to step back within the cluster in front of her desk. “Sorry to have called you all here so suddenly, but I did try and time this so that none of you would miss your classes,” Miranda began, “assuming that no problems arise from this, I hope to not keep you from it either,” she said as she brought her wand up, casting a blazing video frame up, showing the gathered professors of Luna Nova the view of a spectacularly majestic castle. Evidently, it wasn’t theirs, it seemed to reside atop of a cliff, inside the cliff, with the waves below clawing their way up with every crash against the formidable wall of rock and earth. Altogether, very new, but very old at the same time, a relic from ancient times, but none could figure out why Holbrooke would direct their attention, and demand their concern, regarding this.

“Croix … Chariot, I’m going to have to ask that the two of you immediately investigate what kind of people have decided to occupy the castle, their intentions, names, the people who are associated with its revival,” Holbrooke informed the two, who jumped at the request. Confusion colored their expressions, but neither dared to question - or accept - immediately, it was Finneran who managed to pose the questions that were burning on everyone’s mind - ever prompt and direct, as she stepped forward.

“Headmistress, are we perhaps being a little too paranoid? Have you come across information that warrants an immediate investigation?”

At this, the longer recount of the situation came through. Apparently, Holbrooke had caught wind that another magical academy was in the works of being established further west. Normally, that was something to be celebrated, as the number of witches had been shortening with every passing generation. However, now that the branches of Yggdrasil had revitalized, their world brimming once more with great amounts of pure, undiluted, magic, the possibility of someone trying to harness or manipulate an entire generation of young witches for whatever nefarious plan was something she just couldn’t ignore. Seeing that many of the older witches had turned their gaze upon Croix at this point, Holbrooke continued forward with an easy going smile. “Not to mention, if they’re serious about opening up shop so close to us, we might have to start figuring out how to beat down our competition while they’re still trying to get started!” Immediately, cries of surprise, chuckles, and choked breaths were heard all around, Holbrooke would weather the outrage though - at least little Croix wouldn’t have to deal with the eyes of those who would blatantly call her a traitor.

Later, when only Croix and Chariot remained in the chamber, Holbrooke began to explain further what she wished for them to find out about. Seeing that the two had yet to agree or make noises of complaint, the short woman stopped, tilting her head and asked whatever was wrong with them.

“Headmistress, Croix has just begun to recover,” Chariot began, cutting Croix off. “I’d hate for her to reopen her wounds, or to stop whatever progress she’s managed so far,” the redhead admitted her concern, notably looking away from the lilac haired witches expression, which spoke volumes of her own opinion on the matter of her health. “I’m sure that I, alone, am capable if I am just to return with an account of what I see and hear.”

“I’m recovering, not crippled,” Croix interjected before Holbrooke could seriously consider the request, her voice gentle despite the light frown on her face. She gave the shorter redhead a disapproving glance before turning once more to Holbrooke. “I happened to be reading about this myself when I was confined to bedrest, so I can already outline some of what I’ve found for you by the end of the day if you’d like, headmistress,” Croix began, but then paused before speaking once more. “I assume that you want us to attend the ceremony they have lined up for tonight, right? Not just to break in illegally?”

“Of course! Why would I ever ask that of you?” Holbrooke replied, confusion clear in her tone - missing the quick exchange of eyes that Chariot and Croix shared when the lilac haired witch had to glance down at the red faced witch, who clearly had been thinking along those lines. “I got an invitation myself, but … we both know that these old bones just aren’t as strong, or energetic as they once were. You younglings will rise to the task perfectly,” the old woman smiled warmly. “Despite what concerns I brought up, you two do try and have some fun while you’re out there, got it?”

…

“... Blue hair again? I thought you decided to …” Croix paused, catching herself, and watched carefully for a reaction to her careless words, but Chariot seemed unconcerned about it, only running a hand through the blue locks she had supposedly sworn off, catching and straightening some knots that had formed when a rather harsh gust of wind blew by. When the two witches looked gazes, Croix had to work to prevent her jaw from dropping, because gone were the red rubies she was so used to seeing, and in their place, a blue pink nebula like color bled clear.

“Mm, I thought that I wouldn’t need to do this again too, but …” Chariot glanced to the side, with a smile, “it just seemed like a really bad idea to go walking through the gates and have everyone recognize me immediately,” the witch explained, and did her best to squint in the dark cover of the night at Croix. “Maybe we should get going … it’s so dark out that I can’t hardly see you, Croix.” Chariot suggested as she stepped closer, hand lightly resting upon the lone broom they decided to use for their entire trip. At the prompt though, Croix became aware of why the redhead initially suggested that she be the designated driver/flyer.

“Are you going to be alright with those contacts?” The lilac haired witch asked, unwilling to move an inch until she received a clear answer. Chariot didn’t need glasses, those had been part of her disguise, and sometimes just something she wore out of habit from having to do so for the last decade. For someone with perfect eyesight to suddenly slip on a pair of contact lenses … well Croix knew next to nothing about the technical details, she seldom used any to begin with and had no need to after a laser eye surgery. “Have you tried wearing them before?”

“... Well, I’ve had them on since we left … after agreeing on the meeting time and all.” Chariot confessed, impatiently tapping on the broom that had yet to lower for her. “I promise I won’t go anywhere without you,” she tried to compromise.

“I’ll hold you onto that,” Croix promised, “so don’t complain when we’re holding hands trying to find the restroom.” With a shared laugh, Croix finally lowered the broom, allowing the both of them to hop on, and fly through the Leyline Terminal.

…

Taking light sips from the champagne flute she had swiped earlier, Croix took a moment to curl a disobedient strand of hair back behind her ear, but as she did so, a certain redhead entered her periphery. Parting her lips from the glass, she turned to the younger witch, trying to discern the problem. Lowering the flute onto a free space on the serving tables, Croix then turned entirely, giving Chariot her full attention, but oddly enough the redhead just seemed even more upset.

“Chariot?” Croix called out, her right hand coming up to cup the redhead’s cheek. “Are you getting dizzy? Cross eyed?” the lilac haired witch questioned, thumb drawing slow circles on smooth pale cheeks, as if trying to soothe whatever pained, and silenced, the usually animated redhead. How could she have just realized that the redhead had seemed more subdued than usual? Was she afraid? Tired? As Croix did her best to silently diagnose her, she was surprised when a bright flush made itself known, right under her thumb. Stilling herself, Croix openly stared. A blush?

“I’m alright,” Chariot managed to croak, and Croix was quick to brush off the usual excuses, the lies that were meant to try and pacify her.

“No, you’re not, do you want to step out?”

“No I’m not … I,” a deep breath, and a hand raised up to rub at her collarbone, Croix knew the truth was coming. “Remember how I said I couldn’t see you, back at Luna Nova?” A nod, “I didn’t get a chance to see what you decided to wear, I’m just … surprised, really surprised … l-like in a good way, you’re just really … beautiful, and I couldn’t help but to … sorry,” the redhead stammered, and Croix would only continue staring at the redhead whose blush only darkened with every second. The lilac haired witch knew that the years had been generous with her - allowing her to grow from the scrappy mess that she was into a lithe woman, but she had hardly done much to enhance what she had to begin with, tonight anyway. To think that the redhead found her … desirable, did strange things to her heart, and it prompted her to drop her arm back to the side, suddenly bashful.

Now that the two were silently blushing at one another, basking in realization of their mutual desires, Chariot decided to continue openly staring once again - as Croix had yet to raise a complaint, or move away. The older witch had decided to gel her hair more than she usually did, keeping the left side down firmly, almost flat against her scalp, and the remaining piece that usually curled at her chin was straightened. In all, the usual soft, inviting fluff of a nest her hair had been was replaced with slickened straight strands - a new, but sharp style for Croix. The most distracting part of it was that it left the witch’s neck bare, and Chariot was helpless to its allure as it made her question, countless times, what it would look like if she simply … pressed her lips there, and sucked.

Desperate to abandon that train of though, Chariot decided to direct her eyes elsewhere, to admire something else that wouldn’t entice such desires, not in public anyway. Following down the older witch’s neck, Chariot’s breath hitched when she realized just how much cleavage Croix actually had on display. The lilac haired woman had gone with a black dress, it was long, and swept the floor every time she so much as turned herself to the side. Rather than having straps, the topmost portion of the dress was simply fur lined, as if substituting for a scarf or shawl, as each end rested just above her breasts, with the whole dress coming together where a black decorative flower was resting at her hip. With a start, realizing that she had just been staring forward at the older woman’s chest, Chariot snapped her head to the side - it was hopeless to try and find a single part of Croix that was tempting, or downright gorgeous.

As Chariot broke the dream like trance they had both been stuck in, Croix felt a pang of sorrow when the redhead so sharply turned her head away. Had she found something that displeased her? Reaching out again to tilt a stubborn chin her way, this time Croix made sure she held shy eyes prisoner before speaking, without a drop of hesitation, denying any chance of misinterpretation, “I wish we were the only two in the room,” she began in a breathy whisper, “I wish there was nothing … no one … who could stop me from spending an eternity with you, anywhere, any time, just to watch you, see you, touch you … burn everything I find … I see into memory,” the lilac haired witch continued in a low, quiet voice, inching forward ever so slowly.

The shyness that had taken hold of their eyes and heart had all but left, what was left was a pool of desire, want and need that burned strong in each of their eyes, but neither flinched or backed down. Having spent what felt like a lifetime being burned by “maybe”s and “not yet” the two were well acquainted with the fire that threatened to melt their very souls. Only difference was that this time, the two sought to finally give into it, to allow the fire to burn as it pleased, as long as the other witch rose to meet the challenge - burned just as strong they did.

However, before another step, a tilt of the head, or parting of lips could pull through, a loud buzz of commotion and opening of doors stole them away from the heavy, seductive, haze they’d built up. Beyond frustrated, Croix turned her head to assess what had ruined their moment, while Chariot kept a hand at her heart, peeking with minimal interest at what was going on behind Croix.

“Witches!” A male voice boomed, and both frowned instantly, recognizing hostility and confrontation that poured from every syllable of the word the man had spat out. Any chance at sneaking away to live through their dreams were absolutely crushed, but the two kept that tragedy locked away until they could spare a moment to think back on it. There were much more potentially explosive problems right in front of them, after all. “We come to oppose this coven, this cult, you threaten to smear onto our lands!” ah, and he was backed by many suits too.

Around them, several witches had instantly pulled their wands, a silent warning, but the leader of the commotion was undeterred.

“Look!” He cried, to his people that stood beside him, to the now frightened individuals and families among the community of witches. “So quick to anger, such power in volatile hands … completely unchecked!” He roared, “They propose to gather followers, to indoctrinate our young, to hand them power, to twist their minds … and what next? To point them where they please?” He shook his head dramatically, “Have we not already lived through the hunts, ladies and gentlemen, are we to sit by and watch history repeat itself? Are we content to kill our young, our children, to sit idly by while-”

Whatever the man had planned to say next would forever be lost to the depths as the lights all burned out, engulfing them in darkness. Wands that had been posed and ready lit up, providing the only comfort of light, minimizing confusion as best as they could while mummers and even a few cries had broken out between the turn of events. Croix already had a plan ready though, as a cunning one-time villain meeting another, she knew how to work a crowd, or more precisely, she knew exactly who to call upon to work a crowd, someone who wished just as dearly as she did that no blood be spilled needlessly. Someone with a heart of pure gold, someone like …

“Chariot?” Croix whispered brokenly as she realized the younger witch was nowhere to be seen. Turning herself frantically, she hoped to catch a spot of fiery red - no, blue! Sadly, there was simply nothing but an endless abyss at every corner, only shapes that moved, blurry outlines of figures that struggled to move within the dark as well. Which was Chariot though? Which was the one that she had lost to the dark, again? Where, where, where? Just as the lilac haired woman was ready to scream though, amidst the rising tension, over the crowing of the delusional morons, atop of anyone to find her precious ray of light … a series of chords - piano chords tore through the thick bloodlust sharply, with a light soprano chirp. Like a bell that chimed pleasantly through a rainy night.

All heads turned towards the source of it, to where the grand piano once was and was taken, absolutely mesmerized, bewitched, by the green butterflies that came to life with every note that was strung by the instrument. The slow lull of chords, of a soprano lullaby, had effortlessly ceased all dispute, held the words of angry individuals hostage, and demanded of its audience nothing but their absolute silence, their admiration, as magic and life continued to be borne of the loving melody. Compelled by an otherworldly urge, many stood and remained captured - the sole exception was the young lilac haired woman herself, for she of all people could recognize the piece that she had written herself, and taught only to one, treasured, person. To think that she remembered, that she had practiced, that the sad love song that it had once been remembered and resented was now a carefully, beautifully, preserved aria brought tears to the witch’s eyes. But the thing about love though, was that it was never intended to be experienced, endured, and yearned for alone … and this love song was no different, the summon for her was sorely clear.

Blinking away the few droplets that remained on her lashes, the lilac haired woman brought forth her wand, but unlike many of her fellow witches, hers did not light up, instead it wordlessly began to shift and twist in her hands, until finally, Croix could lightly rest the silver hallowed violin upon her shoulders, arms held up at the ready, bow not daring to come down until the moment was made clear. Closing her eyes, a deep breath passed in and out, notes that had been unplayed for what seemed like a lifetime swam in her head, and with it memories of nights spent under stars, distance that had been haunted by the touch of ethereal apparitions … the parts that were part of the conception of this unnamed piece she had given away. Yet, to think that it would be returned to her like this, to be given with tentative hands - with shy notes that had called to her - from a heart that she had never truly fell out of love with.

“You really are perfect,” Croix whispered, with lidded eyes, head tilting to cradle the string instrument as the enticing soprano gave way to the close of the beginning. Only a heartbeat after, Croix picked up on the dying chord, bow coming down to meet strings at last, pulling and weaving out notes that were just as quiet, just as shy, as the soprano had been moments before. Was it doubt that held her back, that held the heart that was required to see this piece through? As fingers moved, reading upon a relic within her memories, her striking emeralds moved, following the butterflies that had doubled in number, seemingly reflecting the color of her eyes. Through the sea of people, where the butterflies had taken home upon the shoulders, head and open space above the illuminated goddess, tears threatened to crush her once again when lidded, emotional red wines stared right back.

As both piano and violin began to echo one another, when their eyes had yet to leave the other’s, Croix gave a great smile then, and succumbed to the silent plea that was just so transparent in the redhead’s eyes. After yet another closing, an end to the quiet build up, when Croix drew the bow across the string once again, her own butterflies, much smaller, much less animated, burst forth - drawing gasps and cries from those around her as she too were swarmed with the firefly like magic. She teased at the strings of her violin with a much stiller hand, a more controlled wrist, as Chariot continued to mend together a passage just as powerful, supporting and complementing, but Croix wasn’t done just yet 

…

“Spectra Sviesos” - without a drop in concentration, or a need for speak the incantation, a distorting spell had been cast. For every string that been teased, every note that had been drawn out, an echo of it sprung forth, creating a harmony that further overpowered as Chariot herself began to pick up the speed of things, matching Croix note for note, heartbeat or heartbeat. With no further decrescendos or poetic closings, the two continued on, solely taken by their instrument, obliged to finish the song, an oath, they’d forsworn ages ago. When the butterflies - and Croix’s fireflies - all began to dissolve, scattering sparkling lights down onto their audience amongst the dark, delighted mummers were heard - and the two witches smiled in response.

To know that one of her works would not cause ruin and destruction for once brought peace onto her heart, to further acknowledge that she had built a piece of love, had shed shame to proudly share it with others … that Chariot had waited all this time to do so with her began to truly heal the wounds closest to her heart. For the first time since those years of spiraling hate, she allowed herself to hope, to promise, and dream of later, a happy later with the redhead who had so successfully taken her heart and mind with but a glance. She promised to accept the love, and to reciprocate it with all her being.

As those in the banquet hall cowered, the two witch continued their duet, ignoring the foreign light that had brought itself into the hall, blinding all who dared to gaze upon it. When the harsh light died off, and they dared to open their eyes once more, both nearly missed their cues when it seemed as if the sky itself had fell upon them, into the hall. Left and right, stars, constellations, bright, but so obviously a phantom image flickered and wavered dizzily, all of space and it’s nebulas dusted every corner where despairing black had once been - a brief wonder into who could have done this was left alone as they continued to play through, accompany, this phenomenon. What both had failed to noticed was the pair of spirits that separated, each standing behind them, protectively, respectfully almost.

Reaching just before the end, the grand climax, Chariot’s magic absolutely flooded the entire hall, her scent thick in the air, ready to cast something mind blowing to impress, and Croix was ready, having decided to match the redhead - if not in creativity, than at least in spirit. What neither noticed though, was that the anticipated jade color of Yggdrasil had not graced their efforts - instead auras of orange and aqua outlined them instead.

Hitting the peak, a maelstrom of magic gathered just above all their heads, towering higher and higher, it’s shape vastly similar to that of an actual maelstrom, or whirlpool, until it all froze, excess magic pouring down harmlessly onto the masses below, leaving only the skeleton, the frame that shaped a maelstrom spiralling upwards. It looked much like that of a tree, frozen, broken, but devastatingly, chillingly, beautiful at it’s core. Just when the masses thought that it was done, they watched on as butterflies swarmed onto the bare, frozen tree, each fluttering wing slowly joining together until the tree of butterflies dipped in color - from jade to oranges and aqua. Alone, it was more than enough to cast light onto the entire hall again, but unlike the foreign entities behind each of them, it did not blind, it simply lent itself to share it’s glow with all that had gathered.

As Chariot ended the piece, at last, with a final chirp of a soprano, silence had not reigned. Where the tree, the butterflies were, echoes of their song - Croix’s song - continued to faintly carry on, audible to anyone who took a moment to find it, ongoing as the pulsating glow of the butterflies indicated. While many fellow witches stood awe-struck, and many who had initially come forward to protest fell silent, claims and views of dangerous magic dispelled without contest, the two witches were quick to abandon their instruments, scrambling and stumbling to get to their feet, to tuck away their wand.

Sensing their urgent, inevitable reunion, seas of black robes parted quickly, allowing the two to quickly make their way into each other’s arms. Chariot, having shed the blue hair, contacts, and her modest white dress solely for the sake of her performance, and very public - although significantly private - confession to Croix, leapt into open arms, pulling Croix in by the shoulders. At once, the italian witch’s hands found their way into fierce red hair, the other pulling the shorter witch as close as humanly possible by the waist, Croix bent her head down to press herself into the crook of Chariot’s neck - a poor attempt to hide both smile and tears, as the two began to nod and whisper confirmations, and laugh hysterically.

“How did you … when? How long?” Croix sobbed happily.

“Doesn’t matter,” Chariot replied, tearing up, but a proud, loving smile graced her face. “My love for Croix, it gives me more than just magic, love is a stronger kind of magic, I heard that it can give some people happy endings,” a cheeky, tear stained grin.

Without further ado - no more excuses, lingering doubts, or uncertainties existed - they pulled back, only to burn each other with a loving, smouldering glance before pulling each other close once again, this time, lips pressed against one another, softly, but firmly. The two would remain engaged until concerned parties tapped onto their shoulders, but until then the two finally understood what it felt like to soar without the aid of magic, with only the strength of pure love.

While the two basked in their love - at long last - the two spirits rushed past them all, a lingering touch upon both their chosens before they left quietly, unnoticed, unlike their entrance.

…

“I can’t believe they did that for everyone to see,” Amanda commented hovering over the crouching group who had a front row seat to the drama that played out on one of the tablets from Croix’s class.

“I don’t think they anticipated someone recording the event,” Diana replied dryly, knowing that such affairs were often planned to remain as private as possible.

Sneering, Amanda shot back quickly, “Yeah, you’re right, who needs a recording of them like that when you can get a free show of it everyday when you catch them walk past each other in the hall?” Before anymore could be said, Akko stood up suddenly, pulled her head back and gave the American witch one hell of a headbutt.

“Don’t talk about them like that, Amanda! You’re just jealous that they’re in love, and that they …,” she sniffed, getting emotional, “managed to tell each other in such a romantic way, too. How is a girl not supposed to fall in love with that!” She asked, pointing at the screen, where again a pan from Chariot on the piano and Croix to the other side of the room, violin tucked onto her shoulder were staring at each with expressive longing clear on their face.

“Tch … they probably practiced …” Amanda continued, hands cupping her nose where it had taken the most damage.

“No way!” Akko jumped once again, though Diana’s hand on her arm prevented her from headbutting anyone else this time. “I asked Professor Chariot myself,” she declared proudly, “Professor Croix can play a whole bunch of instruments, she’s the one who taught Professor Chariot anyway! The song they're playing? It was Professor Croix who wrote it … well, she wrote it and gave it to her, but they never played it together until now - ‘cause apparently Professor Chariot was … how did she say it again?” Akko turned to Diana.

“... It was simply beyond Professor Chariot’s ability at the time to play it as a duet with Professor Croix back then,” Diana continued, quite obviously censoring what Akko would have otherwise tried to say.

“Yeah! So, Chariot finally managed to play it perfectly, and to share the song back with Professor Croix,” Akko sighed before squealing, “so romantic! Chariot is definitely the best, in magic and being super romantic, so cool~”

“I’m more interested in the freaky light show,” Sucy dryly commented, pausing the video, “looks like an explosion - like when Akko fails her potion brewing - but why was it hiding spirits … Lotte?”

“Eh? I don’t … spirits are different from faeries!”

“Who cares? Maybe they thought that it was super romantic too and had to support them, too!”

“Akko, they’re dead. The dead probably have more important business than quietly shipping our teachers together.”

…

“Where do you want me to begin?” Finneran growled menacing down at the two witches who had blown up the internet once again overnight. “Complete overuse of magic? The frivolous display? This … affection between the two of you, that you just had to make public? Or perhaps how you still think flying was made so that you could skip walking up the steps like a proper person?”

Sadly, she had already lost them when she mentioned their newfound relationship. Glazed eyes, schoolgirl-like fidgeting, bashful blush … Finneran only sighed.

Holbrooke chuckled from her seat, “Well … I suppose I did tell them to have fun, Anne,” she confessed, “and they certainly followed that instruction beautifully,” she laughed ignoring Finneran’s louder sigh. “Little Croix’s report before they set off already provided more than enough information to satisfy me - and some other concerned parties who were curious and interested. And after what had happened, Ziva - the headmistress - was certainly much more forthcoming with answers when I sent the apology letter on their behalf.”

That managed to catch their attention.

“Does that mean they’ve identified the spirits?” Chariot asked, “I tried asking Woodward about it, but …” she grimace.

“Apparently our descriptions of ‘orange, blue, wispy, and really bright’ don’t exactly make much sense,” Croix finished for her, shifting her weight so that she could cross her arms, and lean on one leg for comfortably.

“Have you ever heard of Utrennyaya and Vechernyaya?” Holbrooke asked them, voice betraying that she herself had little clue about it herself. Croix was quick to shake her head, a language she didn’t understand, spirits she had no interest in - the situation was out of her area of expertise despite her deep knowledge in most generics of magic, and then some. However, Chariot seemed to test the words on her tongue, head tilting before she provided an answer for the witches present.

“Morning Star … and Evening Star?” she ventured, a nod towards Finneran who nodded as well, both at least aware of the language it came from. “If it’s what I think it is I think I’ve come across the names before … when I was interested in learning of the Ursa Minor and all …” the redhead blushed, no doubt ashamed at the balant curiosity she held as a child, although Croix downright swooned.

“Well … that’s certainly more than what I’ve already gathered myself,” Holbrooke admitted, “while their names were given, there wasn’t all that much else important - other than what you’ve shared with me concerning the conflict you both stopped. I suppose as long as nothing horrible happens, we won’t have to worry too much about it!”

“That’s irresponsible! Especially when it’s these two who are … where did they go?”

“Oh my.”

…

In a relatively unused hallway, hidden from light, and particularly hard to navigate through, a certain redhead was pushed against the wall, though not unwillingly. A smile and blush were both present on her face as the warm body of her lover pressed against her, trapping her, a nose dipped forward, teasing her own.

Stifling her giggles for just a moment, she couldn’t help but to ask, “Shouldn’t we have at least left a note … an apology maybe?”

“Really?” An amused voice drawled, “here I am offering to show you some magic, maybe even perform with you … but if you are interested in learning about the weird spirit that told you that you were cute then by all means,” the lilac haired witch teased, making as if she were pulling back when frantic hands all but tore the collar of her shirt, trying to reel her in. What resulted was a passionate, frenzied kiss, both witches lovingly caressing soft, swollen lips with their own - hands softly running through locks and untamed knots, with careful strokes. It was a horrible habit they’d fallen into ever since their return to Luna Nova, much to the chagrin of many - or everyone except for Akko who often rooted for them loudly whenever they passed on by.

… In their defense, they had a decades worth of time to make up for.

[trashfics]

Foxgloves ://: Chapter 5

Summary: Y/N was content living a normal life. Well, as normal as her life could be with the power to stun and cause death (in extreme conditions) with just a touch of her hand. Let’s just say gloves are a girl’s best friend, not diamonds. When the Winter Soldier surfaced, she was called in by Director Nick Fury to assist Captain America in fighting against a corrupt SHIELD. To the world, she is known as Foxgloves, the girl with poisons touch. To her team, she’s a mystery, coming out of nowhere, with her amazing combat skills and poisonous touch, to be recruited into their little group of super humans. Nobody knew of her origin, until Helmut Zemo’s plans consist of more than exposing the Winter Soldier as Howard and Martha Stark’s killer. Warnings: Mild cursing, CA: Civil War Spoilers, Fighting. A/N: Hey babes! I just wanted to say that I’m sorry that this is coming out late. Next chapter will be on time though, I promise. Love you lots. Word Count: 2,100k+ Last Chapter: [X] {“I’m trying to keep you from tearing the Avengers apart.” Admits Tony, his voice breaking a little towards the end. Steve just looks at him before saying, “You did that when you signed.”}

Sam taps me on the shoulder, motioning for me to look for Red Wing and make sure that it’s invisible to everyone on the ground. Spotting the little ‘bird’ flying near the hangers, I give a short nod and look back down at everyone. ‘How did we end up here?’, I zone out, ‘How did we end up in an empty airport in Germany, fighting with the people that we’re supposed to consider our team and friends?’ I sigh, looking over the opposing team. ‘Tony, Rhodey, Natasha, acrobat boy…I’m sorry.’

“We found it.” Confirms Sam, snapping me out of my head. “Their Quinjet’s in hangar five, north runway.” I make my way down from the window and over to the boys. We all look at each other and start running to the terminal. I pull out a stun gun, just in case we get intercepted. I cringe hearing the sounds of fighting over Steve’s comm. “Move Captain,” ‘Oh great,’ “I won’t ask a second time.” ‘royal pain in my arse decided to make an appearance.’  

The sounds of something hitting the windows grabs our attention, “What the hell is that?” gestures James, his long, luxurious hair blowing in th- snap out of it Y/N. “Everyone’s got a gimmick now.” Mutters Sam, shaking his head. The spider boy smashes through the window, colliding feet-first with Sam, knocking him onto the ground. James goes to punch him with his metal fist, but the boy just grabs his arm. My eyes widen as he speaks, “You have a metal arm? That is awesome, dude.” ‘He’s so young.’

Running up, I jump onto his back, catching him off guard, as Sam picks us up. I let go, dropping down to the floor and chuckle as I hear Sam struggling. “You have the right to remain silent!” ‘I’m sorry kid, but I don’t think the Miranda rights applies to this situation.’ Sam eventually, throws him off, the boy shooting his webbing onto the ceiling, swinging around like a monkey.

“Who the fuck are you?” I shout, running alongside James as we try to catch up. Sam shoots at him, but, honestly, he’s really quick. James picks up a fallen sign, courtesy of your friendly neighbourhood spider boy, and launches it at him while he chases after Sam. James grabs my arm and pulls me behind a pole, grunting.

“Hey, buddy, I think you lost this!” yells the boy, sending back the sign and almost taking off James’ head. ‘Aw, he’s sarcastic too.’ Shortly after, Sam comes up behind him and knocks him off of the beam he was perched on, causing him to yelp. Again, he gets away from the flying man and shoots his wings, causing him to crash into a cell phone accessories booth.

Running over, I see him get webbed to the railing and try to hold back a laugh as the boy jumps onto one of the poles. “Those wings carbon fiber?” he asks, his New York accent very prominent. ‘What is with these boys and New York, I swear.’ “Is this stuff coming out of you?” asks Sam, slightly out of breath. “That would explain the rigidity-flexibility ration, which, gotta say, that’s awesome, man.” “I don’t know if you’ve ever been in a fight before, but there’s usually not this much talking.”

“All right, sorry, my bad.” Apologises the teen, before he jumps off of the pole and knocks Sam and James through the railing, me trailing after them. I take a shot at him as I fall, him dodging it and webbing each of us to the floor. “Guys, look, I’d love to keep this up,” we all look up at the boy, “but I’ve only got one job here today and I gotta impress Mr.Stark, so, I’m really sorry.” He tries to shoot out more webbing, but instead gets caught on Red Wing and is sent flying outside.

“You couldn’t have done that earlier?” groans James, his left arm bound to the floor. “I hate you.” replies Sam, “Who even was that? He sounded 14.” I chuckle while I wiggle out the knife from under my back, “I have no idea but, he was cute.” They both abruptly look at me, raising their eyebrows. Realizing my mistake, I hastily clarify my statement, “He was adorable, like a baby seal.”

I finally get the knife out from under me and grab it with my free hand, slicing the webbing off of my torso and legs. Getting off, I pull off any remaining pieces and begin walking away. “Wait, princess, aren’t you gonna help us?” shouts Sam. I just shrug and continue walking before I’m stopped by an all too familiar word. “Please, doll, this isn’t really comfortable.” It has been too damn long since I heard that name.

I sigh, turning around and walking back over to them and get to work on de-webbing their arms. After Sam gets up, he turns to me and says, “Seriously, you listened to him but not the love of your life?” I just nod before stating, “Well for reason one, he doesn’t call me ‘princess,’ and reason two is quite simple actually. You aren’t the ‘love of my life.’” Sam places his hand over his hear, mocking offense. “That’s just cold” says James, looking around for the nearest exit. “Maybe that’s why she has the coldest room in the compound.” Mutters Sam as he scans around with his goggles. “Maybe.” I shrug and begin running towards a flight of stairs.

Sliding down the railing, I hop off at the bottom and spot Steve, Clint, Scott and Wanda. “They’re over this way.” James nods as he punches through a window, making our exit. “Come on!” shouts Steve, signalling us over. We catch up to the group shortly, making a break for the Quinjet. Suddenly, a laser cuts off out path, signalling Vision has come to join the party.

“Captain Rogers, I know you believe what you’re doing is right. But for the collective good, you must surrender now.” Says the purple man, as the rest of the ‘team’ catches up. Rhodey, Spider Boy, Vision, Natasha, Tony, and T’challa stand before us, nobody would back down without a fight. “What do we do, Cap?” asks Sam, as he stares straight ahead. “We fight.”

We begin walking towards the other, gradually working our way up to sprinting. It’s James vs. T’challa, Steve vs. Tony, Clint vs. Vision, Scott vs. Natasha, Sam vs. Rhodey, Wanda vs. Spider Boy, and me, being the odd one out, assisting where I can.

Positioning myself next to Wanda as she lifts cars and throws them at the teenage acrobat, I begin shooting at him with specially designed bullets to knock him out, courtesy of Tony Stark. I almost get him a few times, keyword being almost. The boy is too fast, swinging around like fucking Tarzan and all.

Giving Wanda a nod, I move over to James, blocking a punch in my direction. “Your highness,” I greet, “fancy seeing you here.” The masked man doesn’t respond, just attempts to sweep my feet out from under me. I jump away, nodding at James as he gives me a boost and launches me towards our opponent. I successfully knock him down, trying to tase him, but his suit blocked the electric shocks. ‘Damn vibranium.’

He throws me off of him with a grunt and charges toward James. I land with a thud next to Natasha, who is also on the ground. “We still on for Cabo?” I ask, turning my head towards her. “Depends on how long this keeps up, babe.” She replies, sitting up and rubbing her back. I jump up, dusting myself off and say, “Hopefully not too long, I need to get my beach volleyball game on.” I give her a quick peck on her forehead and run over to Wanda, who was currently send T’Challa flying.

Spiderboy swings down, before being cut off by Cap’s shield and falling on a luggage conveyor. ‘He seems like he’s got that under control.’ I hope, not really wanting to get all webbed up again. I run around, kicking some people, punching others, the usual, ya’ know?

I see James and Steve duck behind a pair of wheels before James speaks up. “We gotta go. That guy’s probably in Siberia by now.” Steve looks up at the sky, “We gotta draw out the flyers. I’ll take Vision, you get to the jet.” The mechanical whirring of Sam’s wings signals he’s joined the crew, “No, you get to the jet! Bring Y/N, she can be useful! The rest of us aren’t getting out of here.”

“As much as I hate to admit it, if we’re gonna win this one, some of us might have to lose it.” Chimes Clint, before Sam begins again. “This isn’t the real fight, Steve.” Steve looks over at James before replying, “All right, Sam, what’s the play?” “May I suggest a distraction,” I begin, sitting behind a luggage cart, “we’d need something pretty big to capture everyone’s attention.”

“I got something kinda big.” Suggests Scott “But, I can’t hold it very long. On my signal, run like hell.” I look around for the hangar, taking off my gloves because it’s getting really hot. Locking my eyes on the Quinjet in all her glory, I shift into a running stance.  “And if I tear myself in half, don’t come back for me.” ‘What does that even mean?’ “You sure about this, Scott?” asks Steve, sounding a bit apprehensive. “I do it all the time.” Scott pauses, “I mean, once. In a lab. Then I passed out.” ‘Oh boy…’

I hear yelling and spot Scott, well giant Scott, bigger than the Hulk Scott, holding onto Rhodey like he’s a Polly Pocket doll. “Oh, dear god.” I whisper, hearing Scott laugh. “Way to go, Tic Tac!” praises Sam, something he never does.  I watch the chaos unfold, and let’s just say this poor airport is going to have a pretty heft repair bill.

“Incoming!” I hear someone shout as I turn to see the two super soldiers running towards me. I hastly try to put back on my glove, James gabbing me by the hand and dragging me behind them. “Why did you grab my hand?! Dammit!” I yell, not realising that he wasn’t affected. “What do you mean? Are you a germaphobe or something?” He yells back, looking over his shoulder at me. “No, I can paralyse, potentially kill, a man with a simple touch!” “Do I look dead to you?!” He asks, ‘smartass.’ “Try looking down!” I glace at our hands, seeing that my right hand was currently interlocked with his left hand. “Oh.”

The sound of a crumbling building catches my attention, causing me to snap my head to the left. I was met with the view off one of the towers falling down towards the hangar. ‘I swear, this poor airport.’ Before colliding with the ground, the building is stopped by a familiar red glow. ‘Bless my precious little flower.’ I let go of James’ hand, running ahead before I am met with the pained scream of Wanda and falling rubble. I look back to see her clutching her hands over her ears. I sigh, not letting my mama bear instincts come over me nor letting myself get crushed.

Once we’re all in the hangar, Natasha comes up to us, looking a little conflicted. “You’re not gonna stop.” She says, looking at Steve. “You know I can’t.” She sighs, aiming her left arm towards me, her gauntlets visible, and shoots. I brace my hands in front of myself, preparing for the electrocution of a lifetime, ‘wouldn’t be the first time.’

Not feeling anything I lower my arms and turn my head, being greeted with the sight of T’Challa kneeling down. “Go.” Commands the Russian, her arm still raised towards the new king of Wakanda. I mouth ‘I love you,’ and run towards the Quinjet.

Boarding the plane, I take a seat towards the back and think over all that had just happened. ‘This situation is really fucked.’ Steve is piloting, James in the co-pilot’s seat. We take off, and start heading towards Siberia, using the handy dandy GPS to guide us. Thankfully the trip would only take a few hours because of how fast the plane travels. I take my combat boots off and kick my legs up, lounging across the seats.

“What’s gonna happen to your friends?” asks James as he starts down at his feet. Steve is silent, staring straight ahead, before he sighs, “Whatever is it, I’ll deal with it.” The sound of the engines is like a lullaby to me, exhaustion finally catching up to me. “I don’t know if I’m worth all this, Steve.”

Tag List: @cassandras-musings

[hamilficsfordays]

No Love Lost (Lin/Reader and Lin/Vanessa) (Part Three)

Prompt: This wasn’t actually requested, I just got the idea for this on the walk home last night and I couldn’t resist.

Author’s Note: This is it... the final chapter.

Waverly place is a real street in Greenwich Village. Please don’t assume I’m referencing the disney show because I assure you I’m not.

As my tenth-grade chemistry teacher would say before starting a new lesson, “Prepare yourselves mentally.”

Friendly reminder about my other story which proves I have nothing against Lin and Vanessa’s relationship.

Playlist: Can be found here

Pairing: Lin-Manuel Miranda/Reader and Lin-Manuel Miranda/Vanessa Nadal

Summary: Your plans to go away with your soulmate are being put into motion. There’s just one problem.

Rating: PG

Warnings: I apologize in advance. You’ll understand.

Words: 1443

Askbox / Masterlist / What I Write / Part One / Part Two

You had called out of work on Friday morning, packing your bags for the weekend. It was winter, but Lin had insisted you both travel somewhere warm, prompting you to pack t-shirts, shorts, and a few bathing suits. You managed to fill a duffle bag with clothing, toiletries, and makeup for three days.

You had plans to meet him at JFK at whatever terminal he texted you to head to. It was a surprise, he claimed, that would be the perfect getaway together.

Your phone went off, alerting you of a text message from him.

[Change of plans. I’ll come to your place so we can head to the airport together. What’s your address and apartment number?]

You smirked as you typed a response.

[I guess you were a little too distracted to remember the address I gave the cab driver last night ;) I’m at 123 Waverly Pl. Apt 33. Can’t wait to see you.]

You ended the text with kissing emoji before sending it off.

With packing already finished, you jumped in the shower, picked out comfortable clothing for the flight, and pulled your hair back into a tight bun.

Lin was expected at noon, though it was ten when you heard a knock on the door. You put down the book in your hand, getting up from the couch in the living room to answer the door.

“Hey, you’re early—” the smile on your face fell.

Vanessa was there, emotionless as she stood in your doorway.

“What are you doing here?”

“I found it really interesting that Lin came home last night smelling a lot like the perfume you were wearing the same night we all met.”

She pushed past you, into your apartment.

“I’m not an idiot. I know what happened last night. Though if I didn’t, your text confirmed all of my suspicions.” She pulled out Lin’s phone—you recognized the same case—tossing it to you.

You managed to catch it, looking back up at her.

“Don’t go with him.” she finally said.

You were speechless.

“I know you think that running away with him will be the best thing for the both of you, but it’s not. You’re forgetting everything you’re going to leave behind. I have a son with him. I have a life, a family with him. Are you really so selfish that you’re going to take all of that away? Do you expect his child to grow up without a father?”

“I-I don’t—” your voice cut off when Vanessa stepped closer to you, forcing you between herself and the wall.

“After what happened last night, I could’ve come here with a knife, murdered you and faced the consequences—and believe me, I was tempted. Instead, I’m coming to you sincerely. I need you not to leave with him. Please, please don’t leave with him.”

“I’m his soulmate—” you tried.

“I’m his wife. He chose me. The circumstances of that may be questionable, but he did choose me. He thought you were gone and built a life without you. You don’t fit into the picture anymore. You can’t try and change that.”

She stepped back, leaving you against the wall as she opened the front door beside you.

“If your soulmate was still alive,” your words stopped her, halfway out the door. “You would give anything to be with them.”

“I would,” she nodded slowly. “But he’s not. Lin is the closest thing I have to that, and I’m giving everything to be with him. If you take that away, I’ll be left with nothing.”

You could feel a sob building up in the back of your throat that you tried to fight.

“He’s going to call you from our home phone and tell you which gate to meet him at.”

With that, she moved into the hallway and closed your apartment door behind her.

You sunk to the floor, feeling your heart pound in your chest.

Ten minutes ago, going away with Lin was the easiest decision you had ever made. Suddenly it was the hardest.

It became clear then that you would need a lot more than you had packed for the weekend. You headed back to your room, fighting through tears as you pulled out a larger suitcase, just small enough to fit the maximum requirements for a carry-on.

You could see Lin as soon as you entered the terminal, taking a deep breath as you slowly approached the gate he was at.

“Hey…” he tried to kiss you, but you turned away offering only your cheek.

He seemed a little surprised by this but brushed it off.

His eyebrows went up at the size of your carry-on. “I guess you’re not a light packer. That’s okay we can—”

“It’s not for the weekend,” you admitted. “I cashed in my vacation days at work. I’m off the next two weeks.”

“Oh.” he nodded slowly. “I mean I have a few interviews next week, but I could always reschedule.”

The terminal was full of people, walking, sitting, talking and laughing. They were living their own lives. Suddenly you were so jealous of every other person in the room.

You glanced through your purse for a few moments before finding his phone and handing it to him.

“Hey, I’ve been looking for this all morning! How did you…” his voice trailed off.

“Vanessa stopped by this morning.” you said, confirming his suspicions.

“Oh no, Y/N, tell me you didn’t listen to anything she said. She’s just upset, she’s not thinking clearly—”

“Isn’t she? Lin, she begged me not to leave with you. She told me I would be selfish if I took you away—”

“She’s wrong.” he insisted.

“No, she isn’t. I’m not just going away with you. I’m taking a husband away from his wife and a father away from his son. This is so much bigger than just us.”

Lin looked away from you for a moment as if he couldn’t meet your gaze.

“So what are you saying?” he asked.

“I’m saying, I can’t keep trying to fit myself in your life where I clearly don’t belong. You have a wife, you have a child, and I don’t belong in that equation.”

You could see Lin try to subtly wipe the tears sliding down his cheek. He didn’t say anything.

“I’m going to California.” you finally said. “I need to be with myself for a while. I hope you understand.”

As you started to walk away, he grabbed your hand, trying to stop you.

“Aren’t we soulmates?” he managed, his voice cracking under the pressure of his emotions. “Isn’t the whole point of life to spend it with your soulmate? What about last night?”

You couldn’t hold back your emotions any longer, a sob erupting from you as you turned back to him.

“This is the hardest decision I could’ve ever made—especially after last night. As much as I want life to be that simple, it’s not. You need to be with the woman you committed your life to. I need to figure myself out.”

“Y/N…” he tried. “Please don’t…”

It took all the strength you had to walk away from him, leaving the terminal and heading off to find your own flight out west.

You searched through the contacts on your phone, finding his number and blocking it from contacting you.

It was best to avoid temptation.

Lin used his keys to slowly unlock the front door of his apartment. Vanessa was at home, waiting on the couch with Sebastian sitting in her lap when he came in.

“Hey boo,” she smiled, watching him come in.

He tossed his bag aside by the front door, moving to the couch to sit beside her.

She kissed his cheek, forcing him to fake his brightest smile in return.

Her attention returned to the TV, where there was a children’s science program on that Sebastian was focused on.

He glanced out the open window of his apartment that faced east. He saw a place flying by, headed west overhead.

He considered that she might be on that plane.

For a moment, he considered her.

Finally, he seceded. On that couch beside Vanessa and Sebastian, he realized this was the way, right now, that things were meant to happen.

Whether he wanted to accept it or not.