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db-gochifan · 2 years ago

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GoChi Winter Event 2022 - Day 6

Days [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7]

Title: The Mistletoe Capsule Pairings: Goku/Chi-Chi; Vegeta/Bulma Characters: Goku, Chi-Chi, Gohan, Goten, Misaki (OC), Bulma and Vegeta Summary: The Son family is hosting a Christmas' dinner and Bulma gives Chi-Chi something she didn't think she'd ever use. Cross-posted on AO3 and FFN

Chi-Chi placed the tray with the turkey on the table and looked towards the living room. She frowned, not believing what she was seeing. Goku and Goten were still lying down on the floor, completely exhausted from the day. “I can’t believe you two are just scattered in our living room like that. Our guests will be arriving soon. Get up and go take a shower.” “Just a few more minutes, Chi-Chi.” Goku opened one of his eyes. “We worked a lot today to get everything done.” “I know, so did I. You don’t see me lying on the couch doing nothing, do you? There’s still so much to be done.” “Alright.” He stood up with a jump, like when he’d usually does after being hit during a martial arts tournament. “Do you need help with anything else?” “No, I’m pretty much done setting the table.” She looked at him and then to their son behind him. “But you can wake Goten up.” “Let him sleep a little more.” He looked over his shoulder. “I’ll do it when I’m finished getting ready.” “Thank you.” “Where are Gohan and Misaki?” “They went to orchard to get some blueberries and strawberries for me. They should be coming back soon.” “She wanted to go with him?” “Literally begged to.” Chi-Chi couldn’t help but smile as she remembered the scene. “She wants to go everywhere one of the boys go to.” “It’s a sibling’s thing. Goten used to do the same.” “He still does sometimes. I won’t be surprised if Misaki flies in they come back.” “That would be really cool. I’d be more than willing to teach her how to control her flying skills. Can you imagine her turning into a Saiyan though?” “I don’t think women can do it. Isn’t it what Vegeta said once?” “Yeah, but she still has Saiyan blood, even if she can turn into one.” “That’s true.” Chi-Chi walked to where Goten was lying and sleeping and knelt down next to him. “You should go take a shower while I try to wake Goten up. Kami knows it’s almost an impossible thing to do when he’s sleeping so heavily.” “Alright.” “Goten, come on, sweetheart. Wake up. You have to get ready for our party.” “No, mommy, I don’t want to school today. It’s Christmas’ Eve.” “School?” She couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re not going to school today. You’re on Holiday break. Wake up, Goten.” “What?” The seven-year old boy opened his eyes and sat down. “I don’t have to go to school?” “Not for a couple of weeks.” She stood up and helped him do the same. “Today is Christmas’ Eve. No one needs to go to school.” “Cool!” “I know it’s been a busy day for you, but we’re having a party here soon, so you’re gonna take a shower once your father is done. Okay?” “Okay. Where’s Gohan?” “He went to the orchard with Misaki. They should be arriving any second now. It’s been a while since they left.” “To the orchard? And they didn’t call me? I wanted to go too.” “I’m sorry, Goten. Gohan didn’t want to wake you up, you were sleeping so peacefully.” “He should have.” “Well, there will be other opportunities for you to go there with him soon.” Chi-Chi said softly and ruffled his hair. “Your father is finished showering. It’s your turn.” **** “Wow, son, you look great!” Goku said loudly when Goten came back in clean and fancy clothes. “These clothes are itchy.” He complained after blushing at his father’s compliment. “What the…?” The oldest Saiyan looked over his shoulder when a noise explosion could be heard and immediately teleported outside the house to check it out. “I should have seen it coming.” “Oh, hey, Goku.” Five-month pregnant Bulma turned around with a large smile, closing the small Capsule Corp case and putting it back on her purse. “I’m sorry if I scared anyone with this, but it’s not a Christmas party without a mistletoe.” “You made a capsule that creates a mistletoe?” “It’s a seasonal one. It started off as a joke, but people really seemed to enjoy it, so I thought why not?” “I told her this is stupid, but she won’t listen to me.” “That’s funny. You said something completely different a few nights ago.” “Bulma!!” “You managed to get Vegeta under the mistletoe?” Goku asked, finding the whole thing very amusing. “Who would’ve thought?” “That’s not what happened.” Vegeta folded his arms across his chest, not bothering at all to hide his annoyance with the situation. “Bulma twisted things around and made them bigger than they really were.” “Actually, he dragged me under it.” “Is that so?” He nudged the prince in the arm. “The Holidays got you acting all romantic, Vegeta?” “Shut up, Kakarotto!” He snapped. “Don’t make me fight you right here right now.” “You better behave.” Bulma called him out. “We’re guests here tonight. Besides, I’m sure you don’t want to deal with Chi-Chi’s fury if something happens and ruins her party.” “Yeah, I’m with Bulma in this one.” “The smell is amazing, by the way. Now that I’m pregnant again, I always feel like eating. I guess I can understand how a Saiyan’s body works.” “I guess so.” Goku shrugged. “Come on it, Chi-Chi will be happy to see you.” “Are there other people coming too?” “Let’s see, Krillin is coming with 18 and Marron. Yamcha and Tenshinhan said they are coming too.” “Great.” Vegeta rolled his eyes. “Ah, you don’t need to be jealous.” Bulma teased, wrapping her hands on his arm and resting her head on it. “I only have eyes for you.” He simply looked at her, silently telling her deep down ‘you better’. “And that’s it, I think. Oh, Videl and Mr. Satan are here already.” “Gohan seems to be pretty serious about her, huh?” “Yeah, if you ask me, I think they will get engaged soon.” “What? Did he tell you something?” “I didn’t say anything!” Goku scratched the back of his hair and gave an embarrassed laugh. “Let’s go in.” **** Chi-Chi looked at the table full of people with a smile. A lot of things made her feel happy, but very few came close to making a full banquet for many people. Bonus point if these people save the Earth whenever a new powerful threat comes up, be it by fighting them with all they have or using technology to help them. She couldn’t help but think these people were true heroes. She shook her head and took the third turkey tray to the dining room, placing it on the table in front of Goku. He immediately stretched his arm to grab some, but she held his wrist. “I’m sorry, Goku, but guests first.” “But, Chi-Chi…” He looked at her with an apprehensive face, afraid there won’t be anything left for him. “Listen to your wife, Kakarotto.” Vegeta mocked across him as he poured himself almost half of the meat. “You should have some manners yourself and think about the others as well.” Bulma scolded him and put some of the turkey back. “I’m so sorry, Chi-Chi.” “I’m a Saiyan. We naturally eat a lot.” “You should have thought about it before we left and eaten something. You can eat as much as you want when we go back home later.” “Ugh!” He mumbled frustrated, but didn’t dare to fight back. He knew better than that. “It’s okay, Bulma. There are more turkeys in the oven. I’m sure you know what it’s like to cook for Saiyans.” “That’s true, but we’re at a party of other people who also want to eat, so…” “This is a valid point, actually.” “Do you need help with anything?” “Actually, I think we are good for now.” Chi-Chi took a look at the table. “We might not need the other turkeys.” “Okay, I need to go to the bathroom. Can you show me the way?” “Of course. Come on.” “Do you mind if I ask you something?” Bulma asked when she followed her friend down the hall towards the bathroom. “I guess so.” Chi-Chi replied, suddenly feeling nervous about what it might go. “How’s your romantic life with Goku going?” “Bulma, I really don’t feel comfortable talking about it.” “I know, and it’s not my business. I apologize if it felt like I was intruding.” “It’s okay.” She assured her blue haired friend. “I just wanted to give you this.” Bulma grabbed her hand and shoved a capsule into her palm, curling her fingers around it afterwards. “What’s this?” The brunette raised her eyebrows when she revealed the capsule again. “It’s just a Christmas themed capsule. It forms an instant mistletoe wherever you are.” “What?” “Consider this a Christmas gift for you and Goku.” The tech expert winked with a sly smile. “In case you want to create a more romantic mood later tonight.” “T-Thank you.” Chi-Chi managed to say after she recovered from her shock. Then she opened the door beside her. “The bathroom is right here.” “Thanks. I can find my way back from here.” “Alright.” She looked at the capsule in her hands and smiled mischievously before shoving it into her pocket and going back to the dining room. **** “And that’s it, finally.” Chi-Chi said with relief when the Briefs left and there was only her family again. “That was quite a party.” Goku threw himself on the couch and stretched his arms over the back of it. Seconds later, he lowered one of them after Misaki snuggled close to him and quickly fell asleep. “Mom, can we open the presents now?” Goten asked apprehensively, standing beside the large pine tree Goku had chopped down four years ago. “We usually do it on Christmas’ day, but I think we can make an exception this year.” “Yay!” He cheered and turned to look at the gifts spread under the decorated tree. “Which one is mine?” “Sweetie, I know you’re eager to open it, but let’s wait until Gohan comes back, okay?” “Nooo, he takes too long to say bye to Videl.” “What’s going on over here?” Gohan walked in a second later. “I guess you were wrong this time.” Chi-Chi turned to her oldest son. “Goten is desperate to open his gift.” “Oh, we’re anticipating it this year.” “I thought ‘why not?’. We’re allowed to break the traditions every once in a while.” “That’s true.” Gohan walked to tree and sat down beside his brother. “So do I get one this year too?” “Are you kidding me? Of course you do! In fact, you get a special one this time because it’s your last Christmas with us while living here.” Chi-Chi covered her face with her hands. “Oh mom!” He turned around and looked at her with sympathy. “I may be getting married next year, but that doesn’t mean I won’t be coming over for Christmas anymore.” “Are you serious?!” Her voice was full of hope. “Absolutely! Every Christmas here is amazing, there’s no way I can go spend it somewhere else.” “Your mother has been freaking out about you moving out for a couple of years already.” “Goku!” “Ops, sorry, honey.” “Anyway, yours is this big red one in front of you.” “Wow, that’s quite big indeed.” Gohan leaned over and grabbed it, immediately tearing the wrapping paper out. “Oh cool!” Goten exclaimed happily. “I got an update version of my favorite fighting game!” “What’s so exciting about these fighting games?” Goku wondered. “Doing it in real life is so much more thrilling and amazing.” “I can get to kick Trunks’ ass for once.” “Oh for Kami’s sake!” Chi-Chi glanced at Misaki to see if she was awake and sighed when she noticed she was sleeping heavily. “Where did you learn these words?” “I’m sorry, mom.” “Awesome! I got a full science kit.” Gohan thought it was better to change the subject before things got tenser than they already were. “Did you like it?” “Absolutely! I loved it! Thanks, mom.” “You’re welcome.” She smiled at him. “Where’s mine?” “Later.” “A private one, huh?” Goku couldn’t hide his mischievous smile. “You could have saved me from this, dad.” “Sorry, son.” “Looks like Misaki will only get her present tomorrow.” “Well, she’ll be the only one getting it in the right day.” **** Chi-Chi looked around her bedroom, though she was sure she was alone. Still, Goku loved to play tricks on her and show up unexpectedly by teleporting into their room, so her double-checking was more than reasonable. Also, he had a very simple final task to do that night, which was to take Misaki to her room. It wasn’t something difficult at all, because she was a heavy sleeper just like Gohan and Goten were four years old. Not that it’s changed within the years, though. Chi-Chi took out the capsule from her pocket and stared at it in her palm. She didn’t think her romantic life with Goku needed any extra help, but then again it wouldn’t hurt to shake things up a little. So she pressed the button at the top of the capsule and threw it on her bed, praying to Kami it wouldn’t destroy it and the explosion wouldn’t wake the kids up. And, mostly, she hoped their bedroom wouldn’t be a complete mess. She immediately regretted not asking Bulma if it was okay to have an artificial indoor mistletoe. To her complete relief, everything was fine. She sighed deeply and stared at the plant in the ceiling, hoping Goku wouldn’t notice it before he was supposed to. She had already put on one of her best sleeping gowns and slipped under the blankets to keep herself warm when she heard loud footsteps in the hall. The bedroom door opened seconds later and Goku let himself in. “Mission successfully accomplish.” He informed her with a large grin. “Did she wake up and give you much trouble sleeping again?” “No, she didn’t wake up at all. It was very easy.” “Then why did you take so long to come here?” “You missed me?” It was his cue to climb on the bed and give her a peck on her lips. Chi-Chi thought for a moment they definitely didn’t need the mistletoe after all. “Maybe.” “I was just talking to the boys for a moment.” He moved to her neck. “And just maybe?” “Gohan was just feeling emotional with his last few months living here and Goten lost it.” “Oh God.” “You’re not gonna lose it right now either, are you?” “I’ll try to keep myself together… tonight.” “Good. What are you looking at?” He raised his eyebrows when he noticed she was staring at the ceiling and followed her suit. “What’s this?” “It’s a mistletoe.” “A what?” He asked confused. “Wait a minute, did Bulma tell you something about this?” “She actually gave it to me, in case I wanted to shake our love life up.” “So that’s what the explosion I heard was about.” “You heard it?” “Saiyan’s hearing is pretty sharp.” He took a deep breath. “Well, do you?” “I don’t think we need, but it’s Christmas after all.” She got closer to him, forcing him to lie down on his side of the bed and captured his lips in a deep and passionate kiss.

#GoChi #Son Goku #Goku #Chi-Chi #ChiChi #Son Gohan #Gohan #Son Goten #Goten #Son family #Bulma Briefs #Bulma #Vegeta #VegeBul #Dragon Ball Z #DBZ #Fanfic #Fanfiction

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yourmidnightlover · 3 years ago

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all my fault

Request: spencer and y/n are married, and they’ve been trying to have kids, and then she finds out she’s pregnant. a few weeks into the pregnancy, she has a miscarriage, and at the hospital the doctor said it’s bc she had an abortion as a teenager, and it fucked up her it yet us. spencer didn’t know she had an abortion, and blames her for the death of the baby, and they end up sleeping separately for a while and they have to grieve by themselves. spencer ends up talking to emily about it bc of her experience and it has a comforting ending!

Summary: when reader has a miscarriage after trying to have a baby with spencer, and things about her past are revealed and leaves things rocky within their relationship.

CW: miscarriage, pregnancy, mention of abortion, spencer’s rly harsh at first, teenage pregnancy, mentions of surgery, a cervix condition that i kinda made up, depressive thoughts, negative self-worth, HAPPY ENDING. *please let me know if i’ve missed anything*

A/N: i’ve been working on coming up with a series, which i posted last thursday! i’m sorry i haven’t been as consistent with my schedule, this summer has really taken a toll on my mental health and school is about to start back up. i promise i’m not quitting writing, but my writing might become a bit more sporadic in terms of my posting schedule. i’m still not sure if i like how i’ve executed this piece, so please let me know what you think!

IMPORTANT A/N: this contains serious topics centered around pregnancy and abortion. reader end up blaming herself and it is a very triggering subject to some. if you aren’t comfortable with those kinds of depressive thoughts PLEASE DONT READ. i don’t want anyone to be triggered by my writing. your mental health matters. you matter. do not read if your sensitive to the subject matter, please!

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when you and spencer checked the third pregnancy test and saw those two, very clear lines on the stick, you felt an unbelievable amount of joy.

“oh my god,” you clamped your hand over your mouth, your eyes welling with tears.

“y/n…” he held his breath, holding your free hand with both of his own.

“you’re gonna be a dad,” you huffed out a laugh as his arms flew around you.

“and you’re gonna be a mom! we’re gonna have our own little family,” he cheered as he breathed in your scent, elated from the news he had hoped for since you said ‘i do.’

spencer had wanted to be a father since he met henry, you remember how attached he was to the child who wasn’t even his own. you hadn’t always wanted children, only when you were absolutely ready for them. now, you were more than ready.

your arms flew around spencer’s neck as his went around your waist. he dropped to his knees and began pressing kisses against a bump that wasn’t even visible yet, praising you and your body for carrying his child.

because it was so hard for you to get pregnant, spencer decided to baby you every chance he got. you didn’t do the dishes or sweep, you weren’t allowed to reach for high shelves or even step on a chair to do so. he was worried about you and the baby, so you let him. you found it endearing.

the perfect man that you married was so worried about the little bean inside of you, worried for your safety, that it drove him a bit mad. who were you to complain? each time he’d do one of the new little quirks like not letting you lift anything above 10 pounds, you just smiled to yourself and brushed it off.

being pregnant was something that you had lost hope for, in all honesty. spencer had been talking to a few friends who had adopted children prior to finding out you were pregnant. if this hadn’t worked out, the two of you were going to look into adoption.

spencer had planned your doctors appointment for 6 weeks after your last period. the appointment was in three days. and then the perfect outline you had for your future went down in crumbles.

you had been having pains in your lower abdomen, and you figured it was just because you were pregnant. you went to the bathroom like you normally would when you felt queasy, kneeling by the toilet in preparation for what was to come. only nothing came.

you decided to just go pee and get back to bed. there was a pain that wasn’t like you’d felt before when you were peeing, like someone had been pulling your intestines out of your body. when you looked down, you felt your stomach drop.

“spencer!” you cried out. “spencer, hurry!” you felt tears well in your eyes until he ran up beside you. his hand was on your thigh as the other one was trying to steady your shaking hand.

“what is… oh,” he looked in the toilet to see blood inside of it.

“spencer… what happened? i don’t know what happened. everything was doing so well and the baby-we just found out and now they’re-wh-what’s gonna happen?” you rambled out, unsure of how something this horrific happened so quickly.

“i-i don’t know, my love,” he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “i don’t know. but we’ll go to the hospital right now, okay? we’ll get answers.”

you just nodded. you couldn’t speak anymore. you felt your throat closing in on yourself. you cleaned yourself up and got dressed. even looking in the mirror with spencer’s arms around you, you didn’t feel anything but guilt and worry.

spencer’s touch would usually be something to ease your mind and take away the thoughts of everything else around you. only this was something wrong inside of you. you were the problem this time. and you didn’t think anything could fix this feeling.

“let’s get to the hospital, yea?” you nodded as he held onto your hand, trying to ground you to himself as he guided you to the car.

you were silent the entire drive to the doctor. there was nothing to say. there was nothing to do. there was just… nothing. you were numb.

“hey,” he spoke up, “we don’t know what happened yet. there’s a chance it’s just a fluke, right? the baby might be okay.”

“what’re the statistics, spencer? tell them to me,” you ordered as tears flowed from your eyes.

“y/n…”

“tell me! why don’t you want me to know?!” you accused him, looking over at the man driving as he but his lower lip. “1 in 4 women who experience bleeding during a pregnancy are fine. 25 percent. the other 75 percent of people have either a miscarriage or serious complications. those are the statistics.”

“y/n…” he sighed, “it’s not your fault. you didn’t want this to happen. besides, there’s still a 25 percent chance that nothings wrong.”

“whatever,” you rolled your eyes and opted to look out of the window for the remainder of the drive to the hospital.

“alright,” the doctor entered the room. “we have the results from the test and we’ve examined the ultrasound pictures. i’m so sorry, but you’ve had a miscarriage.”

what were you supposed to feel? an overwhelming sense of sorrow? like a failure? like the one thing you wanted most in the world fell through?

“how-how did this happen?” you spoke through the tears. “we were so-we were careful. i didn’t lift heavy objects, i didn’t do repetitive motions, i just… we tried so hard to make this work,” you shook your head in disapproval, as if you wouldn’t accept the answer that had already been proven to you.

“there’s proof of an abortion when you were a teenager. there was severe damage done to your cervix that wasn’t assessed pre-pregnancy. now, we can repair the damage within the next two months, but it will still be difficult to become pregnant after the surgery,” the female informed you.

“then what’s the point of getting the surgery?” you scoffed, looking at spencer who was just staring off in space.

“while getting pregnant will still be difficult, maintaining the pregnancy is much more likely. the fetus would be more protected and secure after the surgery,” she explained with a pitiful smile, you couldn’t help but wonder how she could smile after giving you the worst news of your life.

“right,” you nodded curtly, allowing her to sense the mood of the conversation.

“i’ll leave you two be. i’m so sorry for your loss,” she gave the both of you a pitiful smile before exiting the room, the only sound audible being the closing of the door.

it didn’t feel real. it felt as though you were in a nightmare. only this time, you wouldn’t wake in spencer’s comforting arms. you wouldn’t hear the soft soothing voice of the man you love trying to calm you down. you wouldn’t feel the solace he would provide by merely being himself in your proximity.

the drive home was eerily quiet. there was an inkling of animosity between you. looking over at spencer in the driver’s seat, he had a dead look on his face, the only sign of previous emotion being his red-rimmed eyes and tear-stained cheeks. he didn’t even look like your spencer. he looked like a stranger in the drivers seat with a cold expression that you could barely read.

you knew this was something you should talk about. when the nurse came back in the room it was only to offer a few referrals go therapists that specialized in this kind of grief. clearly, any couple should talk about losing an unborn baby. but you knew that’s not what spencer was truly upset about.

you waited until you shut the door to your apartment before saying anything.

“maybe we should talk about it?” you whispered, not knowing how he’d react.

“about what? the fact that you’ve lied to me for our entire relationship?!” he wouldn’t even turn around to face you. “i thought we were in this together, y/n. we aren’t supposed to keep secrets from each other - especially not any that just killed our child!”

“hey…” you winced at his words. “why would you say that?”

“that’s the truth! your choices when you were a teenager just killed our child! my child!” he finally turned to face you, and you wished he hadn’t.

“do you think i knew they would botch my abortion, spencer?! do you think that’s what i wanted?!” you stepped closer to him, he sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

“i don’t know what you want anymore, y/n,” he shook his head, clearly exasperated.

“i want you. i want to get the surgery to fix my cervix. i want to grieve our child. i still want kids… with you, spencer,” you tried to ease the mood, calm him down. you reached your hand out to cup his cheek before he dodged your touch, afraid of touching you. “but you don’t want that?” you whispered so quiet, too afraid of the answer to raise your voice.

“i-“ he sighed and bit his lower lip. “i don’t know.”

“right. of course you don’t,” you shook your head before sitting on the couch, dropping your face in your hands.

“what’s that supposed to mean?” he scoffed as he took off his coat.

“it means that: of course, you’re making this about you! it can’t be about us grieving our loss together like the doctor recommended?!” you peeked between your hands at the man you still didn’t recognize.

“maybe we shouldn’t grieve together since we can’t even have a conversation without getting angry at one another,” he tried to reason.

“the only reason i’m getting mad is because you’re blaming me for my baby’s death,” you spat back at the doctor before you.

“because it’s your fault!” he stood strong in his belief. “when you were a teenager, did you or did you not have an abortion?”

“i did,” you admitted.

“and the nurse said that in said abortion, they screwed your cervix up! if you didn’t have that abortion, our child would still be alive! we would be on our way to become happy parents!” he accused, rubbing salt in the already stinging wound. “it’s your fucking fault!”

“stop saying that,” you shook your head and dropped it back in your hands, trying to hide the tears that began to flow down your face.

“it is, y/n! i can’t believe you’re even trying to say this isn’t!” he chuckled, clearly getting under your skin.

“shut up, spencer!”

“i can’t, y/n!” he sat in the chair across from you before standing back up, too hyper to sit. “no wonder it was so hard for you to get pregnant.”

“spencer,” you begged him to stop, meeting his face with your teary eyes.

“y/n,” he stared you in the eyes, and you saw a glimpse of the man you loved for a second before he retreated to the bedroom.

you sat on the couch in confusion of what had just occurred.

when you were 15, you’re boyfriend was adamant about taking your relationship “to the next step.” you didn’t think you were ready to have sex, but you wanted him to stay with you. so, you gave in. it just so happened to be that you were one of the lucky girls that ends up getting pregnant her first time in spite of birth control and a condom. you couldn’t tell your mom about your pregnancy, she’d have your head on a pole.

so, you earned enough money from your job to get an abortion yourself. you went to a clinic and had your boyfriend’s mom come with you to sign as your guardian. was it smart to get an abortion that cheap? probably not. but you had no other choice. your mom had made it abundantly clear that if she caught you fooling around with him that she’d kick you out.

you were 15. you were young and still had to finish high school. there was no support system for you. you would’ve been on the streets with a little baby - not to mention the amount of debt you’d go into for just giving birth to a child in a hospital. it was the only choice.

and now you were being berated for making the only choice you even had - and by the person you loved most in the world.

you curled into yourself on the couch, laying your head on the arm and crying into the fabric. you released all of the tension and turmoil. you held onto the cushions as if it were the man that you wanted - no, needed to comfort you. because as much as you’d hate to admit it and try to fight those thoughts, part of you thought that spencer was right. it was your fault.

you fell asleep on the couch that night. you didn’t have the strength to get up to grab a blanket so you just sucked it up.

spencer didn’t sleep at all. he was used to having you curled into his chest, or himself on yours. he felt terrible about how he had talked to you, but he was too stubborn to admit anything just yet.

in the middle of the night he went out of the room to grab a glass of water. he saw you curled up in a ball, you head resting on the arm of the couch as you slept. it was the most peaceful you looked in the past 24 hours. but you began shivering as you slept. you were probably too exhausted to get up to do anything.

he went to the hall closet on a detour and grabbed your favorite, soft blanket and laid it on top of your body. after placing a soft kiss on your forehead, he went into the kitchen and made his glass of water before taking one more glance at you. you had snuggled into the blanket, pulling it up to your chin with a gentle smile that always appeared when he kissed your forehead as you slept.

maybe he didn’t screw up too badly, after all.

the next few days were spent avoiding one another. spencer couldn’t face you after knowing you had kept something so dire from him for the entirety of your relationship. you couldn’t face him after he made you feel as though it was your fault you lost your baby.

you would stay on the couch all day, barely eating or drinking anything while spencer would go out - only mentioning the library or the office to do more paperwork. eventually he just started sleeping at morgan’s house - probably because he couldn’t stand being around you.

you didn’t know how to grieve your baby, you were hoping that spencer might help, but that clearly won’t be happening. on top of that, you were worrying about your marriage. he couldn’t even look at you, how was he supposed to talk to you and sleep beside you?

a lot of times, it’s perceived that the only reason women were put on this planet were to have children - of course that’s a false notion, but it didn’t make it sting any less. your body had betrayed you. you had betrayed yourself.

it was only 12 days after spencer left when he came back home, if he could call it that anymore. once he walked into the living room, he saw you curled up in that same position on the couch. you had a blank stare that was directed towards the black tv. the only evidence that you were doing something was the empty water bottles surrounding you - certainly not enough considering he’d been gone for over a week.

when he entered you didn’t even flinch. your gaze stayed on the empty screen and your face remained vacant of any emotion.

in all honesty, morgan was the one to tell spencer he should check on you. spencer hadn’t told him everything about your argument, he knew he was in the wrong. but he was just so angry. regardless, he was here now, and it’s a good thing he was.

you hadn’t been taking care of yourself. spencer had morgan and savannah checking on him, but you had nobody. he only realized this when morgan pointed it out. and as upset as he was, spencer would always love you. your expressionless face only worried him more. your clothes had been changed from when he last saw you, but he doubts you’ve had a shower.

he stayed silent as he began picking up the empty water bottles from around the table and couch. you looked at him quizzically with furrowed brows.

“what’re you doing?” you asked, your chin already quivering as tears threatened to stream down your face.

“i’m trying to help,” he whispered as sensitively as he could, making eye contact with the most pitiful face you’d ever seen.

“i think you’ve helped enough,” you rolled your eyes before resuming your serious stare-down with the television. “you can leave.”

“no, i can’t,” he replied, sitting down on the opposite end of the couch while being sure not to touch you - he didn’t know if you were ready for that.

“you already did,” you brought to his attention, briefly looking at him. “just go.”

“y/n, i-“

“i don’t want to hear it! what’re you gonna say that could make me feel worse, spencer?!” you let the tears fall past your waterline. “i know it’s my fault. i know i screwed up! and i’m sorry! i’m so sorry!” you replied with far too much sincerity, the tears streaming down your face before he scooted closer to you, planning on wrapping his arms around you. “stop! don’t come near me!” you pushed his shoulders away. “it’s my fault,” you lowered your voice significantly before wrapping your arms around yourself.

he had called emily as soon as he got back into the bedroom. he knew she had previously had an abortion when she was a teenager, and he just needed to hear her side of it. part of him didn’t even expect her to pick up the phone.

“reid, what’s wrong?” she immediately answered.

“i-i think i need to talk to you,” he whispered in a hushed tone.

“right now?” she asked in a mildly concerned tone.

“if you can? the sooner the better,” he answered honestly.

“alright. you want to meet somewhere or just come over?”

“can i just come over? it’s really personal and i wasn’t sure who else to go to,” he began tying his shoes and hoping she’d agree.

“of course, come on over,” she replied in a worried voice.

“ok. i’ll be there in twenty.”

he quietly left the apartment, not before sparing you a regretful glance. he lost his child, but you also lost your child as well. he just couldn’t control his anger. and partially, he thought he was right.

how could you not have told him about something so serious? the second you had began having issues getting pregnant, maybe you should’ve been open about previous pregnancies.

“hey,” emily greeted before giving him a hug after seeing his teary eyes. “come inside.”

“thanks,” he sniffled before stepping into her apartment.

she guided him into her living room and sat down on the couch beside him. they sat there for a few silent minutes before he was able to work up enough courage.

“y/n was pregnant,” he whispered, barely audible if she weren’t right beside him.

“was,” she pointed out, already feeling as though she knew the rest of the story.

“she uhm-she miscarried two weeks ago,” he somberly admitted for the first time to someone else. “the doctor said it was because she had an abortion when she was a teenager that somehow ruined her cervix.”

“and that’s why you felt like you needed to talk to me?” she gathered, she was a great profiler for a reason but this was far more obvious.

“i was pretty harsh. i-i told her it was her fault,” he bit his lower lip as he grimaced. “i really rubbed it in, too.”

“spencer… “ she sighed, taking a deep breath before continuing. “you’re mourning a life, right now. obviously, that would raise tensions and emotions would be heightened. but… have you apologized? for telling her it was her fault?”

“no?” he replied after thinking about it. “i was going to do that today but she’s… she’s not in good shape. i’m not saying she needs to be perfect, but while i was at derek’s i can tell she didn’t take care of herself. she barely drank any water.”

“did you ask her why she had an abortion? why she didn’t tell you? did you ask her anything about how she’s feeling?” emily asked once more.

“no,” he cowered down, feeling even worse about the truthful answer. “i was just… selfish. i didn’t think about how she’s feeling. i just-i feel so bad now, seeing what state she’s in.”

“when i got an abortion it was because i wasn’t ready for a child,” she began to inform him. “i was a child, myself. how was a child supposed to take care of another one? my mother would’ve been disgraced. i basically had nobody there for me. i kept it a secret because having an abortion is so controversial. i knew people would look at me differently for making a responsible decision for my future.”

“god, i feel so bad,” he began to tear up himself. “i love her so much and i told her these horrible things.”

“make it right, spencer,” she gave him a supportive smile and pat his thigh before he stood up.

“i-i have to go,” he wiped the tears from his face before giving emily a hug, grateful she would listen to him at such an ungodly hour.

he quickly drove back home, where he decidedly belonged in the first place. he never should’ve left home. he never should’ve left you. you were his home, and he didn’t know how he could possibly lose sight of that.

“y/n,” he cooed as he entered the apartment once more. it was noticeably a bit more clean. the trash was taken out, the dishes were done, and your hair was wet from a shower - he assumed. “hey,” he smiled when he saw you sitting on the bed, cheeks still red and tear-stained with red, puffy eyes.

“hi,” you sighed as you brushed your hair, spencer sat down beside you.

“how’re you feeling?” you shrugged. “i need to apologize to you,” he admitted, placing a hand on your thigh. “i’m so, so sorry for what i said. telling you that it’s your fault that we lost our child… i-there’s no excuse. i was clearly upset, but so were you. what i said was so out of line, and i’ll never be able to express how sorry i am to you.”

“you’re right,” you shrugged. “it was my fault.”

“no,” he rubbed his thumb on your skin. “it was not your fault. i’m so sorry i made you believe that.”

“when i was 15 my boyfriend at the time pressured me to have sex. we used a condom and i was in birth control but i still-i still ended up pregnant,” you began, taking a deep breath before continuing. “i couldn’t tell my mom because she would’ve kicked me out, so i saved up some money and had his mom take me to a cheap clinic. she signed as my mom and i got the procedure done. that was the end of it,” you finished tears streaming down your face. “a few weeks after the procedure i started having pains in like my lower back, but i didn’t think anything of it. so… it is my fault. i shouldn’t have gone to a cheap clinic, but i couldn’t live on the streets with a baby and no way to clothe or feed them.”

“y/n,” he got your attention, wiping the tears from your cheeks. “you were a teenager who had no other choice, love. it’s not your fault, it’s the clinic’s.”

“i just… it hurts so bad, spencer,” you shook your head in defeat before he wrapped his arms around you. “not even just emotionally, my body physically hurts so bad. i don’t know what to do and i thought i lost you and i didn’t know what i would do without you because i didn’t think you loved me anymore because it’s my fault,” you ranted out, sobbing into his shoulder before he moved the two of you around the bed to lay down, you on his chest.

“i’m so sorry you had to go through that, and that you’re still dealing with the repercussions,” he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “but know that i’m not leaving you. i love you and nothing will ever change that.”

“there’s nothing we can do now,” you whined, clutching to his shirt as if he’d disappear once more.

“we can go to the recommended therapy. we can get that surgery to fix your cervix,” he reminded you, rubbing circles onto your back as you sniffled. “then, if you’d like, we could try again for a baby.”

“so you still want to be with me?” you whispered by his ear, clearly worried of the answer.

“of course i do,” he said as if there were no other option; there wasn’t. “i’m so, so sorry, love.”

“the reason i didn’t tell you is because,” you sighed as you shuffled on top of spencer, now sitting on his lap and facing him. “because there’s this stigma that comes with having an abortion - and i didn’t know how you’d react. i also didn’t know it didn’t go well in the first place, but that’s a different story,” you chuckled. “i’m sorry. i should’ve told you about something so serious.”

“you don’t have to apologize,” he brushed a strand of hair from your face. “that was from your past. this is our future, we shouldn’t get caught up on it and allow it to ruin this.”

you nodded, “you’re right. are-are you staying here, now? or are you going back to derek’s?” there was an obvious look of hope in your eye that spencer never planned on squashing.

“i’m staying here,” he smiled. “home. you’re my home.”

“you’re so cheesy,” you rolled your eyes as a laugh left your lips.

“i’ve missed your smile,” he pressed a kiss to those very lips, your smile not going away but growing even bigger.

“i’ve missed you,” you pointed at his chest. “please don’t leave again.”

“i won’t. ever again,” you held your pinky out, he smiled and wrapped his own around it. “i’m so sorry.”

“we’ll work at it,” you sighed. “we’ll build back the trust and fix my stupid cervix and then maybe try again for a baby.”

over the next few months spencer and you had been going to therapy once a week, mourning the loss of your baby and working through your other issues.

five months after you found out about the miscarriage, you had the surgery to fix your cervix.

one year after you fixed your cervix you and spencer began talking about having a child. you were extremely nervous, rightfully so. you voiced your concerns to spencer about what if the surgery didn’t work? what if your cervix wasn’t the only issue? and he replied by reminding you that you would both take this one step at a time.

seven months after having the conversation with spencer about having children, a miracle had caught up to you.

you were pregnant.

taglist:

@averyhotchner

@greenprisca

@muffin-cup

@spenxerslut

@spencerreid9

@spencyreidpls

@spencerreid9

@spencersmagic

@calm-and-doctor

@the-local-pendeja

@spencersrose

@spencersmagic

@shemarmooresfedora

@pastelbabygirl19

if you’d like to be added to the taglist, please don’t hesitate to message me or leave a comment!

#tw pregnancy #tw miscarriage #tw abortion #tw abortion mention #tw depressive thoughts #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer #spencer reid angst #spencer reid comfort

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nightswithkookmin · 3 years ago

Text

Jimin is a pretty bOY

This is a continuation of our discussion on my last post. Thanks for sharing your thoughts with me, I think I agree with all of it.

Not sure how I feel about the calling eachother out bit or near scolding of others in the comments. Please let's be welcoming and respectful of others's thoughts regardless of whether or not we agree with it. It's ok to hold diverse views. We do after all come from different backgrounds and have accumulated different experiences and I think it plays out in how we see things. Everyone's opinion is valid. Plus, I purple yall.

Now, do I think he is trying to pack on muscles........? Yes. He said so himself in Festa when he said he would rush to the mirror when he thought he had gained some muscle only to find out his biceps looks like a muscled kindergartner.

He also said lately he's into exercising and staying in shape which is true because for quite sometime now since early this year he has been talking about how "weak" he is in their Vlives and have even given instances of him not being able to do certain things- certian simple and easy tasks- which is typical of him I'd say. He's always talking about how "weak" he is especially around JK and juxtaposing that with "but JK is so strong" which I'm sorry but I have to smirk at right now cos it's such a typical gay pick me simp thing to do. We've all been there.

Do I think he's trying to be a muscle bunny or revert back to his body shape around debut? Absolutely not. But I do think he is straddling the line of toxic masculinity which is what the conversation is about.

I don't think there's anything wrong with wanting to stay in shape or even enjoying work outs. Last night I ran downstairs because I had left my stew on the stove and now this morning I called renew my gym membership because I discovered running can be actually fun to do... No. No it's not. The gym instructor would have to come for me kicking and screaming.

RM have said even though JM looks skinny and fragile he is one of the strongest within the group. Besides, this is not the first time he's expressed interest in working out and building his body- hello, on Era?

I remember people complaining he looked too buffed up in that period on SNS and PJMs quickly jumping in to clear the searches for it. The choreo for On required agility and endurance and required the members- not just JM build up some definition in their muscles.

We've seen them go through all that. So it's not simply a matter of black and white staying in shape or doing it because he feels pressured to do so. Especially, when you consider that he's undertaken some pretty unhealthy measures in the past in attempts to lose weight or soften out his body post these muscle building, weight gaining periods and we've always chalked it up to his dance and how as a contemporary dancer he has to look a certain way or this or that to try to justify and make sense of it. Next you, know there are six chapters of break the silence of him talking about all the dark places he's been, the pressures to look his best for his fans or for his job and all these other painful stories he's shared with us over the years. And it's like, but why? Why do this to yourself?

I'll never forget the look he gave JK when JK was talking about wanting to build muscles in one of the interviews for the promotion of Be- I think I made a post on it. When JK noticed JMs disapproving glare he backtracked saying he would want to stay skinny after gaining all that muscles.

I mean if I'm to be honest, he was bound to crack at one point. The signs were there being surrounded by all these men who adhere to the traditional aesthetics of a masculine body- from Namjoon to Taehyung.

I wish y'all will steer the conversation in this direction and make it more about gender norms and expressions and breaking stereotypes and diversity in the body aesthetics of men.

Jimin is a man too. He just isn't what people traditionally will label masculine. Androgynous is more an apt word in my opinion. How many times have I said, I think Jungkook hetero passes because his body aesthetics is quintessentially what most associates with a masculine man?

Breaking gender barriers is not just about embracing feminine apparels- that teeters on cross dressing quite frankly and can be a bit performative and baity. Then you have to consider their culture in itself has an inherent pro gender diversity feel to it.

Now, let me explain my problem with the Klout ad campaign a little bit.

Do you see how Tae stands out? And I'm not saying this to fuel the "Tae was their fav" debacle. It's the 007 feel... I'll explain in a bit.

Most often, alcohol advertisers as well as most advertisements intended to sell to men often try to appeal to men's internalized ideals of masculinity or try to shape and define what a man or masculinity should look like. These ideals are so often toxic and detrimental to men and mostly women too.

Take a look at these ads for example. All I had to do was google search ads for men.

Real men drink milk and look at the image they present as real men. This blatantly implies if you don't look like this, if you are not a strong cliff climbing man with abs you are not a real man.

The second image is subtle. I call it the 007 slash Kingsmen-esque ideals of masculinity. It portrays men as sexy cool badass- works out but isn't too buff, filthy rich or middle class, wears Rolex, designer clothes, is kind but has a mean exterior and is every 13 year old wattpad girls's dream of a man. In fiction, you see this kind of masculinity in characters such as Edward cullens to Christian Grey. And a lot of ads for men alternate between these two ideals of masculinity.

Do you see how they modeled Taehyung in these ads after this kind of masctheme? Tae looks the same in almost all the ads. 007 sexy cool badass.

Now, I may not be a makeup beauty guru or MUA or whatever, but one thing I've picked up on especially when it comes to makeup for men- BTS and Kpop idols mostly is that, they soften out the harsh features on their faces and make them appear more androgynous or effeminate to suit the Kpop look and they ditch it entirely in different settings.

So for instance, Tae and Kookie's natural hawkish eyebrows tend to get softened around the arch and edges- don't know how the fuck they do that- but it appears less in your face intense most times when they wear make up in kpop related contents.

However, in certain other contents that lean towards a certain gender theme those features are emphasized. Not to say hawkish features are masculine features. Just saying in men, Kpop idols, my observation is they soften those features out with makeup or surgery.

Now, take a look at JM in these ads and look at everything from his posture, make up, hairstyle and brows. It's as if someone took an eraser to his androgynousity and erased his feminine side. Take a look at his photo above and compare it to the ads.

I am not a man. But I feel the gender look they went for, intended to appeal to men, tapped into a rather outdated stereotype of what man and masculinity should look like.

What is a man?

What should a man look like?

What aesthetics of masculinity is Jimin gravitating towards now? And I'm not talking clothes, I'm talking the expression of his gender. Time and again, he's talked about how looking a certain way made him uncomfortable in the past because he was constantly fighting his feminine side. He is androgynous. Sometimes he leans more into his feminine side. Other times he leans more into his masculine side but this is the only time he's leaning into his masculinity that makes me uncomfortable to watch because like I said it bothers on toxic masculinity.

He's said whoever he was, the version fighting to look masculine, that wasn't him. So forgive me if I worry whenever i see him suppressing his feminine side and acting like 'one of the boys.' Him staying in shape is not synonymous with him erasing a valid part of himself or suppressing it. He can stay in shape, celebrate his masculinity and still be FILTER.

What I'm saying is, this not a conversation about him exercising. This is a conversation about an ad erasing his feminine side and boxing him into a narrow expression of his gender and how that might be affecting his view of himself especially in the way he's been gravitating towards a certain masculine aesthetics and how that could be toxic.

Tae has said the same thing and BTS have agreed the JM as of 2019 was the real JM according to them.They said he was that way- suppressing his feminine side, because there weren't much songs and choreos that suited him and so he had had to bend himself to fit with the others.

And so when I see him leaning a certain way I tend to wonder if his exterior environment is playing a role in that. I hope you can understand that.

He is a contemporary dancer and strength and flexibility are prerequisites for his craft. The company go out of their way to incorporate contemporary dance in their choreos for JM's sake which helps solve that problem of him trying too hard to look a certain way.

May be I'm projecting. May be my little brother is effeminate and I've always recommended Jimin as a role for him to tell him not to try to look different just because other boys look different. May be I've seen him try one too many times to kill himself in the gym trying to build on muscles and getting frustrated with himself because he ends up looking like someone else. You can't gym the queerness away. Society will never let you be who you want to be so you might as well flip it the middle finger.

These boys are being shaped by their environment. I hate to say this but the environment they are in isn't exactly progressive and the longer they stay in there cut off from the outside world...

Flying out helps. Meeting different people and being exposed to different cultures and conversations on gender expression helps.

Anywho, these are just concerns I have. Will have them till I see that's not where he is headed towards. But let's not act like these ad campaigns do not and can not psychologically impact these boys especially as these advertisers are not looking to tap into their own definition of gender and masculinity but shape it and redefine it to appeal to the demographic they intend to market to.

I think this is just a grey area for me. Rather than try to change JM to look a certain way in order to sell alcohol. I think the ground breaking thing would be to have a man who looks like JM show us how someone like him would sell a can of drink. I think that would be revolutionary.

Signed,

GOLDY

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ysvall · 3 years ago

Text

Maybe parties are not that bad

Summary: You and Tom were best friends for years, always there for each other. He liked parties, you didn’t, but you were there for him. When he came to you with another party idea you wanted to disagree, remembering the previous one. However, you couldn’t left him all alone. Well, maybe the party will end somehow good for you.

Tom Hiddleston/Reader

Warning: smut, explicit content, weapon mentions, confessions and some naughty kinks such as choking, spanking, Dom/sub, marking and so on.

This fan fiction was originally posted on Ao3 by me, so, enjoy :) Words: 7032

“Remember how funny it was last time?” Tom asked you while you were in the dressing room, choosing some clothes.

“We’re not going to make a drunk party again,” you shouted behind the curtains.

That party was something else, a lot of drunk people all over Tom’s house, everyone tried to make out with anybody. It was extremely hard for you and Tom to kick everyone out of the house and after you’d done it he simply fell asleep so you needed to clean up the house. You smiled as you remembered it, it was actually funny somehow.

“Come on, I promise it won’t end like the previous one,” he opened the curtain to look at you with his puppy eyes that were really convincing.

“Hey, close it,” you yelled at him and punched his chest. Actually, you were a little excited as he stepped in your dressing room.

“What haven’t I seen,” he mumbled, grabbing your hand as you tried to punch him again. “How long have I known you? And you’re still ashamed. By the way, you’re clothed and that dress is really nice, you should buy it,” he said, looking at you in the mirror.

“Asshole,” you turned around to face him and those puppy eyes were still staring at you. “I’m not ashamed but don’t look at me like you look at all of your women. Also, don’t you dare think that I agree because of that stupid compliment,” you pointed your finger at him.

“I knew you’d say yes. I’ll wait for you outside,” he said and closed curtains.

You and Tom were best friends for ages, always there for each other. No matter how difficult situation was, you knew you would have his support and he would have yours. It was some nice type of relationship, you knew everything about his girlfriends, he knew about your partners, you could even complain about your frustration after another disappointing date. You two spread gossips, did shopping, went on vacations, hanged out together, drunk on your birthdays. You were kind of a comfort person for each other because you were sure there would never be any judgment between you. He reassured you that he was a great friend almost every day.

Meanwhile, there wasn’t any idea about romance because it seemed strange. You liked him a bit because he definitely was hot, but you couldn’t not lose a friend like him so you’ve elected to ignore any feelings. You had never talked about your feelings towards each other so you didn’t know if it was somehow mutually. You didn’t care much though.

“Alright, tell me mister, how the hell are you going to make it work? I mean, I didn’t like cleaning up your house while you were asleep, and I definitely didn’t like your drunk friends’ hands all over my body trying to sleep with me. We were drunk as hell but maybe this time we can think twice about guests?” You started speaking when you reached his car waiting for you just like he said - on the outside.

“Wait, did someone tried to fuck you?” he turned himself to you, you could hear anxiety in his voice.

“Yup, I thought you noticed,” you answered. You wasn’t scared that day because you always had little knife in your wallet and you knew that Tom would notice if you disappeared in the middle of the party. No matter how drunk he was, he would notice your absence.

“If I noticed, I would done something. I’m so’s sorry, I cannot even think about what would happened,” he started palming his finger, avoiding your gaze.

“Hey, hey, don’t worry, everything is ok. Can we just invite less people this time. I know it’s your party but,” he looked at you and you stopped as you saw tears in his eyes. “Come on, everything is fine, I’m here as you can see and I’m not planning to vanish in the air. Stop it, it’s not your fault, you hear me? Look at me,” you cupped his cheeks and made him look at you, his eyes still red a little. “Everything is fine, don’t worry. Don’t overthink please, let’s go get alcohol instead. And you know that I have a knife, right?” you chucked, making him laugh.

Tom was always protective, he didn’t want anything happen to you. He wanted you to be safe with and without him. He cared so much because you mattered a world for him, he was so happy to have a friend like you around. You made him smile, helped him, cared about him and you didn’t ask for everything in return, you did it because you liked it. He appreciated it so much and he would die if something happens to you. He knew you would be the perfect partner, but he didn’t want to lose you and never said it to you out loud. He wanted it but the price was too high.

The party night was almost there and you’d already done a lot of preparations. It wasn’t your responsibility, you just wanted to help as you were going to ruin Tom’s house. You had extra keys so it wasn’t a problem for you to enter whenever you wanted. You parked your car outside, picked some bottles and plastic cups and headed to the door. It was Thursday and Tom, obviously, wasn’t working that day because the first thing you saw as you entered was him sleeping on the couch, barely wearing something. “At least he’s wearing shorts, right? Thanks God for that, that would’ve been embarrassing,” you thought and went to the kitchen, trying not to wake him up. It wasn’t usual for him to sleep at the day time, so he must’ve been really tired. You opened the fridge and put bottles in there, cups in the cupboard. You were quite as a mouse, not even breathing, you thought. Anyway, you’ve decided to go home - you had some duties to do and you didn’t want to disturb Tom any longer. You knew he didn’t like it when someone woke him up.

“You’re not as quite as you think you are,” he said in a sleepy voice as you were picking up your bag. You almost shivered when you heard that deep voice, what this man was doing to you. You stopped and looked at him. His eyes were still closed, one arm under the head and another one hugging a pillow.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t want to wake you up, you’re much better when you’re not talking,” you smirked, knowing it would definitely wake him. You didn’t want at first but it was so funny, joking every time you’re together.

“Oh, you noisy little bitch,” he covered his face with his pillow to avoid sunlight, “what are you even doing here, mixed up the houses?” his voice was muffled because of the pillow. You didn’t answer, instead you took a pillow from the nearest sofa and threw at him. “Hey, what’s that for?” he took the pillow out of his face, confused, looking at you.

“For the bitch. I just brought some bottles and cups, we have everything else as I remember and,” you didn’t finish because he threw a pillow in you, that was so unexpected so you almost fell, somehow. He just laughed, taking another pillow. “And what are we going to do, a pillow fight?” another pillow right in your chest, right when he nodded. You threw one at him, but he caught it and threw back immediately. You took it, went straight to him and punched him with that pillow.

“That’s enough, dear, stop it,” he grabbed you arms so you couldn’t move, while he was taking away the pillow and putting it next to him. “Are you okay?” he asked you. “You look like a tomato,” he added after a while.

“Thank you, honey, that’s what every woman wants to hear, good job,” you smiled and stood up, making your way to the door. “I’m fine, by the way, thanks for asking,” you picked your bag again and opened the door.

“Close it! See you tomorrow,” he yelled from the living room, probably going to sleep more. You just obeyed and left.

You stood in front of the mirror, choosing earring to match your outfit. You didn’t like to think about your clothes much, but getting ready for parties always excited you. You just wanted to look good and stunning among everyone else. You decided to wear that dress you bought a few days ago, it was black, silk, little and it suited you nicely. You fixed your makeup, brushed your hair and gave a final look to your reflection. You looked beautiful, you knew you would be able to seduce a guy or two if you wanted but you didn’t. You wanted to seduce the only one guy but you wouldn’t allow yourself to do it. You took your bag, wore your heels and cleft the house.

At first you wanted to order a cab, but you’ve decided to drive yourself so you went to the parking lot. You picked some music and turned it on, driving throw London streets right to Tom’s house. You sang at the top of your lungs, shaking your head to the rhythm. You didn’t even notice how you ended up in his district. You parked your car outside of his house, like you always did, put on some lipstick one more time and opened the door. You didn’t know how are you going to come back home because driving drunk was a bad idea and you would never done this. Maybe you’d catch a cab and took your car the next day. It was the plan now.

You were not even late but it seemed that the party there for hours. You locked your car and headed to the front door. You knocked twice, then rang the doorbell. You surprised when Tom actually opened the door, you thought he wouldn’t hear or would be busy with some girl. He looked at you, eyes all over your body, his gaze went up and down, and up, and down, you could hear how he gasped.

“Stop doing it,” you said, looking directly at his eyes. You liked how speechless he was but you knew he should stop, so you wouldn’t do anything inappropriate.

“What?” he finally met your gaze, staring at him and gasped again.

“Scanning me over and over again and gauging me,” you helped him to understand. Was music quieter or louder? You couldn’t say, he was all you care about.

“I’m not, I just. Damn, dear, you look awesome. Is it a dress I told you’re pretty in?” You nodded. “Well, forget about it, because you look gorgeous,” you felt yourself started blushing but you cut it off really quickly. He continued staring at you.

“Thank you, mister. You look nice yourself too,” you admitted, he wore a costume and he looked good wearing them. You were wondering how many costumes did he have because you’ve never seen this one before. “Anyway, it supposed to start in five minutes, no?” you asked, trying to forget about his eyes on your body. “And how many drinks have you already taken?”

“Only one. Yes, it supposed to, but my friends decided to come earlier. Much earlier, actually,” he mumbled. You were still outside somehow.

“Why? And may I come in?” you continued asking him.

“You didn’t ask the previous time you entered my house. They came about two hours ago and I have no idea why. I’m not wasted yet only because I was waiting for you,” he added, leading you to the living room.

You looked around. This time there were less people and you appreciated that he listened to you. As always there was a couple in the kitchen, some depressed guys, and the drunkest one. Good. At least there were that much people. You didn’t like crowded places at first, you were on those parties only because of Tom. And as you knew, every eyes were on you as you entered. You scanned the entire room, not noticing how Tom’s jaw clenched as everyone looked at your legs and dress, neck and face. You knew all those people and you even enjoyed some of them.

“Well, hello everyone. How are you all doing?” you started politely, still sober and a little bit shy. Everyone started greeting you, ask some questions. Somehow you ended up in the kitchen with the guy named Frank.

“I actually loved that movie too,” you took another tequila shot and smiled, looking at him. You’ve never spoken with him before.

“Yes, I know, it’s incredible, right? I loved acting and scenario, it deserves Oskar, don’t you think?” He took a sip of his beer, looking at your thighs and your breast and then back at your face.

“If you look one more time, I’ll do anything to kick you out of this house. Believe me, I can and you should know it by now,” you said like you were completely sober. You understood why you’ve never talked to him.

“Why is that? Because you’re fucking Tom? That’s why you can do it?” he was tempting you. You didn’t like it when people started thinking that you’re together because you were disappointed that it wasn’t true and also you were strong and independent. Why nobody could see it if you’re friends with a powerful man?

“Oh, darling, you have no idea what I’m capable of. Those chicks he’s fucking would never stand next to me. You better do what I said and this evening will end nice for both of us,” you finished and left him alone, cursing you as you headed to the second floor.

You walked to the balcony, holding the glass with whiskey - you took it right before you left Frank alone. You sipped your drink, barely recognising that you were drinking. You just liked the taste and how it burned a little. You weren’t drunk at all, you had some some kind of a superpower not to get drunk after many drinks. You stood here, music wasn’t that loud upstairs, it was empty. Only you, your drink and a nice view to the Tom’s garden. You really liked this atmosphere until you saw Tom in that garden talking to some girl. You didn’t remember her name and you didn’t like what you see. You drank everything to the end and left the balcony.

You went downstairs, took another glass of whiskey. You saw some gazes from Frank from the corner of the room but you didn’t care. Suddenly you heard giggles from the back door. And there they were.

“Hey guys, I was thinking, maybe we could play ‘truth or dare’ or something,” started the girl in a high annoying voice. She stayed right next to Tom. After drinks you became more possessive, but still not drunk.

“That’s childish, Beth,” Tom said, surprised.

“Are you an old man, Tom? It would be funny, come on,” you heard Frank’s voice. Everyone was staring at him, waiting for his answer. He growled and agreed. You went and set down on the armchair, crossed your legs, bouncing your hand with the glass.

“Alright, everyone knows the rules, I guess,” started Beth, almost laying on Tom’s shoulder. You just rolled your eyes. She was trying to get his attention for months, maybe he finally decided to get into it. “I’ll start then. Tom, truth or dare?” he didn’t even turned his head to answer her.

Where did he meet her and why he was talking to her so many? Maybe she was nicer when she was sober. You didn’t hear his answer. You saw it instead. He kissed her. She was running her fingers through his hair, almost moaned in front of everyone. You heard some whistles from the boys. “Nice show,” you thought, squeezing the glass in your hand. You’d broke it if you didn’t hear Tom’s voice.

“Truth or dare, Frankie?” his breathing was heavy. Wow, so nice. Why were you so jealous and why now? You couldn’t answer.

“Truth,” he said and earned some comments that he’s not interesting. “Guys, calm down, I’ve drunk too much to do something”.

“Who’d you like to hook up with? Come on, don’t be shy, we won’t judge you,” said Tom, sitting more comfortably, spreading his legs as always.

“If I answer, I will be kicked out of the house,” he started, mumbling. Tom reassured him that he’d protect him and with that Frank answered. “With her,” he pointed at you. Everyone buzzed, knowing that it’s going to be a show. You wanted this show somehow. You raised a glass and smiled, looking at him. Tom cleared his throat, saying that we should continue.

“I’ll kick your ass, Frankie-boy,” you said and stood up to refill your glass. Everyone laughed and continued playing. There were more stupid truths and dares. You turn came after six or seven people.

“Dare,” you said after you were asked.

“Do something interesting to every guy in this room,” said Chad. You didn’t exactly want to do it, but you wanted a show. You wanted to make him jealous, while you weren’t even sure if it’d work.

“Who am I, a slut?” You asked in a picky voice, smirking and taking a sip after.

“Come on, it’s a game, don’t be a nun”.

You gave your attention to everyone. Ran through hair, kissed cheek, left a hickey, hold hands. You even set on someone’s lap for some seconds. And then it was Tom’s turn. You left him until the end, wanted him to enjoy the show. You still were friends and it’d be funny to joke about later. You came from behind, started massaging his shoulders and chest, softly but persistently kissing his neck. It didn’t last long so, you didn’t want to get suspicious. And after that you left and went upstairs again.

You went at the same balcony, judging yourself.

“You stupid little girl, he’s your best friend, what were you thinking about,” you talked to yourself, walking back and forward on his balcony. “You would ruin everything, you cannot do it. You could’ve said that it’s because of the alcohol but he know you so well, he’ll never believe you,” you stopped for a moment, listening to the voices downstairs. He was there, that’s good. “You should calm down your jealousy and stop thinking about it,” you whispered to yourself and took a breath.

You leaned over the handrails and took a final sip of your drink. You could feel how aroused you were, kissing his neck, feeling his strong muscles under your hands, hearing his deep breathing - you knew neck kissing was his weakness, he told you once. You remembered how Frank asked if you were fucking him and you almost moaned of this thought, but it wasn’t real.

“What was that about?” you heard deep voice behind you.

“What do you mean?” You didn’t turn around to face him, you knew it was Tom.

“All of this. It was a show, I know you well. What for?” he didn’t move, you could say because his voice wasn’t closer to you. “Who was it for?”

“Does it matter? Hey, why aren’t you fucking that girl, what was her name again, Bet?” you asked, trying to divert the conversation. “I thought you like her,” you smirked.

“Beth. You know I don’t like her, you would’ve known,” he said and you finally decided to turn to face him. He did one step forward. “Answer me, what was that show for? Don’t say me that it wasn’t a show. You don’t act like that in public, you go to this parties only because of me,” as he said - he knew you well. You didn’t know what to answer. You usually did, but not now. You wanted to ignore your feelings as you said to yourself three minutes ago until he showed up. “Tell me”.

“No,” you turned back to the garden, not planning to continue this conversation.

“Maybe I can tell it for you,” he said. “You were jealous when you saw me and Beth from here, but you didn’t want to bring that up. Then, when I kissed her in that stupid game, you almost broke your glass and decided to make a little show,” you could hear his smirk. He didn’t say anything for a while. “Jealousy,” he said. “Am I wrong?” You shivered when his breath touched your ear. You didn’t hear him coming that close. You weren’t moving, trying to avoid his body and in the same time you wanted to lean back to finally fell him in the way you wanted.

“Yes,” you said quietly, “you’re wrong”.

“Don’t lie to me,” he turned you to face him. You just hugged him and apologised. You didn’t know why you’ve done this, you felt that it was the only way out of this situation. The only way when you’re not making a mistake. He held you in his arms, hugging you tighter, playing with your hair and saying that everything is fine. Just like you did a couple of days ago.

“No, it’s not. It’s not fine. I should go, I just… Sorry, Tom, I’m really sorry,” you mumbled, sobbing.

You almost ran to the stairs but he was faster. When you were passing his room he grabbed your hand and pulled you in, closing the door, pressing you to it. And then he kissed you. Softly, at first, wiping your tears.

“What was that?” you asked, shocked. That was the moment of realisation. He wanted it, he wanted you, he kissed you. He had feelings for you too or maybe he decided to calm you down that way. That thought hurt. “Don’t play with me, I’m not one of your stupid girls. Don’t play with me, Tom, just don’t. Please,” you didn’t finish because he kissed you again, passionately this time, his hands cupping your face as he played with your tongue. You left a soft moan and he growled into kiss. You didn’t like that you were getting wetter each second, you still thought he was using you. You pulled out. “Don’t use me. Say me what are your intentions or I’ll go throw that door and you’ll never see me again. It’s better to say that you were too drunk tomorrow than do something wrong now. What do you want?” you looked in his eyes. There were not lust and desire in them, there was something deeper.

“I would never treat you like I treat them. I would never use you, I would never play with you, I would never hurt you. Never. I wanted to feel you for so long, I was holding myself back not to punch Frank as he told that he’d like to make out with you or those guys you were hanging around during the game. I care about you so much, trust me. I’m not able to hurt you. I didn’t want to say you about my feelings because I didn’t want to lose you. And then you were kissing and touching them, and then you were touching me and I needed to do something, so I came to you. God, I was so jealous but you know what? I saw that you were jealous and I thought a little. I thought about your gazes, your words, your movements. I understood that maybe, just maybe there is a little chance that you want something more. Do you?” He was looking at you, as you were almost crying because of his words. No men ever told you something like this. It was so good to hear it from Tom, hear that he was jealous, that he wouldn’t do anything to you. You trusted him, completely. You were astonished of how passionate he was during his speech, how reassuring, how caring. Your would melt if you could.

“I do,” you nodded and continued, “thank you. I wish I’ve told it earlier”.

“Me too, darling,” he kissed you again, this time more deeply, more needy.

You moaned as he went down to the neck. You pulled your head back, opening more space to him. He growled as he kissed you, his hands now exploring your hips. He didn’t stop when he lifted you, holding you carefully yet passionately, squeezing your ass. You wrapped your legs around his waist and tried to unbutton his shirt. It worked until he moved lower, leaving kisses from your neck to your breast, thanks for the dress there was a lot of skin opened. You moaned again, louder now as he came back to your lips and kissed you. He was holding you pressed to the door, one hand caring your hips, another went to your breast. He touched your nipple throw the silk material and you gasped at the sensation. You wasn’t wearing a bra, not with this dress. You couldn’t think about everything but his hand on your breast and his tongue in your mouth. He moved to another nipple, taking your dress down to feel your bare skin. He never stopped kissing you.

Somehow you freed from that sweet torture and stood on your already shaking legs. You looked at him, he was confused. You get down on your knees in front of him, earning a gasp from him. Your hands were stroking his cock throw the fabric and he moaned. Not as loud as you before but it was a pleasure to hear him moaning because of you. You unfastened the belt and pulled down his trousers. You gasped at the sight. One night he told you it was big, but that was something beyond your imagination. You did even think that you wouldn’t be able to take it all.

“Do you like the view?” He asked, waiting for you to do something. You nodded and smirked. “Did you just smirk? Darling, it was a mistake,” he lifted you of the floor and positioned you against the door but now your breast were pressed to it, not your back.

Your sensitive from his hands nipples met the surface and you gasped. You ass were not pressed tightly and you were wondering what was going to happen next.

“You’re going to be a good girl as I punish you. You better not be smirking right now or I’ll add another five spanks to ten I’ve planned. You count. And don’t be loud yet,” he was waiting for you to reply. Was it to much? But then you nodded.

His hand pulled your dress up, opening him a sight of your bare ass. He squeezed it few times, not going further to your inner thighs. He was definitely into teasing. He smacked you softly, hardly taking his hand out of you. You thought that it is going to be like that for a second. And then he slapped your left cheek, you screamed to the door in front of you, your breath hitched. Pain was overwhelming but it excited you. You liked pain, you liked when someone did it to you but no one ever have done it that good.

“One,” you said, suddenly remembering that you should, no, must count.

“Good girl, you’re such a good girl for me and I didn’t even know about it,” he leaned and whispered it in your ear, touching it with his lips. You moaned quietly. “I liked that you were so quiet when I spanked you,” you wanted to answer but he slapped you three more times at the same place. You yelped as he did it and counted. He hadn’t done anything for a while and then his hand met your right cheek. Your skin wasn’t burning here before, but it was now. It was a strong hit. Next three he decided to mix, so you was surprised and unprepared every time he slapped you. You whimpered and moaned as quiet as you can, you were soaking wet and you knew he could feel it if he change his hands’ direction a little.

“Nine,” you cried out. This time he spanked right in the middle, his large hand covered most of your cheeks.

“Do you like it?” he asked, enjoying the view of his work. He did like it and he wanted to hear that you too. Still caring, as always. You nodded, not able to talk. “Prepare yourself, we have a last one,” he said.

“Ten, oh my god, ten,” you screamed as his hand met your core with a heavy smack. He touched everything that you wanted him to touch. And then were seven more. You didn’t expect him, he did all of hits in a row, not giving you a second to rest. It wasn’t that hard and painful, but after ten smacks you was shaking, your legs were trembling and he hold you to help you. “What were those for?” you breathed heavily, putting all your weight on him.

“For every single guy you paid your attention to,” he mumbled and helped you to straight up in front of him.

“Possessive bastard,” you chucked and leaned to kiss him but he grabbed your throat and pressed you to the door again. You hissed when your ass met its surface.

“Choose your words carefully, darling,” he said looking in your eyes. “Next time you’ll receive some more spanking but not today”.

He took his hand out of your throat and kissed you. You weren’t sure how it worked but you moved him so he was the one pressed to the door now. You continued what you’ve started. Get on your knees, stroking his cock with your hand in a slow movements, squeezing it a little and then circling the tip with your thumb. He thrusted into your arm, asking you to do something else. You wanted him to be in control so you obeyed. You took the tip of it, licking the pre-cum, circling the tip as you did with your thumb. Your hand was holding it at the base, stroking it. He growled and positioned his hand on your head, pulling you down on it and you chocked. You started sucking on it, using your tongue to add more sensations, still stroking it at the base because you were not able to take it all. He wrapped your hair around his fist and pushed you down on his cock, it was deep down your throat, your nose pressed to his stomach, tears running throw your cheeks as you moaned down on his cock, sending the vibrations all over it.

“You’re such a slut, you were right. You are mine slut and you would do anything to please me. You’d left your mouth wide open for me as I fucked it,” he groaned again, pulling his hips towards your face, somehow he was even deeper now. After few more seconds he pulled you out, turning your face so you could see him. Ruined mascara, eyes full of tears, red and swollen lips.

“My perfect slut, ready for me to ruin you. God, I wish you could see yourself now. Perfect for me, you’re enjoying this,” you tried to nod but you couldn’t because of his fist in your hair. “Yes, I know you are. I’d left you down on my cock for hours just to see this pretty ruined face again,” you wanted to take him again and licked your lips. He immediately pushed you back, holding you by your hair he thrusted into you almost aggressively, you chocked but still took all of him. You were sure that you could do it and you wanted to do it. After few more thrusts he stopped down your throat again, holding you there for two minutes. Your breathing was hitched, you tears never stopped and your tongue was working all over his length. He pulled out and in a few deep, hard thrusts he came down your throat as you moaned and swallowed every drop.

“That’s my good girl,” he nodded and lifted you from the floor, leading you to the bed. You’ve slept in it few times, but never this way. You shivered one more time, remembering about your own pleasure you haven’t received yet.

He leaned you on the bed, crawling on top of you and kissed you, ripping your dress apart, promising that he would buy the same one to you. He went down to your neck, then your breast and took one of your nipples in his mouth, licking and sucking on it, using another hand to rub another nipple. You moaned at that feeling, pulled your hips up unconsciously - you could see him smirking over your breast. After a while he did the same with another nipple, they were red, peaky and sensitive now, it was enough attention to them. After he finished, he went down, leaving sloppy kisses on your ribs, stomach.

He returned to your lips one more time, left one fast kiss and went to your thighs, massaging them. You could feel his breath on your inner thighs as he kissed you, moving higher. You left a soft moan, a whimper as he started slowly taking your panties off. When he was done, he returned to your wet core. He rubbed little circles on your swollen clit, looking directly in your eyes. You pulled yourself up to his finger, but he took it off. While you were questioning what the hell happened, he positioned two fingers next to your entrance, greasing them with your arousal. He didn’t do anything for a while and you started to think that he changed his mind for some reason. But then, he pushed them deep inside of you, making you scream of a sudden. He pulled them in and out in some slow, deep thrusts, not giving you what you needed. You spread you legs wider, hoping that he’d understand your desires. Even if he did, he never gave into it. After few more thrusts, he leaned to your core, licking at your clit, barely touching it.

“Tom, please,” you moaned and grabbed his curly hair, holding him down so he was not able to tease you any longer. You knew he wouldn’t like it but you didn’t care. You needed his mouth on you. He, actually, stopped teasing you, his fingers were almost angrily pumping into you, while he was doing something extremely good with his tongue. You orgasm approached quickly as you wanted to release for a long time. You were clenching around his fingers and earned a growl from him.

“Cum for me, you’ve been a good girl,” he said and curled his fingers in your pussy, adding third and leaving circles on your clit with his mouth. “Scream my name, darling, cum, you deserved it,” he mumbled against your clit.

“They’ll,” you whimpered, “they’ll hear me,” you couldn’t hold yourself back anymore.

“Let them, let them hear who is making it to you, who is making you cum,” he pulled his fingers, his arm went to grab your breast.

“Oh my god, Tom, oh yes, sir, Tom,” you screamed as you came, shouting his name like a prayer, rocking your hips against his head. You were sure it was the best orgasm in your life. You took your hand out of his hair and positioned it on your chest. You were breathing heavily, but you almost stopped when you saw him sucking on his fingers, clearing them up. Even though you just had your release that turned you on.

“As I said, you’re a good girl for your,” he looked at you, smirking, “how was that? Sir?” you blushed as he said it, you didn’t even notice how it happened because of pleasure. “Come on,” he said, offering you a hand to help you. You gave him a confusing look, until you ended up in his armchair, it was big as it was a throne or something.

He positioned you on his lap, looked at you and kissed you. You could taste yourself as he kissed you, and you could feel that he was hard again. The feeling of his hard cock pressed to your tight caused another wave of wetness dripping from your cunt. You went down on his neck, sucking on it, biting, leaving a hickey. You wanted everyone to know who’s he was. He moaned and rocked his hips to yours, his hands wrapping around your waist.

He couldn’t wait any longer, he positioned the tip of his cock to your entrance, rubbed a few little circles at your clit for you to relax. He slid you down on his cock in a one deep thrust. You’ve never felt so full, it was like he was in your stomach. You cried out because of his size, he was holding your hips not letting you to slid out of him. Tom stayed inside of you, giving you some time to adjust before lifting you up so he was almost out of you. After fullness you’ve experienced, you felt empty without him, wanting to slid down again, but he was holding you so you couldn’t do it.

“Ride me,” he said in a husky voice, sending shivers to your spine. You didn’t answer, you just obeyed, positioning your hands on his shoulders. You landed yourself on his cock, lifted you up and down, taking all of him. You did it over and over, you tossed your head back. “Eyes on me,” he said and you looked at him. His usually good-looking hair were a mess, sweat drops was in his forehead, his eyes darker because of lust and desire. “You’re such a submissive good girl to me. Taking me so well without any hesitation. Will you be my personal slut? What do you think?” You just moaned, fasten your pace. Your breast were beautifully lifting, you could feel your juices down on your thighs. “Answer me,” he spanked you. Your ass were still sensitive from spanking so you whimpered.

“I’m whatever you want, sir. If you want me to be your slut, I’ll be, Tom. It feels so good, you feel so good,” you whispered, looking at him. “You’re so big in me, nobody made me feel so good, so full, sir,” you were shaking, you didn’t realise that you were close.

“You cum when I say,” he demanded and took your hips. He was in charge now. His fingers were bruising your hips, bouncing you on him, making you moan and whimper loudly every time he slid you down on his cock. He bucked his hips toward yours, making you feel him even deeper. He stayed here for a moment and then continued, moving both you and himself, your pussy was clenching around him, you wanted to cum. You tried to say something, to ask for permission, but you couldn’t do it. He placed one of his hands in your clit, rubbing it. You rolled your eyes, pressed yourself to him so you could feel his bare chest.

“Tom, I need to-, I need to cum, please, sir,” you cried, holding your orgasm back as much as you can.

“Cum for me, cum all over my cock, let me hear you as you cum. Let me make you feel good, you’re my good girl,” he said.

“Tom, thank you, Tom, you’re making me feel so good, oh fuck, oh god, sir, Tom,” you shouted as you came, aching your back so you were pressed to him even more, your cunt was squeezing his cock, while he was still moving inside of you. He pulled himself as deep as he could and came, moaning your name, you could feel warmth inside of you. He growled and looked at you and then kissed you. It wasn’t a passionate kiss, it was caring.

He pulled himself out and lifted you to the bed, his cum mixed with your juices dripping down your thighs.

“I’ll make a mess,” you said tiredly, as he adjusted a pillow to you.

“You’d never,” he said. He left to grab the towel and only now you could here the music downstairs. You started blushing as you thought of your screams.

“What’s wrong?” he asked as he cleaned you, carefully, not wanting to touch your red ass.

“Everyone must’ve heard me,” you said, not able to look at him.

“It doesn’t matter because they’re so drunk, so they won’t remember. And it doesn’t matter because you’re my good girl,” he leaned to kiss you once again.

“Thank you. Shouldn’t we come back? I mean, downstairs,” you asked, not wanting to do it.

“They’ll come home in an hour, I don’t want to leave you and to share you with someone else tonight,” he stopped for a second, “not only tonight. I was an asshole, why haven’t I noticed that you liked me?”

“I haven’t either. I guess we’re two dummies, who just didn’t want to lose each other. Well, good for us that we didn’t,” you chucked, pushing him down to you. “Stay with me, why were you sitting on the edge of the bed like it’s my room?” you laughed a little.

“We’re two dummies, you’re right. I won’t let you go now,” he hugged you, drawing circles on your back.

“Good, because my car is parked outside and I drank four tequila shots. And also, o don’t want you to let me go,” you looked at him again.

“I would never let you go,” he murmured and kissed you.

Your eyes closed and you started to fall asleep, breathing peacefully next to Tom. After all, he was always there for you and you for him. It just ended up like it supposed to, like it was mentioned to be. None of you lost someone and you felt great because of that. You could feel how he hugged you tighter and whispered something in your ear. You couldn’t understand what it was, but you knew that it was something sweet and nice. In the end he was yours and you was his.

#fanfic #tom hiddelston x reader #tom hiddleston #tom hiddelston imagine #choking #marking

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silverthetheorist · 4 years ago

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Wilbur returning as a writer is good (and why it will be an uphill battle)

I am back I guess. I disappeared for a while, which I tend to do. Anyways, my point today is explaining why Wilbur returning as the writer of the SMP is the best possible thing for the server. I’ve seen a lot of hate towards Wilbur and his writing, people say it was too focused on his own character and leaving everyone else out except for Tommy, to which I say.... Have you seen Season 2? They could have renamed the SMP the “Tommy, Techno, and no one else SMP”

Before showing proof to how Wilbur can improve the storyline let me talk about the Final Disk War Arc for a bit:

- It was very good!.... Until you start thinking about it for a little bit. When everyone showed up to say goodbye to Tommy and Tubbo and the Endgame moment were good, but then you remember half of those character either hate Tommy, barely interacted with him or have nothing to do with the plot of Season 2 (Because everyone who was not called Tommy, Techno and Dream were left out). So yeah, those moments are good on their own

- When Tommy starts listing all the horrible things Dream has done to everyone in the server and can’t think of any besides a joke about Quackity not wearing clothes... Even they know no one had any stake in the plot jesus

-Dream ending up in the prison was the perfect ending. Anyone else ending in that prison would not have made sense from a story perspective. Glad they dodged that narrative bullet.

Really, the Final Disk War made me realise the biggest problem with season 2. The exile arc is very good... on its own. Doomsday was very g- hahahahaah... I’m kidding Doomsday is the only bad bad event on the SMP. And the Final Disk War is also very good. But when you put it all together.... it just doesn’t fit. This is a classic example of something being worse than the sum of its parts (Not sure if I am using that phrase correctly but you get the point... hopefully). Each arc on its own is fairly competent but how did Techno’s execution affect the rest of the arcs? How was the Final Disk War affected by prior arcs? It lacks cohesiveness and consistent themes.

Now I have two more things to say before I give Wilbur his credit:

- I’ve mentioned Eret, Fundy and Nicki a lot because I think they were great characters with a lot of potential. But, as we know, the story completely ignored them in favor of Dream, Techno and Tommy (Even Tubbo was sidelined for most of the Story). I am not insinuating anything, but something about one of the few LGBT CC of the server, one of the two women of the server and the only (I think) canonically trans characters being left out of the story they have been a part of since the beginning just... doesn’t feel right to me.

- I LOVE Ranboo. You can see the passion and dedication he puts in his story and I love it. But, has he really done anything? Like... that affects the plot. He grieffed George’s house with Tommy but you can cut him out of it and nothing changes? Same with blowing up the community house, you can just say it was Dream and cut Ranboo’s character all together. If you can remove a character and the plot does not change then that is a bad character. And this is not Ranboo’s fault, you can tell how passionate he is and he is definitely the best actor of the SMP (Low bar there but whatever), but the Storyline says: No, your character cannot actually do anything. This also fits together with the Eret, Fundy and Nicki situation: A character giving his opinion and feeling over an event is not a character being involved in the plot. That is a reactionary character that never affects anything but is delegated to just reacting to the plot other characters move. Sad.

Now. How can Wilbur fix all of this? The evidence can be seen on his failed resurrection. He went directly to Eret to ask for help. That is the key to everything.

Tommy is the main character. There is no changing that this far into the story. But by writing stories that involve other characters you include them. Big shocker there, I know. Season 2 was more character centric (Although not in a good way), the problem is that character centric stories cannot handle that many characters. Wilbur has said that he prefers geopolitical plots and why is that? A country has many people, not only one. if you built and open narrative, it allows for anyone who want to be included in the story to... well, be included. And a story being more geopolitical does not mean it is not character centric, but a character-centric story cannot be geopolitical.

Why did I mention him asking Eret for help before Philza joining in? Because it is simple thing like that the way to go to include other characters. If you invite another CC into your lore event, then that CC can develop how his character interacts and grows from that event. You see this with Eret, he shows regret over the betray, he shows his love for Fundy and his respect for Wilbur. It really is not that hard to do, which makes everything season 2 has done way more infuriating. The ONE thing Wilbur decides in season 2 showed more skill that anything in season 1 (Kind of an exaggeration but you get the point).

So to summarize, Wilbur will improve season 3 in two ways: Writing a bigger narrative that sustains more character and inviting said left-out characters to help out on events that they may not really have a lot of stake in.

Why it will be an uphill battle you ask? Because they got rid of L’manberg. The geopolitical stuff is barely present anymore. And season 2 negative’s will still affect the future of the SMP forever just as the strength’s of season 1 impacted the mix reception season 2 had.

PS: English. Me make mistakes sometimes. Me sorry. Also sorry if I rambled a bit too much. Head full.

PS2: The egg plot is cool and new and refreshing. But I cannot say it is very good until I see what the emotional core of the story is. It is still fairly new so I will give it the benefit of the doubt.

PS3: Sorry if I was too negative again, but there are already so many people pointing out the good things about the SMP. This fandom forgets that they are allowed to not like things, and disagree with the CC. I see many post per day saying things like: If CC does this (Insert stupid idea) then we (Their viewers who they have to appease in some way or another) we CANNOT COMPLAIN EVER. Like, no. Have some critical thinking and point out bad when you see it, I know this fandom is capable of it but many suppress critical thinking in this fandom in favor of very weird hive-mind ideas.

PS4: Dream’s song is not it. I am sorry.

#dream smp #dream #georgenotfound #SapNap #tommyinnit #tubbo #eret #nihachu #fundy #wilbur #wilbur soot #technoblade #phliza #ranboo #awesamdude #badboyhalo #Skeppy #antfrost

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eloquent--asshole · 4 years ago

Text

My Date With the President’s Son

a/n: I’ve been getting a lot of anons recently letting me know they couldn’t find this piece. Well... I found out it was deleted. So, here is a repost of My Date With the President’s Son! I was so sad when I found out it was gone :( BUT IT’S BACK!!! :) And much love to all of you that let me know it was missing! Come talk to me about this, future ideas, or anything! --PJ

hey, hi, hello! this is my submission for the Pick Your Poison fic challenge! I went with a good ole fake dating piece. Also, sidenote: this is the first pic i’ve actually decided to post! Please feel free to message me with any comments, questions, or concern. Also, an absolutely MASSIVE shoutout to @for-fucks-sake-h, @oh-honey-styles, and @andwhenshesays for creating this and letting me be a part of it! I’m so happy I decided to do this even though I was an absolute mess about it! Buckle up kids, it’s about to get messy!

read the other challenge pieces here!!!!! and support them!

"Miss. Y/L/N, I don't think you understand the immense pressure we're under with this mission." My boss, Mr. Thompson, was staring at me from across the conference table. The room was bright. Almost too bright from the fluorescent lights beaming on us.

I looked at my hands resting on my thighs under the table before returning to his gaze. "Well, Mr. Thompson, I don’t think you understand that this goes against not only our ethical codes but my moral beliefs as well.”

Mr. Thompson spoke as he got up and came around the table, taking a seat on the glass two feet to my left. "Miss. Y/L/N, you are obligated to serve your country. However the circumstances may seem. If you do not take this mission, I will be suggesting your employment for termination."

I ran a hand down my cheek. "What –“ I ran the options through my head. Get fired or help the President’s son. Easy decision, really. “How could this even work? Does he know?"

"No, he doesn’t know. Don't worry about the details of that. We will take care of it. Nevertheless, on your part, it must seem as authentic as possible." I looked at him in disbelief.

How could this be happening? What did I do to deserve the position to role play as the President’s slutty son’s romantic interest? I let out a heavy sigh before nodding at Mr. Thompson. He let a small smile break through his tough demeanor.

“Very well, we’ve set up for you two to ‘meet’ tomorrow.” Mr. Thompson got up to open the door at the end of the room. “Oh,” he paused turning to look at me one last time, “And don’t worry, if anything goes off course, you’ll be wearing an earpiece and a mic. So we’ll know and figure it out as we go along. Remember Y/N. We’re all in this together.”

But were we?

I sat in position, waiting for the signal. I was outside a quaint coffee shop where my target was currently buying a coffee.

As I got my cue from the team, I got up and started walking in the direction of the van that was watching our every move. The door to the coffee shop flew open and I felt a heavy weight rush into me "Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t even see you there," came rushing out of the stranger’s mouth. I looked down at the spilled coffee on the ground between us.

"No, no. It's okay, I should have been paying more attention." I said, letting an embarrassed blush creep onto my cheeks. Why did he have to actually run into me?

"Can I buy you another coffee?” He offered.

"Oh, you don't have to do that"

"No, I insist. Really." He said, reopening the door to the café.

"Okay," I hesitated. “I’m Y/N, by the way.”

"Nice to meet you, Y/N, I’m Harry. What do you like to drink?”

I heard Thompson in my ear immediately, "Vanilla soy latte,” he basically shouted.

"Vanilla soy latte, please" I offered a smile to the barista, hiding my wince. “A grande.”

"You're joking." Harry smiled down at me. He was taller than I expected. Standing about 6”1. His curls cut into the frame of his sunglasses. Cute. I thought to myself.

"Why?" I asked, letting a giggle escape my lips.

"That's what I drink" He chuckled. Okay. I see what you’re doing, Thompson.

We smiled at each other and finished ordering. The drinks were up almost instantly. We sat at a table I chose outside. Purposely, so the team could continue watching.

"So, tell me about yourself," He started, taking a sip of his latte.

"I-" I paused briefly, waiting for instruction from Thompson.

"You work as the marketing director for Accent" Accent is a huge professional services firm. There’s no way I’m getting away with this.

"I work as a marketing director.” I took a breath, “For Accent."

"That's cool, I have some friends who work over there." Is he onto me? "Do you know Rich?”

"Rich Charleston. Operations Manager. 5"5. Auburn hair. Brown eyes.” Thompson barked in my ear.

"Oh yeah. The operations manager? He's not that tall. Auburn hair?" I questioned, a coy smile playing at my lips.

"Yeah! That's him! Funny, I've been to a few work parties with them. I've never seen you around." He looked at his coffee and came back to me. I felt my cheeks tinge pink yet again. No way I’m making it through this.

"Y/N, you're doing great. Just go with it. You started at Accent three months ago. They haven't had a company party in five months.” Thompson stated. It’s weird. Almost as if playing detective. Wait. I am a detective. A very…high end detective.

"Oh, yeah. I only started a few months ago, so that would make sense." I giggled, taking a sip of my latte.

Harry’s phone started ringing in his pocket. He slipped it out to check the notification. "Shit, sorry. I actually have to get going. I'm late for a meeting. Could I get your number?" He asked, handing over his phone.

"Yeah, that'd be nice." I took his phone where the ‘add new contact’ was already on his screen. I entered my information and handed it back. "Great, I'll see you around then."

"Gladly." He was off, hopping into the back seat of an awaiting SUV across the street. As it pulled away, I noticed it was in a no-parking zone. Of course, it would be. He's the president's son.

It has been three weeks since my ‘run in’ with Harry. He texted me an hour later asking if he could see me again. We had seen each other twice over the course of three weeks. Each time in a public setting to ensure the FBI could have an eye on us at all times.

We talked mostly about my work. He had finally let it slide through text that he was the President’s son. It was easy to act surprised through text. It would be harder to act as if I didn’t know my coworkers if it ever got to the point that I would be seeing him in a more intimate setting.

I was starting to realize why so many women were swooning for him. Not only was he handsome – he was charming, sweet, and extremely articulate.

I sat in Mr. Thompson’s office discussing plans for the upcoming benefit. The benefit that Harry had yet to ask me to.

"Mr. Thompson, he has no idea this plan is underway. Like what happens if he tries to make advances on me. I did not sign up to be this boy's actual girlfriend.” I borderline complained.

"Miss. Y/L/N. This is your duty for the time being. We're trying to keep him safe and clean up his image. This is the best way we can do that.”

"Mr. Thompson, with all due respect, what if he actually starts to have feelings for me. What if he asks me to be his girlfriend? What if – "

Mr. Thompson raised a hand to interrupt me. "Miss Y/L/N, if that happens, we will handle it. Mr. Styles will never know. Now for the upcoming benefit. You will attend with Mr. Styles. As always, you will wear an earpiece. Members of the secret service will be aware of your presence. If something comes up, I will be in your ear warning you to get Mr. Styles out of there. Understood?"

"Yes sir,” I agreed, sulking into the chair. “But sir, he hasn’t even asked me.” Thompson’s hands brushed through the air - almost as to dismiss my thoughts.

“Oh, don’t worry, kid.” He snickered. “Mr. Horan, the head of his security, has intel that he will be asking you.”

As predicted, Harry did ask me to join him at the benefit. Giving me a two-day notice. Scratch that. Harry said he wanted me to come to a “party” and ‘wear something suited for a ball’ I recounted the statement as he was dropping me off from our brunch “date” on Thursday.

I stared at myself in the champagne-colored gown in my full-length mirror. I let out a frustrated sigh. This was so wrong. I shouldn’t be doing this to him. He’s actually really sweet. How can I untangle myself from this mess? I could commit treason, leave the country, and lay under the radar. One part of my brain told me. Or be put to death. The other part reminded me. I gave myself one last look-over and decided it was time to head to the lobby.

My roommate, Ashley, whistled at me as I walked out of my bedroom into the kitchen. “Going somewhere nice?” she asked.

“Work event,” I brushed off. I hadn’t told her anything. Specifically, because of the confidentiality behind the mission.

“With Harry Styles?” I froze in my tracks, taking a deep breath.

“How did you know that?”

“Sweetheart. You are all over the magazine covers. Do you think no one has cameras in public? I was speechless. How could I be so naïve that journalists who have such a strong eye on Harry’s personal, party lifestyle wouldn’t spot us out?

“Honey,” I heard our third roommate, Summer, call from the couch. “Did you really think you could be so slick?”

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Ashlie chimed in.

Before I could answer, a call from Harry popped up on my phone. “I’m sorry, I have to go. He’s here.” I said turning on my heel to exit our apartment.

“Wait – “ Summer stopped me – “Can you please give us some juicy details on the man-who – I mean your new fling when you get home?”

I laughed at her response with a nod and started my trek to the lobby.

He was waiting outside the SUV, dressed in a black suit and a matching champagne tie. “Well don’t you look lovely.”

I blushed at his compliment. The security guard driving us gave me a curt nod as he opened the door for us. “Thank you. You look quite handsome yourself.”

When I dodged his kiss, he pulled me in for a hug before gesturing for me to get in first. “Thanks.” Despite the disappointment in his eyes, Harry’s smile was beaming. He looked absolutely adora – Y/N stop. This is strictly for work.

The door shut behind us and in half a second we were whizzing down the street to the banquet hall where the Benefit was being held.

“I’m really happy you agreed to be my date tonight,” Harry commented, not breaking his gaze from the window. “You can meet my parents.”

Parents? As in, the President and first lady of the United States? My body shivered at the thought. I have been in the same room as them before, yes. But meeting them as not an employee – but their son’s date, friend or whatever you want to call it – is terrifying.

“Wow, that would be – “ I tried to find the right words – “nice.”

“Really?” His eyes wandered to mine. “Most people would about shit themselves right about now.”

Well I’m damn near close, Styles.

When we pulled up to the entrance of the venue, our driver – Niall, I learned – hopped out and got the door for us. My eyes were blinded by the flashing lights. Harry grabbed my hand and helped me onto the ground. As we made our ascent, paparazzi were flooding him with questions. “Harry, Harry! Who’s this?” “New flame of the week kid?” “I heard you were bringing Kendall Jenner” could be heard from every angle.

Harry apologized as soon as the doors shut behind us. I shook my head to let him know it was okay.

“I am way too sober for this,” Harry mentioned before we walked into the noisy room. “And it hasn’t even started.” I let out a quiet giggle as he smiled at me.

The benefit passed with ease. As Harry walked us around making small talk and thanking people for coming, Thompson was in my ear telling me who people were and how they got invited. Harry and I kept making trips back to the bar. While I nursed two glasses of wine, Harry had drank 4 rum and cokes. It was becoming clear that Harry was feeling good. Almost too good for him to continue being at this event.

As a last stop around the room, we walked towards his parents.

“Harry, my boy. Thanks for being here tonight,” President Styles pulled Harry in for a hug.

“Like I had a choice?” He rolled his eyes. President Styles gave a laugh, one Harry didn’t reciprocate.

“Who’s this?” His mother asked as her gaze moved to me. Her eyes were kind. They matched Harry’s, I noticed.

“Mom, dad.” Harry said as he wrapped an arm around my waist, “This is my date, Y/N.”

“Hi,” I offered my hand to shake, “It’s so nice to meet you. Thank you for having me tonight.”

“The pleasures all ours, sweetie.” His mother affirmed. I felt a smile creep onto my lips. His parents were sweet - partly informal.

As we were making our way to a table, we were stopped by a friend of Harry’s – Louis. Apparently, they had been long time friends. As they grew up, Louis had started a media company, one which Harry happily invested in to help him out.

“Harry, this your date?” He asked curiously.

“Yes, this is my future girlfriend, Y/N.” His words slurred, I felt the wind knock out of me. Girlfriend? FUTURE girlfriend?

“How about a kiss for the camera?” Louis interrupted my thoughts. “For a piece I’m working on?”

“Why not?” This boy was definitely drunk. Without having time to react, Harry grabbed my waist and quickly, yet gently, pressed his lips to mine. It lasted only about half a second and I found myself wanting more.

Harry chatted with Louis for a few more minutes before bidding goodbye and continuing our walk to a table in the back. I brought my fingers to brush against my lips, still feeling his burning into my memory.

The next hour passed quickly. Harry had downed another two drinks because “I’ve already talked to everyone I need to and now I can relax.” I could see why the media calls him a party boy. He’s 0 – 100 real quick.

Our conversation flowed easily and I found myself enjoying his presence.

“I’m having a really good time,” Harry slurred into my ear. He snuck an arm around my shoulders at some point, and I didn’t really care.

“So am I.”

“Good, I was really nervous to ask you.” His admission took me by surprise. The entire three weeks I’ve known him, he never seemed shy. He was always respectful. I’ve learned so much about the party boy that always seemed to be judged. If it were me, no one would care if I went out with my friends every weekend and brought a different guy home. But because he’s, well, Harry Styles. It matters. The presidential family is supposed to be clean, polished, not having any dirty laundry. But the media loves to air his.

I learned Harry had a – what most would call – normal upbringing. Small home in the outskirts of NYC. He went to public school up until high school, when his father had decided to run for congress and got in. His favorite color is yellow – because it’s happy. He loves music from the 70’s and 80’s because it reminds him of his childhood. He knows about his party-boy persona and absolutely loathes it – but continues to live it because it’s the only way he can let go of the stress from being the President’s son.

“Why were you nervous?”

“Well, it’s always intimidating to meet a beautiful woman who knows what she wants in life and won’t settle for less. I was especially nervous because I thought not only my reputation, but my status would scare you off.” My chest felt tight. If only he knew that everything, well half of everything, I told him were lines being fed to me from the Director of the FBI. “And I’m sorry it took so long for me to tell you. I didn’t want to lie. But I felt like it would be easier for us to get to know each other before I told you.”

There’s that word. Lie. I hate that word but yet, it’s what I was doing almost every time we were together.

“I don’t want you to ever feel nervous or feel like you have something to hide from me.” I took the hand he had draped around me in my own. “I just want you to be yourself. I’ve enjoyed getting to know you. I don’t care about your status or the fact that your parents are the President and First Lady. That’s not something you should feel ashamed of.”

For the first time, Harry’s smile met his eyes. He’s smiled plenty when we’re together, but this was different. He tugged me closer and placed his lips on my cheek. They burned from his touch. My body temperature must have risen 10 degrees.

Did Thompson see that? Of course, he did. Wait, where is he? My smile dropped as I looked across the room, hoping for a sign of Thompson. He hadn’t been in my ear for a while. I wonder if everything’s okay.

“Everything’s fine,” I moved my eyes around the room once more, confused. “I can see that look on your face. I know that look. You were getting worried.”

Where the heck is Thompson and how can he see my face.

“Niall is about to grab you to take you both home. So, I’m off for the night. You’re on your own kid.” I heard the familiar static as they shut my earpiece off. So, they had heard that entire conversation, wonderful.

I smiled, reaching for my ear to take the piece out, but halting my movements when I remembered Harry was still sat next to me.

“Mr. Styles, the car is here.” Niall leaned down to whisper to Harry.

“Alright, love. Off we go.” Harry let his arm fall from my shoulder. I stood to grab my clutch off the table. I paused when I noticed Harry guzzling the rest of his drink before setting the glass on the table. “What?” he asked innocently. “I wasn’t going to just leave it there. Someone could try to sell that since my lips have touched it!” I smirked at him before linking my arm with his.

The drive home was filled with Harry trying to be touchy feely and a bit too flirtatious. Between him keeping trying to rest his hand on my knee, and the many compliments he spewed out in a drunken slur, I felt myself loosening up and enjoying his drunken, flirty presence. Niall made eye contact with me in the mirror one too many times for me to be comfortable with.

He knows.

When we pulled up to my building, I opened the door only to feel a tug on my wrist. I craned my neck to look at Harry, who didn’t let go of my arm.

“Will you kiss me?” His glazed eyes bore into mine as he leaned over to my half of the seat, “For real this time?” I contemplated for a second. Yes, I would like to kiss you again. Will I? I can’t.

I giggled at his lazy smile and glanced to the mirror at Niall who seemed to be minding his own business, “You’re drunk Harry.”

“Would you reconsider if I was sober?”

“Goodnight, Harry” I said, hopping out of the SUV.

“I’ll take that as a maybe!” He called as I shut the door.

What is this boy doing to me?

It’s been three days since the benefit. I hadn’t heard from Harry much, maybe a text or two over the last two days. I wish I could say I didn’t care. But I did. Yes, what I was doing was wrong. But after seeing him in a vulnerable state being drunk at the benefit, he grew on me. A lot more than I’d like to admit. Even though I hadn’t heard from him, I still had the inside scoop from Thompson. Apparently, Mr. Horan was keeping a tight leash on him. No parties or clubs recently.

One thing that should’ve been noticed a lot sooner on my part was that every time I was with Harry or Harry was out, he had Niall maybe 5 feet away. So why the hell would they need me?

Oh right – clean up the image.

“Y/N!” Ashlie screamed from the kitchen. I came to a screeching halt in front of her at the counter. “Have you seen these?” I furrowed my brows as she angled her laptop screen towards me. Right on the landing page of the most popular magazine’s website was Harry’s picture. Stumbling out of a club with none-other than Kendall Jenner, hand in hand.

My brows furrowed even closer when I grabbed the laptop from the counter. I quietly walked to the couch and sat down. ‘Eligible bachelor, Harry Styles couldn’t seem to get enough of the model as they were seen being cozy all night at popular night club, Avalon Nightclub downtown Washington, D.C.’

Would this jeopardize my mission? How would Thompson handle this? What now? Was he really done with me just like that?

With too many thoughts to process, I sat the computer next to me and stared at the blank TV. The weight of the couch shifted next to me. Ashlie slid her arms around my torso and rested her head on my shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” She was trying to be empathetic; I know. But I also didn’t want her pity.

“It’s okay,” I tilted my head to rest on top of hers. “Who needs him anyways?”

Wait, I do.

I stared out the window behind Mr. Thompson. He tapped his fingers in pattern on his desk, other hand resting on his cheek.

“Miss. Y/L/N.” He started, stopping his fingers from tapping. I flicked my eyes to his. “I knew this would be hard, having the type of personality he does. He doesn’t – doesn’t have a long attention span when it comes to women.”

I looked back to the window, admiring the cars streaming by on the 695. I already knew that. We all knew it. You thought one of your agents could change him? People don’t change because you want them to. They change because they want to.

When I didn’t offer a response, Thompson continued. “Did something happen after the benefit? After we unplugged you?”

I thought back to that night. Our drive home was filled mainly with his giggles and slurred pick-up lines.

“I don’t think – “ I didn’t kiss him. He wanted to kiss me, and I didn’t. “He wanted to kiss me, Mr. Thompson.”

“You didn’t kiss him, right?”

“Yes.” He quirked an eyebrow. “No, I mean – yes, I didn’t kiss him.” I clarified. I wanted to though.

“Miss. Y/L/N, we’ve brought in Mr. Horan. Head of his security. ”Thompson waved to Mr. Horan through the window. The screech from the chair next to me as it slid across the tile floor. My eyes flashed to the man next to me. Niall. Now it makes sense.

“Miss. Y/L/N,” Niall cleared his throat, “Nice to see you again.”

“You as well, Mr. Horan.”

“As you know, Mr. Horan here is the head of Mr. Styles’ security and has been keeping an eye on him since the beginning of President Styles’ term. He’s here to shed some insight and help us through this obstacle. He knows Harry the best, so we will have his assistance for matters like this.” Mr. Thompson gestured to Niall to start speaking about what he knows.

“Yeah, so” Niall shifted in his seat and crossed his ankle at the knee. “Harry’s a bit frustrated. He feels like, I don’t know. That you – “ I caught his eyes drift to mine – “aren’t ‘interested’ in him anymore”

I scoffed at the remark, earning a glare from Mr. Thompson. “Miss. Y/L/N, a problem?”

“Sorry it’s just – “ I took a deep breath to calm my nerves, resting my palms on my thighs – “He feels like I’m not interested? When three days after the benefit he’s out gallivanting around D.C? That’s ridiculous.”

“See,” Niall turned towards me, “That’s just it. That’s how Harry copes. He doesn’t have healthy coping mechanisms. He thinks the best way to get around his issues is to drink them away. It’s why he drank so much at the benefit. It’s why he drinks so much in general.”

It explains a lot. He had told me that he’s been under stress, and I can only imagine how much stress he feels from having to live up to a perfect image that he can’t attain with his reputation.

“So, what do I do?”

“I’ve tried to knock some sense into him. I may protect Harry for a living, but he is my friend, and I care about him and his feelings.”

The Saturday sun was warm on my skin. I stared at the clouds in the sky, listened to the kids playing about 50 feet away, and the ducks in the pond. I should be at the gym, I reminded myself. Or at least running.

It’d been a week since I last saw Harry, part of me missed him. Thompson said he was going to work with Niall and how to get the boy back on track. Why me out of all people? There were so many young women in the FBI at this point, so why me? ‘Because we see the most potential in you. Half these women won’t make it another 6 months.’ Thompson’s voice rang in my ears from our conversation yesterday afternoon.

The bright darkness dimmed behind my eyelids. I opened one to see a figure standing above me. I jolted out of my comfort.

“Hey.”

“Hi,” I said sitting up and criss crossing my legs.

“Uh – “ raising a hand to the back of their neck – “Can we talk?”

“Yeah Summer, what’s up?” She sat opposite of me in the grass and looked around the park.

“It’s a nice day today, isn’t it?” Her eyes never settled on mine. She’s being cautious.

“Yeah, great day to be outside.” I looked over to the swimming ducks, still quacking at each other.

What I would give to be a duck right now. Not having any worries about whether or not my job was still intact. If my friends hated me for lying to them. If the boy I liked was done with me before even having a chance to know me, and really me.

“So,” Summer started after a few minutes of silence. I looked at her expectantly. “Someone dropped by today to see you.” My heart jumped; my palms started to sweat. Was Harry at my apartment?

“Harry?”

“Uh – “ she faltered – “No, Louis?” I scrunched my brows, confused. I wracked my brain trying to figure out who Louis was. “He said he’s a friend. You apparently met him at the Benefit? I told him you were out and didn’t know when you’d be back. He said to call him and left his number.” I looked at my crossed ankles. Oh, Louis. Wait, Louis took that picture of me and Harry. What does he want? “Do you know him?”

I looked back at Summer. “Yeah, he’s… he’s one of Harry’s friends.”

“You should probably call him, he looked in a rush.” I lifted my head in a nod, letting my eyes fall to the grass between us. A comfortable silence took over. “Y/N, it’s okay if you don’t want to talk about whatever happened between you and… him. But I’m here for you if you do.”

“I know that, Summer. Thank you.”

I took a few steps into my room and tossed my purse onto my bed. I decided I should give Louis a call to see what’s going on.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Louis. It’s Y/N. I heard you stopped by today.”

“Oh!” He sounds surprised. His tone quickly hushed. “Y/N, thanks for calling. Yeah, I wanted to talk to you.”

“Okay,” I sat in my desk chair with one leg tucked under me. “What’s going on?”

“Can you meet me?” There was a long pause.

“Wh – “

“In an hour, at the park by the white house.” Before I could respond, I heard the click of him hanging up.

What?

I didn’t take much time to get ready to meet Louis. I threw a gray zip up sweatshirt over my tank top and slipped on my flare jeans with converse and was on my way. Louis texted me to say he wanted to ask me a few questions about the benefit – for a promotion he was working on for his company.

The sun had set on my way over, the purple, black sky taking over the D.C air. I glanced at the sky as I stood by the lamp post in the park. The stars look beautiful tonight. My eyes kept traveling around the park. Something I was trained to do. Have your eyes everywhere at all times.

I heard him before I saw him. The heavy footsteps, deep breathing. He sounds troubled. I whipped my head in the opposite direction.

“Y/N?” He asked, pulling the hood off his head. I could only nod. “What are you doing here?”

“I – “ I was off the script. No earpiece with Thompson telling me what to do, who to be, anything. “Just out for a stroll.” Harry stared at me as if he wasn’t really seeing me. He shook his head, his long locks falling in front of his face. He ran his hand through his hair, pulling the pieces that had fallen from his face.

“By… the white house?” He asked incredulously.

“Yeah, I love this park. Very peaceful with some great views.” I concluded. Louis sent me here, he knows what he’s doing. He and Harry are longtime friends. They must’ve talked.

“Right…” He stuffed his hands in his pockets, looking around.

“I wanted to talk.” “We should talk.” We spoke at the same time. Our eyes locked before breaking into giggles and looking at our feet.

“You go ahead,” Harry encouraged.

“Why didn’t you call me?” I asked.

“I –“ He rubbed the back of his neck. “How drunk was I that night?”

I blinked harshly, not expecting him to ask that. “What?”

“I don’t remember much after slamming my drink right before we left and…” He took a step away from me. “I was a little embarrassed and I wasn’t sure if I said or did anything wrong and… I thought if I held off for a bit then it wouldn’t be a big deal…”

“So why still didn’t you call?” Harry shook his head, wrapping his arms around his waist.

“You didn’t get my voicemail?” He quirked his head.

“What voicemail?”

“Y/N, I called you like three times.”

“What?” Then it hit me. Thompson. Thompson tapped my phone when starting the mission to have all the details. But why?

“I just kinda thought you were done with us and I had done something after the benefit.”

“Harry, I had no idea. Honest… Is that why you went out with Kendall?”

He laughed at my question. “I haven’t gone out with Kendall. I haven’t seen her in months. Those pictures are from like… November.” I was bewildered.

I composed myself before speaking, “I’m sorry to have assumed the worst…”

“It’s okay,” he stepped closer. “Can I come to your place?”

“Right now?”

He glanced at his feet and back to me, “Yeah.” He murmured. Only meaning to be heard between us two.

“Are you okay?” I tucked some stray hair behind my ear, shifting my weight from my left foot to my right.

“I just – I just don’t want to go back yet. I had to sneak out and I just need some time away.” Running one hand through his hair, he grabbed my hand with the other.

“Okay.”

The ride to my apartment was quiet. Harry didn’t say much about what was going on within the White House walls, although I’m sure I would find out come Monday, if not sooner. I was trying to read his moving eyes, but there wasn’t much to tell. His eyes told a completely different story than his lips.

His lips spoke of stress and hardship. His eyes shine like the moon over a Georgia river in the dead of night.

When I finally parked my car in the lot, Harry slid out of my car with grace, taking my hand as each of us rounded the back of my car.

“This is it,” I sighed when opening the door to my apartment.

“Wow,” He looked from the kitchen to the living room before turning to face me, “Cute.”

“Oh my gosh,” I whipped my head to see Ashlie coming into the entrance in a towel from the hallway – clearly not expecting company.

“Uh – Hi.” Harry awkwardly waved.

“Hi, wow. Wasn’t expecting you.” She gave a small smile and gestured to her attire.

“It’s not a problem. Nice to meet you,” Harry extended his hand for her, which she gladly took, “I’m Harry.”

“Oh, I know who you are. I’m Ashlie.” Ashlie let out a flirty giggle. You know, the kind you hear at a bar when a girl is trying too hard to let a man know his jokes are ‘funny’.

“We’ll uh – be in my room.” I remarked, breaking up the awkwardness I could feel radiating through the room.

Harry trailed behind me, telling me he thought Ashlie seemed nice.

“How many roommates do you have?” He questioned, taking a seat on the foot of my bed.

“Two. My other roommate, Summer, is probably at her boyfriend’s.” I hung my hoodie over the back of my desk chair and took a seat on it backwards so I could face him. Harry nodded his head before letting his body fall back onto my bed. “So, what’s going on? At home?”

“It’s nothing,” He groaned, rubbing his eyes with his knuckles.

“It’s obviously something if you’re sneaking out and wandering parks at night without guards. How’d you even get away with that anyways?”

“The White House has many escape routes that can’t be seen by the control room. I’ve found them all.” He stated, putting his hands behind his head.

“Interesting.” The silence that filled the room was deafening. “Harry,” I paused waiting for him to look at me. His eyes gradually found mine. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m just tired of my family and the security telling me my behavior is ‘unacceptable’ because I’m the President’s son. I can’t go out with my friends. I can’t be seen with girls who are friends. I can’t have a drink in a bar.” He stood from my bed and started pacing around my room like his life depended on it. “When I’m in the White House, all I have is people barking orders in my ear, telling me what I can and can’t do. What I can and can’t wear. Who I can and can’t see? So, I guess,” Harry brought his hands to his head and started pulling his hair at the roots, “When I do get to go out with friends, I get carried away. Unfortunately, every time.”

I didn’t know what to say. What I want to say? I can relate. What can I say? Nothing.

When he moved to sit back on my bed, I joined him. He brought his chest between his knees and bowed his head, taking the stance of looking like he was about to vomit. I rested my hand on his back and tried my best to rub soothing circles between his shoulder blades, still looking for the right words. “Harry, I’m sorry. I had no idea that was something you had to deal with.”

“I know, because I don’t share that part of my life. Not with anyone. The only one who really knows is Niall. But that’s only because he’s with me when I’m out and that’s when it all comes out.” He lifted his head and turned to look at me. “He’s the only person I really trust. He’s my best friend and I trust him with my life. I know it’s his job to be there. But, he’s the only one I really have.”

“That’s not true. You have loads of friends. I’ve seen them in the pictures with you.”

“No, those people – while they’re nice to hang out with – they only care about my status. They care about Harry Styles, President’s son. Not Harry.”

“I – I don’t know what to say.” And I truly didn’t. Here he is, spilling his heart to me again, and I can’t even reciprocate without blowing my cover.

“You don’t have to say anything. I thought Niall was the only person that actually cared about me. As in Harry, the person. And then I met you.”

“What do you mean?”

Harry sat up and turned his body towards mine, grabbing both my hands in his.

“Y/N, I know you would never do anything to hurt me. You care about me. You ask me about me, not what my family is doing, or what bills are going through congress. Or even try to advance your career through me.”

My mouth got dry, but I felt like I was drowning. How can he not see through this act? When will I give it up? When will Thompson have it cut? His eyes bore into mine.

“I really like you, Y/N.”

“I – I like you too Harry.” I have to tell him; I have to tell him the girl he thinks he knows is not who she says she is. I have to tell him; this was all part of my job. But this isn’t. It’s not your job to be here with him right now.

“Do you want to watch a movie or something?” The proposition tore me from my thoughts. I got up and headed for the door, gesturing for him to follow me down the hall.

I plopped on the couch flipping the TV on. Harry sat next to me and flung his arm to the back of the couch behind me.

“Should we just search romantic comedies on Netflix and see what we find?” He looked over to me, nodding excitedly.

We flipped through Netflix for 10 minutes before finally deciding on 27 Dresses. The movie was the only thing that could be heard in the living room. At whatever point, Harry let his arm fall onto my shoulders and pulled me into him. I let my head rest on his shoulder as we continued watching.

“Hey Y/N?” I looked up at him, humming in response. “I’m sober now.” I scrunched my eyebrows and opened my mouth to speak, “Can I kiss you now?” My heart sped up, and my cheeks warmed with the blood rushing to them.

“I - I don’t know if that’s a good idea.” I let my head dip so I wasn’t looking at him.

“Why’s that?” He asked, confusion taking over his tone. “It’s okay if you don’t want to, but... I would really like to.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to, I do. It’s just - “ I thought of all the things that could possibly go wrong - the FBI busting into my apartment to have me arrested, me starting what feels like a real relationship based on lies, breaking his heart after he let me in.

“Then let me,” Harry cupped my cheek and brought our gazes together. I stared at him for a moment before lightly nodding.

His lips ghosted over mine before gently pressing together. I swear I could hear his heartbeat. Or maybe it was mine. I rested my hand on his cheek and his hand moved to my waist, pulling me as close as possible. It wasn’t heavy, and it wasn’t quick. It was soft and sweet, like him.

He pulled away and leaned back into the couch. A smile graced his face. I nuzzled back into him and pulled my feet up on the couch.

I woke up to the room completely dark, the only light coming from the dim light above the oven. I was still laying on Harry. I sat up, removing his arms from my waist. I grabbed my phone from the table to check the time. 2:36am. Oh shit, I turned back to wake Harry.

“Harry, Harry wake up. You have to go.” I shook him out of his sleep.

“What why?” He stirred, rubbing his eyes, barely coming out of his sleep.

“It’s 2:36AM.”

“Mmmmm comfy.” He closed his eyes again and rested further into the couch.

“Harry, no. You’re gonna get into trouble.” I stood up and grabbed his hands trying to pull him off the couch.

“No, I won’t”

“Harry,” I insisted. When he wouldn’t budge, I gave up. Flopping back into the couch.

“Can I just stay – you won’t even know I was here.”

I woke up in my bed. I looked at my clock next to me. 9:22am. Was it a dream? I sat up, same tank top. Same jeans. I searched for my phone to find it under my pillow with a sticky note.

Left around 5. Carried you to bed and didn’t want to wake you. Call me. – Harry

Sticking my phone in my back pocket, I pulled myself out of bed and let my feet guide me to the bathroom. What did I do? Why did I have to do that?

After staring at myself for almost two minutes, I decided to call Harry.

“Hello?” his voice was chipper.

“How’d you get home?” I asked, putting the call on speaker so I could wash my face.

“I took an Uber. I woke up to one missed call and one text from Niall asking if I was in my room from around 2. I figured it’d be best if I was back in the house before sunrise and not let anyone get suspicious.” At least he was thoughtful of other peoples’ sleep schedules.

“Ah, alright.”

“Yeah.”

“So, you wanted me to call you?” I stated, remembering his note.

“Oh, yeah! I’m picking you up for breakfast.” He said, I could feel his smile through the phone. Man does this boy get right back on the love train; I swear.

“You? Or Niall?” I teased, breaking into a smile. I grabbed my washcloth and wet it to begin washing my face.

“Ha ha. Funny. No, me. Just you, me, and some delicious breakfast.” He clarified. Should I tell Thompson? Probably.

“Okay.”

“I’ll pick you up in 30 minutes.” We said goodbye and felt my heart beating faster. I quickly texted Thompson to let him know what was happening. I started the shower and dropped my clothes. Washing everything quickly, I felt my nerves beginning to settle in. Should I even have said yes? What if Thompson doesn’t want me to? Too late.

When I got out, I checked my phone for a response.

Thompson – 9:37am: Earpiece.

He really was a man of few words. Powerful words, but few. I quickly blew dry my hair and changed into some leggings and a ¾ sleeve blouse. Finishing putting on some light makeup, I heard a knock on the front door.

“Harry!” Ashlie exclaimed, “Good to see you again.”

I walked out to see Harry looking awkwardly at her. She was asking how everything was going for him, to which he politely smiled and said “Fine, Thanks.” His eyes lit up when they connected with mine.

“Hey, you.” He smiled, pulling me in for a hug

“Hi,” I greeted, returning his smile and accepting his arms around me.

“Ready?”

‘Let me just grab my purse,” I said, backing away down the hallway towards my room. I quickly grabbed the earpiece from my drawer and inserted it into my ear. I grabbed my purse from my desk and started heading back to our entryway. I paused in the doorway, glancing at my open drawer with my pistol sticking out. I slipped it into my purse before returning to Harry. “Okay, let’s go.”

Ashlie moved to the kitchen to make herself some breakfast, taking peeks over her shoulder at Harry. She shot me a wink as Harry opened the front door to lead us out.

When we were settled in the car, Harry turned to me. “First things first, I wanted to say thank you to you. For last night. And I’m sorry if I was intruding.”

“You weren’t,” I reassured him, “You never are.” As I finished my sentence, I heard the static in my earpiece. Thompson’s on.

“Morning superstar. I don’t know what happened last night, but good job getting him back.” If only he knew.

Harry turned on the radio for our drive. As we drove further out of the city, he told me how he loved some of the neighborhoods we were driving by. Mostly because he had friends living there that he made when we were in high school because Mr. Styles would often bring him to D.C., and he would meet other congressmen’s children.

I laughed at his jokes, and when he sang. Frankly, he can’t sing. But he does a very nice job trying.

When we pulled up to the café, I noticed it was quite small. Niall hadn’t brought us here on our previous brunch meetings.

“Where are we?” I questioned.

“Oh, my dad used to take me here in high school. I don’t get to come too often anymore. Ya know, security and everything.”

Right.

Breakfast went exactly how I thought it would. Harry talked about his life, asked me about mine, and Thompson fed me lines that apparently “Niall had done ‘research’, and this is what Harry wants to hear.”

But this time, when I laughed with Harry, I felt more genuine. My feelings were too. I really liked him. He was kind, generous, thoughtful. Everything a good man acted like.

When he dropped me off, Harry walked me to my door. I didn’t hesitate to kiss his cheek. Harry grabbed my hands and squeezed them.

“I’ll see you later, yeah?” He glanced at his feet, letting a grin bless his features with his dimples showing perfectly. I nodded, squeezing his hands back. He pulled me into him for a hug. I wrapped my arms around his waist, not wanting to let go.

“Bye, Harry.” I opened the door when he let go of me.

“Bye, Y/N.”

The next week felt like it flew by. I would see Harry after work, either for dinner, a drink, a movie, a walk, really anything he could think of to see me.

Thompson would be in my ear, encouraging me. Sometimes he wasn’t, those were my favorite nights with Harry. I could be myself without having to worry about if Thompson thought ‘Well that wasn’t the right thing to say.”

My phone ringing brought me out of my sleep. I looked at the caller ID and immediately answered.

“Hello?” I greeted, rubbing the sleep from my left eye.

“Can you come over?” Harry asked, his voice cracking near the end. I pulled the phone away from my ear. 1:11am. After a pause he added, “Please?” The desperation in his voice was almost tangible. A shiver ran down my spine just hearing his broken voice.

“Yeah, of course.” I threw my covers off of me and grabbed my nearest pair of jeans. I pulled them on and picked up one of Harry’s long sleeve t-shirts and ripped it over my head. “I’ll be there in 15.”

“Thank you,” he sobbed. “I can let you in by the east garden.” I hung up my phone and hesitated to grab my keys. I should take an Uber. Guards would see my car parked near the White House. I opened the Uber app and ordered a car.

“Morning ma’am.” Said Andrew, the driver.

“Morning,” I grumbled, climbing in the backseat.

“How was your night?” he asked, smiling at me through the rearview mirror.

“Could be better,” I sighed, rubbing my fingers into my temples.

“Oh, I totally get it,” he started. Andrew talked almost the entire way about his night. When he dropped me on the corner a block away from the White House, he concluded his rant with “And that’s when I kicked him out. Well, I hope your night gets better! Life’s too short to have bad sex.” I gave him the best smile I could muster and got out of his car.

I walked up the street and crossed through an alley to get to the East garden. I saw a sliver of light coming from a shrub. The sliver of light grew bigger, giving away that it was actually a door. A disheveled Harry appeared in the light. As I got closer, I noticed his eyes were red and puffy. He’s been crying. When I was close enough, he instantly crashed his body into mine, holding me so tight I might combust.

“Harry, what’s wrong?” I asked, cuddling him closer. He let out a choked weep. “Come on, let’s go.” I said, pulling away. He grabbed my hand and led us through the tunnels.

When we got to the halls, Harry looked around every corner, checking for guards before sneaking us to his room. The door clicked shut and the only thing I could hear were his soft sniffles. I took in the room before me. It was large and decorated for a king. There were items scattered, a chair tipped over, and a lamp lay broken on the floor next to his bed.

He took a seat on the edge of his bed, lowering his head with his hands covering his face. I walked over and took a seat next to him. I placed my hand on his shoulder and took another look around.

“Harry,” I whispered. “What happened?”

“He’s so disappointed in me.” He mumbled, barely audible. His body shook with sobs, soft enough to go unnoticed by anyone passing by.

“Who? Your dad?”

“He said his approval rate has barely gone up, and when he asked the cabinet about it, they – they told him it was my fault.” My heart broke at his words.

“Harry, I’m so – “

“He doesn’t get it. No one does,” he ripped himself from my grasp and stood in front of me, facing the door. “I have him, his cabinet, members of the staff, media, friends, everyone constantly yelling at me. Just because I want to go out and be normal. Live a normal life.” He was facing me now, arms flailing around to get his point across. “And as soon as I get something right, it’s not good enough!”

“What do you mean?” I inquired. I stood up and placed my hands on his shoulders, leading him back to sit down. “Talk to me.”

“You,” he stated as if it was obvious. When I didn’t respond, he continued. “Ever since I met you, I’ve been trying to better myself. Not go out as much, get away from the crowd that only talked to me because they want something. I haven’t had any interest in doing that because – well. I want to be the best man I can. For you.”

I stood straight at his confession. I was left speechless. I took a deep breath before kneeling on the ground in front of him. I opened my mouth and closed it again, not knowing what to say.

“Harry, I – I’m proud of you for doing all of that.”

“Well I’m glad someone is,” he exclaimed. He threw himself back onto his bed and covered his face with his hands.

I got up and sat next to him, criss crossing my legs. I grabbed his hands from his face and held them.

“I’m sure your dad is proud of you too. He just doesn’t know how to say it.” I tried to assure him.

“Yeah because ‘if you would’ve kept the clean image like I told you to’ screams ‘I’m proud of you.” He groaned. He grasped my hands and brought them to his chest.

“Well, let’s think about this. Your dad is the President. He has a lot of people to answer to, and I’m sure he’s under a lot of stress.” I explained to him, rubbing circles on the backs of his hands

“I know, I know. But like, there’s a way to talk to your kids.”

“Yeah, and I’m not saying how he handled it was correct. I’m just saying, from his perspective, he’s probably not mad. Just frustrated. And I’m sure he’s proud of you for trying to better yourself.” I paused, glancing at the door. “Maybe you should just talk to him about how this experience has been for you. I know you haven’t and that might help him to better understand where you’re coming from.” I concluded.

“You’re right. I should probably try to talk to him in private.”

“Wanna hear a joke?” He nodded, cracking a small smile. “What did the drummer name his daughters? Anna one, anna two!” His giggle filled the quiet room, a chuckle left my own lips. He pulled me down, so my head was resting on his chest.

“You’re amazing, you know that?” He tucked my hair behind my ear and caressed his hand down my cheek.

“I’ve been told,” I joked, returning the smile he gave me.

“No, I’m serious,” He looked at the ceiling before continuing, “You give really good advice that makes me think from another perspective, and you can make me laugh even when it feels like my world is crashing - not even two minutes ago.” He glanced back down at me. My eyes never leaving his face.

We stayed like this for a while. Talking about life, things we believed in, conspiracy theories, the best type of pasta (Tortellini was unanimously voted), everything.

Harry walked me back to the East Garden entrance around 3:00am.

“Are you sure you can’t stay the night? Niall can just drop you off in the morning.” He tried one last time.

“I’m sure, Harry.” I let out a quiet laugh. “But hey – maybe we should just keep this between us two? I don’t want to get any weird looks from m –“ I stopped myself before the words ‘my coworkers’ escaped my lips, “your guards.”

“Of course, don’t worry.” He kissed my forehead and watched as I waited for my Uber. Occasionally throwing out pick-up lines. My favorite being ‘Are you a time traveler? Because I can see you in my future’ I casually waved as the Uber pulled up.

“Y/N?” She asked. I nodded and opened the door. I took one last look towards the entrance, seeing just the crack of light, knowing Harry was watching through it.

The next few weeks continued like this. Harry sneaking out to my house, and me to his. Each time learning new secret passages that brings me to his wing, or his room. It got to be exciting, really. Seeing Harry without Thompson in my ear. I had somehow convinced him to keep Niall out of the loop of our late-night meetings. But, of course, going on public outings was a different story. Niall would be waiting in a blacked-out SUV, I had my earpiece in, and I had to give Harry lines fed from Thompson every other sentence.

Sitting in Thompson’s office was something I should be used to by now. However, ever since Harry and I began having our midnight rendezvous, I had been anxious every time Thompson was even so much as in the same building. Although Harry and I haven’t so much as kissed since that night in my apartment, every time I saw him, I could feel the sexual tension radiating off him like I was standing next to a bonfire. He was waiting for me to make the first move, which I wouldn’t. I couldn’t. It would put so much more confusion into this already sticky situation.

Harry has grown into my friend. Of course, there was romantic interest. But I couldn’t jeopardize my cover. To him, I was Y/N Y/L/N. Marketing director for Accent. Small town girl from Carolina. I went to college for Business. I have my mom and two younger brothers back home who encouraged me to follow my dreams and move to D.C. If he knew who I really was. We could never have a relationship. If he knew I was being paid to play his romantic interest, things would never be real for us.

“Miss. Y/L/N,” Thompson’s serious tone tore me from my thoughts, “We’re aware that things have gone swimmingly since Mr. Styles had picked you up for breakfast a couple weeks ago. But how are you?”

“Yes, sir,” I agreed. “I’m well. He seems to be just fine. Hasn’t been as much in the spotlight. And the press - ”

“Miss. Y/L/N,” His tone lightened a bit. Thompson clasped his hands on his desk and softened his eyes toward me. I locked eyes with him as he continued. “Y/N, how are you doing?” His question took me by surprise. Thompson is always business. Hard-core authoritarian and never cares about sick days, let alone mental health days. He didn’t care if you were vomiting on the curb, you better show up for duty.

“I – What?” I asked, bewildered. My jaw fell slack, and I prayed he couldn’t hear my thoughts.

“Y/N, I know this must be extremely hard on you. I know I asked a lot of you when I assigned you to this. I want to be sure you’re doing okay. You two spend a lot of time together and I know how charming he is. I’ve met him on several occasions.” He chuckled, pushing his chair back and coming to sit next to me.

I turned toward him and put on a poker face. “Mr. Thompson, I know the longevity of this mission, and I know what a great deal of stress this is putting on everyone involved as well.” I couldn’t help it, I let my face fall into one of agitation. “But when I’m with him, I can’t help but think of how real it is for him. How would he feel if he knew that my interest is just a hoax? That it’s part of my job description to play this part?”

Thompson moved out of his chair and moved to the windows that looked out into the office. He took his time shutting the blinds before he came to sit in front of me on his desk.

“Y/N,” He started, the unease in his voice was something new. “I know your concern for his emotions is genuine. It’s part of why I hired you. You fully invest in what you’re doing. And that’s a trait that’s hard to come by nowadays. But I also hired you because I know how tough you are. You don’t let people push you around. You’ve truly shown your character with this.”

He took a long glance out the window at the cars driving down the 695. Did he have children? I never asked. We weren’t supposed to ask our superiors about their personal lives. The office and field were strictly professional.

“The unfortunate part of our jobs, is the mere fact that everyone we interact with, is part of our job. Whether it’s a civilian on the street, or the Queen of England. We’re on guard the whole time. Take Niall for instance.” He finally brought his gaze back to mine. “Niall is the closest we have to getting inside Mr. Styles head. To understand his motives and how he may be putting a risk to himself. That’s where we come in.”

“I don’t under – “

“Like Niall, we have Joe. Joe is the head of security for President Styles. President Styles may not understand what we’re doing at the time. But always comes to thank us later.”

“Mr. Thompson,” I let the confusion slide onto my face. “With all due respect, I don’t understand how this relates.”

“What I’m saying Y/N, is that, even though it may not seem like it, we do have Mr. Styles’ best interest at heart. But to do that, we need to be on the inside as well.”

I left Thompson’s office feeling even more anxious than before I entered. The phone ringing in my pocket halted my movements. Harry was trying to FaceTime me. I took a sharp right and entered the nearest bathroom, locking the door behind me.

“Hey,” I greeted him through the screen. He was in a car, driving. His sunglasses were pulled onto his head, pushing his chocolate locks out of his face.

“Hi! Oh – I’m sorry. You’re at work, aren’t you?” He apologized.

“Oh – yeah,” I fibbed. I hated this. I wanted to scream how I didn’t work at Accent and haven’t the slightest clue what marketing strategies were. You’re in too deep at this point, slick.

“How about I come pick you up for lunch? I can say hi to Rich.” He excitedly proposed.

“I can’t today, I’m sorry. I – uh” Think Y/N, think. “I’m actually in a business meeting with a prospect. Maybe tomorrow?”

“Yeah, that sounds good. What’re you doing tonight?” He didn’t even seem fazed. He had grown used to my typical 9-5 day. That was actually midnight to midnight and being on call over the weekends. I, technically, was always working.

“I think Ashlie was cooking some homemade eggplant Parmesan. What’s up?”

“I was going to ask if you wanted to come over tonight. Maybe watch a movie with some popcorn?” He gave a light smirk, before turning it into a full grin.

“I could be up for that. After dinner?”

“Do you want me to send a car to get you? Or would you like to sneak in as usual?” There was a hint of annoyance laced in his voice. He seemed to be getting tired of sneaking around.

“I can get myself there,” I stifled a laugh, trying to lighten his mood. “East Garden?”

“Yeah, okay.” I felt bad, that I couldn’t just stroll up to the main doors of the white house. But what security didn’t know didn’t hurt us. Well, me.

I arrived at the East Garden at 8:58, Harry was waiting with the door slightly cracked, as he had continuously done throughout our little meetings.

“Hey, ninja,” He smirked.

“Ninja?” I giggled as he pulled me into a hug. He rested his head atop mine, arms around my waist.

“Yeah, I think it suits you.” He snickered.

“If only you knew,” I whispered. I pulled away, “Shall we?” He reached for my hand, interlocking our fingers. Something I had grown accustomed to.

We settled in his room, laying back on the pillows. He pulled me into his chest as The Notebook started.

“Hey Y/N?” He gingerly murmured into my hair. Feeling the day weigh on my eyelids, I offered a hum in response. “How much do you. Ya know, like me?”

My eyes flew open at the question. My heart shook my toes with how hard it was beating. “What do you mean?” Trying to keep my voice even, I tilted my head to look up at him.

“Like, we’ve been seeing each other for a bit now, so I was just wondering like.” He grabbed my left hand and gave it a squeeze, “What are we doing?”

“Harry I – “ I took a deep breath. You knew it was coming. Play stupid. “I don’t follow.”

“Do you want to be my girlfriend?”

I sat up and turned to him, criss crossing my legs. “Harry, as much as I care about you,” The words were harder to get out than anticipated. “I really enjoy what we have going on. And, I mean, with your status. I’m nervous about it … blowing up. Does that make sense?” I shook my head at his disapproving eyes. My voice started to waver as I continued, “I’m sorry, I just. I know how nasty the media can be and…”

Harry bolted up, grabbing my face ready to wipe any tears that could fall. “Hey, I don’t want you to apologize. I just, I don’t know. I feel like you don’t want to be seen with me or something. Even around my own house…” his voice trailed as he looked down at his own legs.

I took the opportunity to grab his hands, rubbing circles into their backs. “Harry, I promise that I really care about you. I just, I’m not ready for something like that.”

“Okay, I understand.” His gaze peered back up to me. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to pressure you. I would just really love to show off the woman that has stolen my heart.” I stole his heart and felt mine drop. “Will you let me know when you are?” I could only nod. “Come on, let’s lay back down. I love this movie.”

I don’t know when Harry fell asleep. His soft snores filled the room long before the movie ended. I couldn’t move, but I had to get out of here. I had to tell Thompson I couldn’t do it anymore. I checked my phone for the time. 4:27. I have to go home. I carefully unhooked Harry’s hand from mine. I gathered my things from his desk before spotting a notepad. I glanced over at the sleeping boy. You at least owe him the courtesy to write him a note that you were leaving. He’s done the same before.

I scribbled a simple “Couldn’t sleep, call me tomorrow. - Y/N” On the paper before putting it next to him on the bed.

I cracked the door open as quietly as possible and stuck my head through the crack, looking for any potential sign of life. I slid my body through the door and shut it as lightly as possible. I ran my hands down my face and started down the hall.

“Y/N?” I froze as I was about to round the corner. I slowly turned around to find a confused Niall standing at the other end of the hall. He took several glances between me and Harry’s door. “What are you doing here?” His tone was cold.

“Niall, I – I didn’t think you’d be roaming the halls this early in the morning.” I tried to laugh it off while taking several strides towards him.

He stared at me dumbfounded. “Does Thompson know you’re here?” He took my blank expression as an answer. “So how long has this been going on?”

“Niall, it’s not what it seems.” I defended.

“No, you’re just sneaking over to the WHITE HOUSE in the middle of the night for no reason. Not to hook up with Harry?”

“Niall, it’s really not like that!” I raised my voice slightly.

“Then tell me what it’s like Y/N. You know this could jeopardize the mission!” Niall raised his voice higher than mine. Not seeming to care if other guards heard him.

“I’m being his friend, Niall!” I cried. ‘That’s all.”

“Being his friend?” He asked bemused. “I don’t think FRIENDS do what you’re doing, Y/N.” His voice lower this time.

“Niall, I’m just trying to do the best I can! There’s no precedent for stuff like this! He calls, I answer. If he asks me to be there for him, I am. Like three weeks ago when he had an all-out meltdown!” My hands swung from my sides, to cover my face.

“That’s my job Y/N, not yours. I’m the one he calls to handle situations like that.” He stated the obvious, raising his eyebrows. He spoke almost as if he was telling a three-year-old that they couldn’t jump off the monkey bars because they could get hurt.

“Yeah, Niall. I know it’s your job. But have you been doing it? Are you really his friend and have you been handling it?” I countered his argument. If Niall was the one to handle situations like that, then why did Harry call me instead?

“Y/N, I leave him alone when he gets like that. When he’s ready to talk, he does. I think I know him a little better than you.” Niall crossed his arms over his chest, his eyebrows furrowed, and his voice was ear-piercingly serious.

“Do you, Niall? Do you really? You may know about everything he’s going through professionally, but –“ I took a deep breath, composing myself so my voice was even. “Do you even know the real him? The sensitive Harry that talks about how hard this life is?” I paused taking in Niall’s cold expression

“How about the Harry that’s favorite color is yellow, or that he loves rom coms because they always end happily? Or what about the Harry that’s just trying to cope because this isn’t the lifestyle he planned or hoped for? Do you even know him Niall?” My voice crippled as I finished my rant.

Niall doesn’t know him. Niall knows what he needs to know so he can report to Thompson at the end of the week. Trouble he got into, bars he went to, where the paparazzi who photographed his every move worked so they can get the pictures back from his blacked-out adventures.

“Miss. Y/L/N,” Niall’s voice was too evenly keeled. “At least I know my place, when it comes to my job. Unlike you, who has no issues crossing clear boundaries. I will be pleased to inform Mr. Thompson of your little rendezvous with Mr. Styles this evening.” He turned his back before flicking his face over his shoulder, “And I’m sure we can find out about all the others as well.”

“What?” Niall froze in his tracks; I was too afraid to turn around. “What’s going on?”

I turned to find a red-faced Harry standing in the doorway to his bedroom.

“Harry,” our voices came in unison.

“You – Niall. Mr. Thompson?” The confusion took its rightful place on his face. “This,” Harry glanced at his sock clad feet. “This was a set up?” I couldn’t find the words to defend myself. “How did you – when were you – “ The unfinished questions never left his lips.

“Harry, I can explain.” My voice was thick. It almost hurt to get the words out. If I didn’t vomit when explaining to him why I like the privacy, it was sure about to come up now.

“You both… you both…” another unfinished question. He shut his door behind him and started walking in the opposite direction of both Niall and me. I gave a desperate glance to Niall, who quickly motioned for me to follow him.

“Go, you should talk to him.” His voice was soft. We both knew this wasn’t how it was supposed to play out. “Better you than me right now.”

I jogged to catch up to Harry. “Harry wait,” I called reaching out for his hand. He quickly swiped it from my grip and quickened his pace. “Harry, please let me explain!” I cried.

“Explain what?” He growled, stopping in his tracks. I stopped just before I crashed into him and took a step back. “Explain how you can go about your day just - just lying to me? About everything? Making me feel these things for you?” His voice was exceptionally hard, barely able to detect the hurt laced through.

“Harry, I’m sorry,” I whispered. ”I – “

“Sorry for what.” He barked, whipping around to face me. “Sorry for making me trust you, or sorry for getting caught in your big scheme.” His words rifled through me like he took an AR-15 to my heart. You should’ve known this could be the outcome. “Whatever you’re sorry for, I don’t want to hear it. See yourself out, I’m done.”

His shoulder bumped me as he walked past. I turned to watch him go back down the hall and around the corner back to his room. I remained motionless when I heard his door slam shut. I felt the wetness of a single tear rolling down my cheek and quickly raised my hand to wipe it away.

How could you have been so stupid, Y/N?

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amysteryspot · 4 years ago

Text

Better With You - Thomas Shelby x Female Reader

Request: If you can could you please do one about Tommy having a sort of possessive claim over you (not in an abusive way of course) even though you’ve never looked at him in that way, and when Michael comes into the family again you two get close, which makes Tommy extremely jealous.

Requested by: Anonymous

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Female Reader

Summary: Thomas has known (Y/N) for all of her life and loved her for most part of his, always disguising his claim on her as friendly protectiveness. What happens when Michael makes his way back into the family and starts to get a little too close to her for Tommy’s liking?

Warnings: swearing, mentions of war, mild smut (?).

Word Count: 3526

A/N: I had a lot of fun writing this. Hope you all have fun reading it too. An especial thank to @the-friendly-editor for helping me edit this, it meant a lot to me. Tags are at the end of the post, if you want to be add send me a message. I would love to hear what you think of it, your feedback is always appreciated.

Things you should consider before reading this:

1. I named the Shelby’s mother Anastasia because I felt like I needed to do that. Also, I know that there is a lot of discussion about Finn and the rest of the Shelbys having the same mother or not. I just assumed that they all have the same mother and she died a little after giving birth to Finn. It is not something groundbreaking for the fic but I wanted to clarify just in case.

2. The boys went to war right at the beginning of it; I just ignored the information given to us by “The Ballad of Tommy Shelby”.

3. I probably forgot to warn you about something, I’m sorry.

(Y/N) = Your Name | (Y/N/N) = Your Nickname | (Y/L/N) = Your Last Name | (Y/E/C) = Your Eye Color

If you asked Tommy how long he had known (Y/N) (Y/L/N), he wouldn’t know how to answer—fuck, it seemed like the woman had been in his life forever.

He remembered the day his mother had brought him to the (Y/L/N)’s house for them to meet the new baby. Four-year-old Tommy had complained all the way to their neighbor’s house, much to his older brother’s amusement, until their mother had given him a scolding. (Y/N)’s birth had been the talk of Watery Lane. They finally had a sweet little girl for the neighborhood to dote on.

With two sons, Anastasia was more than happy to welcome the little girl into their lives, not so secretly longing to have a daughter, and that was the reason for Tommy to be fussing over going to see the newborn—jealousy.

However, nothing could have prepared little Tommy for what was about to happen when his mother sat him down on the couch and Mrs. (Y/L/N) put the bundle of covers in his arms—his icy blue eyes stared down at baby (Y/N), who stopped crying instantly when she looked up at him with bright (Y/E/C) eyes of her own. From that moment on, Tommy knew that he would always love her.

And love her he did, since that day and throughout all of their lives. He would raise hell at home for his mother to bring him to the (Y/L/N)’s home so he could see (Y/N), and the three adults would all be astonished at how easily the baby would stop crying when she was in his arms. It wasn’t really a surprise that the first word she babbled was “Tom” or that when she started walking, on wobbly feet, it was Tommy she was seeking.

As they grew up, they grew closer, until it became almost impossible to have one without the other. When Ada was born, Tommy was worried about the possibility that (Y/N) would forget about him, that she would be too enchanted by having another girl around. Instead, as the time passed, he discovered that his little sister was one more reason for (Y/N) to spend more time at the Shelby home.

Even when he started messing around with the boys on the street, and she befriended other girls at school, they would still seek each other out whenever they could. They stuck together when their teenage years came, when Tommy started fooling around with girls from school and secretly scaring down most of the boys that showed any interest in (Y/N).

At least, he did until the day she came crying to him about not being good enough or pretty enough for anybody, not like the girls he would go out with, and breaking his heart; that certainly wasn’t what he had in mind when chasing down the boys. All he had wanted was to protect her, to make sure that she wouldn’t exchange him for some other boy. He wanted to ensure that she was his and his only.

That was actually the reason that led to their first kiss—her first kiss—(Y/N/N) had asked him, pleaded with him, through all the tears to just kiss her and get it done. Fifteen-year-old (Y/N) was sure that nobody would ever want her, and she wanted to experience it at least once. She told Tommy he was the only one she trusted with the task.

“It will mean nothing to you, Tom. You have kissed a million other girls already—I will just be another one for you—but it’s important to me. Please, Tom? Please, please.”

Her pleas had won him over, but (Y/N)’s words couldn’t have been further from the truth—the kiss had meant something for him. It had meant more than he predicted when he gave in to her begging, because the moment their lips touched, Tommy realized he was in love with his best friend and the worst part was that she didn’t had a fucking clue about it.

Then Tommy did what he did best; he pretended that it never happened, pushing it away and never talking to anyone about the kiss or his feelings. He stopped chasing down the boys who would show interest in (Y/N) and watched as she eventually started going out with some of them, laughing with him about how stupid she was to think that no one would ever like her.

When her first boyfriend got too handsy and she broke up with him—not before giving him a good left hook that left him with a very black eye, just like Tommy had taught her—(Y/N) had gone straight to the Shelby home, looking for comfort in his arms. Tommy pretended that the gnawing feeling in his chest was nothing but brotherly protectiveness instead of anger, jealousy and possessiveness—a destructive combination, especially on a Shelby boy.

(Y/N) had stayed with him that night, and the both of them slept together like they used to when they were kids. First thing in the morning the next day, right after he left her at her own house, he found her now ex-boyfriend and beat him up. Arthur and Freddie had to get him off of the guy, afraid of what he would end up doing if they didn’t stop him.

After that, Tommy had focused on channeling his frustrations into going out with every girl in town that wasn’t her. It wasn’t difficult, he was good looking and charming and he was very aware of it; that’s how he met Greta, and thought that he could get over his feelings for his best friend with her.

Greta’s parents were against their involvement at first, but he charmed them, so they started dating. His heart broke down when (Y/N) found out and showed genuine happiness for him having finally found somebody to settle down with.

Tommy’s plan was to end things between them. However, Greta fell ill and he didn’t have the heart to break up with her, so he stayed by her side until she passed. (Y/N) gave him support in the only way she knew how: by loving him.

Just not in the way he wanted her to.

When they thought that things would go back to normal, the War exploded and Tommy did the only thing he considered right in his eyes: he enlisted alongside his brothers. Their first fight had taken place on the night he told her he was leaving for France in two weeks. (Y/N) had hit and screamed at him until he was able to take a hold on her and then, then she cried in his arms the whole night, afraid that she would lose him forever.

They did the best they could with those two weeks. Once more, nothing could have prepared Tommy for (Y/N)’s appeal the night before he was shipping to France. She had come to him right after dinner. Her father was preparing himself to leave, too, and both of the (Y/L/N) women were enjoying whatever time they had left with him before he was gone.

As they both laid there in his bed, resting in each other’s arms and staring at the ceiling, (Y/N) made the decision that would seal his fate if he could survive the war.

“Make love to me.”

It wasn’t a question, nor a request—she was simply telling him to make love to her like this was the most logical thing in the world. His breath caught in his throat, preventing him from answering at first, and (Y/N/N) took that as a cue to reassure him.

“It will be like my first kiss, Tommy, just something I have to get over with. I want it to be you. I trust you. Let me give you at least one last good memory of me before you go.”

Again, he caved in, not needing much more convincing than the certainty in her eyes as she looked down at him, propped up on one elbow. Her hand rested unintentionally above his heart. Granting her wishes, he let himself dive into his own desires, touching her the way he had wanted since they had kissed for the first time.

He worked her body like a delicate instrument and pulled at her strings smoothly, engraving every beautiful sound that he coaxed out of her and the feel of her under his fingertips in his memory. When morning came, they were still a mess of limbs intertwined together, trying to hold on to a last thread of hope and imprint the last few hours on their memories.

In a way, (Y/N) was right. The boy that entered that train in 1914 wasn’t the same that got out of it in 1918. Yet, his love for her never faltered; it just became a tad more… dangerous.

Thomas lost count of how many letters they had exchanged during the past four years. He lost count of how many times he dreamt of her, of coming back home and telling her how he felt. However, any courage he had gathered vanished the moment he saw her waiting for him at the train station. He couldn’t condemn her to a life by his side, he had already taken enough from her.

Polly had told him in her letters how (Y/N/N) had helped her with the business, with the house, with Finn, and with any other thing she could. Especially after her mother, who had given up on life after Mr. (Y/L/N) was killed in combat, passed. A part of him felt guilty for not being there for her as much as she was for him when his mother passed and his father left.

“She’s a Shelby now.”

That’s what Polly had said when he asked her if (Y/N) had any remaining family.

Not much changed when they returned. (Y/N/N) still worked with them. She spent more time at the Shelby home and the gambling den than at her own place. The two of them still sought each other out, not talking much, but enjoying each other’s company. It was in those quiet moments with her that Tommy had a little peace.

Thomas drowned himself in work to forget it all, wanting to expand the business, unleashing his ambitions so long smothered by the war. They found the guns, in a strike of luck, he thought. Both Polly and (Y/N) advised him to let it go, but he just couldn’t. It was too good of an opportunity.

Campbell had come because of it, and with him, Grace. At the time, he didn’t know who she really was. He thought that the beautiful, blonde barmaid was just that: beautiful and innocent, everything he and his family were not. So he fooled himself, fell for her, and then she betrayed him and left for America.

Again, (Y/N) was there for him, and again, he found himself sinking into his love for her. The only good thing that came from all this mess was that the business was never better. He thought that it was time to start planning for an expansion, and with that came another thing that he hadn’t quite predicted—Michael.

He had planned to find Polly’s children for her. She had been suffering quite a lot lately. Even if people thought that his heart was as good as gone, he wanted his family to be okay. He wanted them to be happy.

Thomas found the boy and he came to Polly, making his way into the family and the business quickly. That included starting to get close to (Y/N) – too fucking close for his liking.

It was supposed to be natural, he knew that. (Y/N) kept the books at the shop. She was better with numbers than most of them, so it was natural that she would be the one to help Michael when he assumed the position of accounts clerk.

After they came back, he learned that (Y/N) had become very good at sneaking around without getting caught. It was rare to see her with any men whose last name wasn’t Shelby, or wasn’t closely related to the Peaky Blinders. That didn’t mean she didn’t have men swooning over her all the time, or that he was finally okay with that—much like when they were teenagers, he wanted to chase them all down—the only difference was now he was more deadly.

“I couldn’t have done it without you.”

It was Michael’s voice that brought him back to reality, and his gaze fell immediately on the boy. They were all gathered on the snug in the Garrison. (Y/N) was sitting between him and Michael, Tommy’s arm casually rested on her shoulders.

(Y/N) said, “Oh, no, you would totally get it... after a few more weeks.”

Everyone burst out laughing at her remark, but the only thing he could think about was the hand Michael rested on (Y/N)’s thigh. His own hand clenched around his glass before he downed the rest of its contents.

He didn’t notice Polly’s gaze on him. Despite what most people believed, Tommy had never been a good liar. He could get away with omitting information to people and redirecting the conversation, most of the time, but a direct confrontation was a completely different thing. Polly was always able to read him first, to know the things he wasn’t willing to share.

“Maybe we should just hire you instead of Michael, then.” He ignored the look (Y/N) gave him, taking another drag of his cigarette and looking away.

However, he couldn’t miss the lingering touches, or how (Y/N/N) leaned into Michael when he talked to her, and how she was just so comfortable with him. It made his blood boil.

When (Y/N/N) said she wanted to get home he offered to walk her, and was fairly surprised at how she didn’t say a word to him until they reached her front door.

Then she turned to face him, features painted with anger, and asked, “What the hell was that, Tom?”

He actually rolled his eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

(Y/N) huffed, turning around to unlock the door before entering the house, leaving it open for him to follow. She went straight to the dressing room, shedding her coat and throwing it at the table with her purse as he followed her closely.

“Oh, you know exactly what I’m talking about.”

She was taking her shoes off, and Tommy took advantage of the moment to let his eyes follow her movements. God, was he in love with that woman.

“I’m talking about your attitude with Michael at the Garrison. That was completely unnecessary,” She said.

“Someone had to put that boy in his place,” Tommy said.

(Y/N) turned to him then, and he would be worried with that look if he hadn’t been at the receiving end of her anger for so many years.

“Oh, please enlighten me, Thomas. What is his place?” (Y/N) asked.

“For fucks sake, (Y/N/N), he was all over you!”

She rolled her eyes. “He is a boy, Thomas, a boy. He’s family…”

Tommy never thought that what would make him snap would be hearing her say that Michael was family, but apparently it was.

“He’s family, huh?” Thomas said. “He is fucking family! Then he should know better and stay away from you.”

She stared at him for a moment, brow furrowed, as she seemed to put the puzzle together in her head. “Why would he stay away from me, Tom?”

He turned around to face away from her for a moment, rubbing a hand over his face. “No, no. You won’t make me feel guilty for that.”

“Make you feel guilty for what, Tommy?”

He recognized the hint of annoyance on her tone and couldn’t ignore it anymore, the alcohol giving him the courage that he had lost that day on the train station, as he turned around and shouted, “For loving you!”

She held her breath, eyes widening as she stared back at him.

Tommy continued, “Michael should stay away from you because you’re fucking mine and I love you.”

“Tommy, I’m not your property, and you know that I love you…”

“No, you don’t,” he interrupted her, making her look at him with confusion, “You don’t love me the way I love you. The way I’ve loved you since the fucking day you asked me to kiss you when you were fifteen!”

He saw her flinch before murmuring his name, trying to gain his attention but he couldn’t stop now. The truth was finally out there and he just had to go on with it, let it all out before he lost his mind.

“You said to me that it would mean nothing, that it would be just another kiss for me, but you were wrong,” Tommy said, his breaths short.

She looked bewildered, and Tommy held onto a strand of hope he didn’t even know still existed.

“That kiss meant fucking everything. From that day on, I’ve never seen you in the same way as before, because I realized I was in love with you and you didn’t feel the same. So I ignored these feelings while I saw you going out with boys, and I’ve thrown myself into fucking every girl that wasn’t you because I knew I couldn’t have you, not the way I wanted.”

Tommy didn’t notice that he was walking to her until they were just a breath apart.

“Then I found Greta, and I thought that I could forget you, but it only reminded me that you are the only one I want. I was going to break up with her, but she fell ill. You stayed by my side, and just when I thought that I would have a chance to tell you everything, the war happened and I just couldn’t. I couldn’t, because there was no way in hell that I was going to risk going to fight in France and die. I couldn’t leave you here to suffer because of me, either because you felt the same or not.”

“Tommy…” (Y/N)’s voice was all but a whisper.

He couldn’t resist anymore, his hands brought her to him, his eyes observing hers from up close, not giving her time to talk or he would lose his courage.

“I was ready to go there and die, and never let you know how I felt. But you had to give me hope that night before I was shipped off to that fucking hell. You had to…”He took a deep breath, his eyes closing for a brief second, a flood of memories making his heart race faster. “You had to give yourself to me. You had to give me a taste of what I thought I could never have, to make me want to survive the fucking war, to come back to you, and to let you know about all of these stupid feelings.”

Tommy couldn’t wait anymore. He did the one thing he had wanted to since he had returned from France—he kissed her. It wasn’t gentle or patient; no, it was urgent and filled with passion and he didn’t know how to stop, not when she wasn’t pushing him away. He devoured her as a man starved, teeth clashing and hands grabbing at anything they could touch. They were both out of breath when they finally parted.

“You said that you wanted to give me one last good memory and it was that memory that kept me alive during most of the nights when I was stuck in the fucking mud,” Thomas said.

(Y/N)’s fingers were clinging to him like her life depended on it, like she was afraid to lose him to the War again.

Tommy took the moment to let the words spill out. “The memory of you and the feeling of you under my fingers, and all around me, and the way you tasted.”

His lips brushed against hers, fingers clawing at the flesh of her hips like they had done the night before he left for France.

He backed her up against the wall, hands trailing down to the back of her thighs, picking her up and trapping her with his body.

Tommy looked straight to her eyes as he spoke again, “How you writhed under me, all the beautiful sounds you made, and I just wanted to come back to you and make some new memories.”

(Y/N) shivered at his words. She gave him just a brief second to observe the rise and fall of her chest and her expanded pupils before he felt her fingers at the back of his head, forcing him to really look at her as she said, “Then let’s work on those new memories.”

Their lips clashed again, and every doubt that he ever felt vanished for a moment. That night their bodies moved together like old acquaintances, skin sliding against skin, hands gripping at each other, lips kissing every patch of skin while chanting a sinful choir of moans and curses alongside their names.

When Tommy woke up the next day, (Y/N/N) in his arms, he realized that he was finally home.

Taglist: @captivatedbycillianmurphy, @internalmess3

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oldfritz · 3 years ago

Note

I'm genuinely curious and don't want to start something! Just wanted to ask what you make of the 'Old Fritz might've been asexual' take, I don't know much about him and I feel you're one of the best people to ask esp since you lean towards 'he was probably queer in some way' too

Hey there! So, first off, don’t ever worry about me interpreting you asking me a question as starting something. As much as I love making dumb jokes about the guy, I love nothing more than doing this kind of stuff and defending or explaining my points. There’s two degrees I want to get over the next decade: first my JD and then my MA in Prussian history. I live for this stuff! Always have! Second off, I’m very sorry for not getting to this sooner. Things have been incredibly stressful for me for a variety of different reasons which have made answering your question, until now, rather difficult. Putting this under a cut because, holy shit, it got long!

My personal reasoning for why I think he’s bi (which, correct me if I’m wrong, I’m assuming is what you meant instead of ace and could be a different post entirely since some historians have tried to argue that) stems more to do with some of my lingering questions about the nature of his relationships with certain woman, rather than that of his relationships with men. To me and my modern, queer eye, Fritz’s relationships with men like Hans Hermann von Katte, Francisco Algarotti, Michael Gabriel Fredersdorf, and (much to my personal vexation) one Monsieur Voltaire are either outright homosexual/homoerotic in nature or very, very easily lend themselves to that interpretation rather than strictly romantic friendships (which Wikipedia does a fairly good overview of and, if you’re coming to me from AmRev perspective, uses Hamilton and Laurens’ relationship as a familiar example). While I’m avoiding those relationships in this ask, I’d be more than happy to elaborate upon one/all of them in a different one.

Before I go into the big pauses that Fritz’s relationships with Madame von Wreech and Countess Orzelska give me, I want to deny the use of Fritz’s wife as an example of Fritz’s attraction to woman. While this, admittedly, may sound odd, we have ample evidence of how turned off and repulsed Fritz found Elisabeth Christine. Before he had even met her, Fritz was complaining about how she was ‘not very pretty, speaks but little, and acts like a blockhead’ (Asprey, 87) and, later, admitted to Grumbkow his plan to ‘keep my word,...get married, but afterwards it will be a case of that is that, and goodbye, Madame, and fare thee well’ (Jones, 52). For Christ’s sake, the man pitied her knowing how his treatment would leave her as ‘one more unhappy princess in the world’! Which is little consolation when you remember he also referred to her with such romantic terms as ‘this unpleasant creature,’ ‘the abominable object of my desires,’ ‘the person,’ and claimed to have preferred to marry ‘the biggest whore in Berlin’ (Asprey, 87). And while we (fortunately? unfortunately?) know quite a bit about their sex life, Fritz largely regarded it as just another duty - to quote him, ‘I will only have the duty to fuck’ (Ibid, 87). And while Seckendorf heard - first, presumably from Count von der Schulenburg and, later on, Count Friedrich von Wartensleben, a close and intimate friend of the then-crown prince - that Fritz would ‘fuck and refuck’ Elisabeth Christine and that said act occurred in the afternoon, it still was out of a sense of obligation (Bely, 481-2). When reminded that if he wanted more money for frivolities, he’d need to produce an heir, Fritz bemoaned that he ‘cannot sleep with my wife out of desire, and when I do sleep with her, I do it out of duty rather than inclination’ (Clark, 50). All this in accumulation, as well as the myriad of other quotes and incidents I’ve left out, makes one wonder why his relationship with Elisabeth Christine is sometimes used by historians to prove any sort of heterosexual impulse in the man when she’s the woman with the weakest supports for that argument.

That being said, now we get to the women with a more muddled places in his romantic escapades, if you will. What exactly happened between Orzelska and Fritz during his trip with his father to Dresden in 1728? The main source for everything that occurred during this trip is Wilhelmina, who didn’t attend and without anything about this specific incident coming from Fritz or Friedrich Wilhelm I, make it rather hard to use as concrete, irrefutable proof. Now, if her recollections were contemporaneous - like coming from a diary or journal she kept at the time - that would be one thing. But it comes from her memoirs which, while a delightful read 10/10 recommend, are written decades after this trip took place and, memory being a finicky thing, can’t be taken to the bank. All those disclaimers, here’s the story as told by her:

‘One evening...,the King of Poland [note: Augustus II] insensibly led the King of Prussia to a very richly decorated room...The King of Prussia, delighted with what he saw, stopped to contemplate all its beauties, when [all of] a sudden a tapestry was rolled up, which procured him a very novel sight. It was a lovely female in a state of nudity [note: Countess Orzelska, the Polish king’s daughter], carelessly reclined on a couch. Her beauty excelled that of the finest pictures of Venus and the Graces; her body seemed of ivory, whiter than snow, and better shaped than that of the Venus de Medicis at Florence.

...Scarcely had the King cast his eyes on the fair one, than he turned about with indignation; and seeing my brother behind him, he rudely pushed him out of the room, and left it immediately after in a violent irritation against the trickery they had attempted to practice on him. ...In spite of the King’s vigilance, [Frederick] had had time to contemplate the Venus of the closet, who did not cause him so much horror as she had done to his father. (Wilhelmina’s Memoirs, vol. 1, 107-6)

Wilhelmina then goes on to claim Fritz had fallen ‘passionately in love’ with Orzelska and that the illness Fritz experienced upon returning home was simply being lovesick. Pinning the accuracy of this story is incredibly difficult because, again, we have only one source relayed decades after the fact and from two volumes of memoirs known to have inaccuracies. While I, personally, would love if he had had a tryst with Orzelska (who is such a badass in her own right and deserves more recognition than as a footnote in this guy’s story), there’s no one way to say with more than 30% confidence. I am inclined to believe something along these lines happened because if someone told me a story like this, lord knows I wouldn’t forget it for the rest of my life. And, with Wilhelmina being so close with her brother, it lends a bit more credence but as to the actual emotional or physical response Fritz had to it, well, without my time machine, I can’t and don’t want to say.

With Madame Eleonore-Louise von Wreech, things are a little more concrete. For starters, Fritz actually talked about her! In written correspondence that survived! We even have seven letters between the two of them that survived, which is a bigger win! As Blanning says, they’re ‘ardent but light in tone, ironic, almost flippant, and highly stylized’ (Blanning, 58). Their relationship was known to those close with Fritz at the time that Schulenberg felt compelled to visit and warn the crown prince against devoting himself to women because ‘the slight pleasures gained cause a million displeasures.’ Fritz’s response? To tell the poor guy that he may have ‘the gift of continence, but I assure you that I do not’ (Asprey, 83-4). Firtz even went so far as to send a letter to her mother, waxing poetic about Louise’s ‘beauty, her majestic air, her bearing, and her entire department.’ It’s worth noting that Louise eventually broke off the affair due to being bored by how he ‘loved [her] too much and often annoyed [her] with his clumsy love’ (Ibid, 84). Contemporaries, including Friedrich Wilhelm, believed Fritz had impregnated her with a daughter who her ‘cuckolded husband would refuse to recognize’ (Blanning, 58). Blanning is the only source I’ve seen dispute this due to this news coming from Seckendorf, who didn’t reveal how he came about this information; that Fritz and Madame von Wreech’s correspondence doesn’t indicate a physical relationship; and on the fact that she was not pregnant. I haven’t been able to find the birth dates or any sort of records for Louise’s two daughters to figure out where their conception could’ve been in the timeline and if it matches with the likely dates for the affair, but I also don’t have the resources Cambridge would afford Blanning. Either way, while the physical nature of the affair is in dispute, the emotional aspect certainly was there. Especially when taking into consideration the fact that she’s the woman Fritz was likely referring to in the 16 August 1737 letter to Voltaire where he claimed she had taught him how to love (and also inspired him to write poetry, which we shouldn’t be thankful for). Specifically, all these years later, he stated how ‘this little miracle of nature possessed every possible charm, together with good taste and delicacy. She sought to transfer these qualities to me. I succeeded well in love but poorly in poetry. Since that time I have very often been in love and have always been a poet’ (Fritz’s Oeuvres, vol. 21, 96).

All this to say, there’s a bit too much evidence of some degree of opposite-gender attraction in Fritz to completely write off the possibility that he could’ve been bisexual. While it’s undeniable he held a preference for men and that’s whose company he typically enjoyed, I still do find it interesting the two exceptions (one potential and the other with a fair degree of certainty) to this. And, while I would never want his attraction to men be minimized in favor of that to women, it still remains important to note to get the most comprehensive picture of the man.

#frederick the great #elisabeth christine #countess orzelska #madame von wreech #asks #anonymous

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bedbellyandbeyond · 3 years ago

Photo

Librarians

(Story Post)

After spending another night with Diederich, Nari was back at the library. There was a different guard at the front desk time which meant another hassle to get back in. She asked for both his patron card and ID and things seemed to be going well until she tried to have him leave his phone because ‘smartphones contain silver'. When he argued that there wasn't even half a gram of silver in the average smartphone, she then said it was to enforce their ‘no photography’ policy, something that was never even brought up the last time he entered. At that point, Nari asked for Kobann and had to be escorted inside again. Looking up at all the seemingly infinite rows of bookshelves, Nari sighed and tried to remember where he left off. He decided it might just be better to start with a whole new section and see what he could find. Like before, he'd started around noon, but he figured the sun was going down when he noticed more and more perusers passing by. Some of the vampires climbed the ladders like him but he noticed more and more were able to float from floor to floor, a vampiric ability he wasn't even aware of. It was the floaters that made him most uncomfortable because they made no sound as the went by, eyeing him with curiosity and disapproval, he bet. So, when one vampire floated up next to him on the fourth floor and placed a hand on his shoulder, he was caught completely by surprise. Instinctively, he spun around and went for a neck grab, but the other vampire was quicker and caught his wrist.

“Whoa! Sorry if I scared you,” the stranger said grinning. He was tall, he had dark hair like Diederich's, and he looked rather smug with his uncomfortably intense eyes. “What do you want?” Nari growled, yanking his arm back. “I don't like to be disturbed.” “I just noticed you're new around here, that's all,” the stranger said. He had some kind of British accent. “Maybe, I could help you out.” “I'm not looking for help,” Nari said. The strange vampire tilted his head. “Oh? Most vampires come to the library because they're looking for help with something. Whether it's learning about their own immortality, or discovering new powers, or…” He glanced at the book in Nari's hand. “…starting a family?” Nari blinked and closed his book. “Who are you? Do you work here?” “Ooh, I got it right, didn't I?” The stranger was quite pleased with himself. “No, I don't work here, but I might as well with how long I've been here.” He offered a hand. “Everett.” “Nari.” He took the hand to shake it but was quickly pulled close to the stranger's chest. “H-Hey!” “I could help you, you know,” Everett said, smiling down at him. “With the whole baby thing.” Nari curled his lip in a sneer. “Let go of me. I have a partner.” Everett let go and grinned as he pat Nari on the head. “Don't get so worked up, I'm only joking! I too am taken.” He leaned back, looking up towards the upper levels of the bookshelf they were currently standing on. “Wes! Come down here for a moment!” Another vampire floated down, this time with sandy curls and bushy brows, and he held a finger to his mouth. “Shhhh! We're in a library, remember?” “Wes, my dearest!” Everett went in for a kiss, but the other vamp blocked him with his hand. “Who are you harassing today?” he asked. Nari noticed this new vampire preferred to remain afloat whereas Everett had alighted on the floor beside him. “Ah, this is…Norris?” Everett guessed, patting Nari's back a bit roughly. “Nari,” Nari correctly, glaring at him. “Stop touching me!” “Nari, I'm Wesley,” the other vampire said, offering his hand. “I'm really sorry about my partner. He's a menace to society.” Nari just looked at the hand and wrinkled his nose. Wesley sighed and grabbed Everett by the ear. “What did you do? He won't even shake my hand!” “Isn't that a thing in their culture?” Everett asked. Nari just put his book back and started climbing down the ladder. “I'm done… I give up.” Wesley gave Everett's ear a good yank. “You racist shit, look what you've done! Apologise!” “Shh, we're in a library, my love!” “Apologise.” Everett dove down to meet Nari on the next level upside down. “Nari, I'm sorry if I offended you. I was just trying to make friends.” “I was not.” Nari got off the ladder and prodded Everett in the forehead. “Just leave me alone.” “Hold on, hear me out for a moment,” Everett said righting himself so he could stand with Nari. “I really could help you find whatever you're looking for with this baby business. Wes and I have been coming to the library almost every day for decades. We know the books. The one you had out was not going to help you, but I could tell why you might think it would.” Nari frowned. “You've read all the books?” “Oh no, it would take a millennium to read everything in here,” Everett said. “I'm only just hitting my 180s. But I have read my fair share and more. I know the system they've got here. I know what books are practical and which are just hogwash.” Nari exhaled through his nose. “…So, since you seem to know everything, what do you think I'm looking for?” Everett smiled. “You want to know how to increase your chances of having a viable pregnancy with your partner.” Nari blinked. “How did you figure that?” “The book you had out,” Everett said. “It was about some Russian vampire queen with fifty children; it's a go to for a lot of vamps like you. But it's completely fabricated.” “And you know that how?” Nari asked. Everett shrugged. “It was just classic sexism. They thought she was a vampire because she appeared youthful for many years and was able to produce children well into her fifties. Men just like to call women monsters when they do anything they thinking isn't normal for a woman. That's all.” Nari put his hands on his hips. “So, what do you actually know about vampire pregnancy?” “One moment.” Everett held up a finger and then floated away to a far-off shelf several rows down and several levels up. Nari just opted to climb back up to look for a different book. He forgot however that the other vampire was still there. Wesley smiled sheepishly. “You really do have to forgive Everett; he can be an asshole sometimes. But he means well.” Nari sort of ignored him because he was trying to pinpoint what was giving him a vibe that this vampire was different. Then it clicked. “You're American.” “That's right, pardon my accent,” Wesley said, bashfully rubbing his neck. “I'm surprised I still got it with how long I've lived with Evie.” “I've never met an American vampire,” Nari said, although he hadn't met a lot of vampires in general. Wesley nodded. “Yep, they really like to keep it in and among the Europeans, I've found out. I got lucky, I guess.” Nari wrinkled his nose. “Lucky? This is a curse.” Wesley continued nodding. “Yeah, I felt that way for a long time… But, Everett saved my life.” “…He turned you?” Nari asked. Wesley put his hands in his pockets. “Yep. WWII, nazi I thought was down picked up his gun, shot me right in the back. I would've died that day if Evie didn't turn me.” Everett came back with a couple books in hand. “He still blames me for robbing him of his hero’s death, though.” Wesley grinned and wrapped an arm around Everett's neck. “Yeah! You just had to be the hero in that situation, huh? Bitey bastard…” “I thought only ancient vampires could turn people,” Nari said. “Really, really old ones.” “The natural ability to do it did peter out a few hundred years ago,” Everett said. “But like a lot of vampiric abilities, turning can be learned by any vampire. I frequented the library many years before joining the military. I'd never turned anyone before though.” “Why'd you learn it then?” Nari asked. “It's a bit embarrassing…” Everett admitted. “He had a wife before,” Wesley said. “He wanted to turn her so they could be together forever. But she got pregnant while he was in basic training. Postman. You know, the classics.” “Ah…” Nari eyed the books Everett had. “So, these are supposed to help me?” “Yes, I can't remember which, but one or more of these talks about birth chance I think,” Everett said. “What do you think, Wes? Take ‘em back to the house for a study session?” “Yeah… We've only been here a bit, but I'm already getting tired,” Wesley said. “I found what I needed.” “You can't take the books out of the library,” Nari said. “Not with that attitude,” Everett said. “Come. Follow us.” “What?” They both started to float down to the main floor. Nari tried to climb down after them, but it took him a lot more time. Everett came back and met him halfway up. “I could carry you down.” “No, thank you,” Nari huffed. “Are you sure? I've got strong arms. I've carried Wesley around quite a bit.” “I'm perfectly capable of climbing down on my own,” Nari said. “I don't even know why I'm following you…thieves.” “We're borrowers, not thieves,” Everett said, setting foot down on the ground just as Nari made it to the first floor. “We’re strong believers that library books are meant to be borrowed. Come on, Wes can't hold out much longer.” “Don't rush me,” Nari said. They led him through the labyrinth of shelves all the way to a little fire exit guarded by what looked to be another familiar. “The library had to put in a fire escape a couple years back to bring the building up to code,” Wesley said. “But it's clearly guarded,” Nari complained. “Hey, Ozren!” Everett went up and patted the guard on the chest and Nari noticed him slip something into his chest pocket. “You have a good shift, buddy!” The guard just acted like he didn't see them at all as they slipped past and through door. Despite a warning on display saying an alarm would sound, everything remained silent. Once they were in the hall beyond the door, they stopped for a moment. It was a narrow passage leading to another exit door, but Nari noticed there was also a wheelchair folded up against the wall. Wesley floated to it eagerly and unfolded it, before taking a seat. He sighed happily and hung back his head. “Oh my god, floating is so exhausting!” Nari stared at him for a moment. “…Can you not walk?” “Nope.” Wesley used his hands to pull his legs up onto the footrests of his wheelchair. “Already told you, I was shot in the back. Hit my spine.” Nari blinked. “But you can float. Why don't you do that all the time?” Wesley frowned and tilted his head. “Did you not just hear me say how exhausting that is? I only learned it so I could use the library. I much prefer my chair. This place has zero accessibility. It's a nightmare.” “Oh.” Nari blinked some more. “I'm sorry, I didn't realise…” Wesley rolled over to him and patted his back. “Don't worry about it. Let's just get out of here.” “Right.” Nari looked at Everett. “What'd you give that guard?” “Cash, obviously,” Everett answered. “He’s a familiar. They don't pay him anything. It's so easy to bribe a familiar.” “Got it...” Nari said. “I still don't know where you're taking me...” “Just to our house,” Everett said going down the hall and opening the door for them. “You can meet the others!” Wesley said excitedly as he went outside. Nari followed them out nervously. “Others?” “You’ll see.” “You’ll like them.”

#lore #Nari #vampire #Wesley #Everett

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meobsessions · 4 years ago

Note

Hi! I saw you were taking requests, so I was wondering if you could maybe do a Dutch x reader where its later game Dutch and the reader is trying to keep him from spiraling further and it's just super angsty? If you don't have time or the inspiration to write it, don't worry about it. Love ya thanks!!

Wow, this was requested forever ago, and I just now got to it 💀sorry about the wait, hope this makes up for it (she’s a long one)!

Title: With Me or Against Me

Word Count: 9.4K

Rating: M (swearing, violence, suggestive themes, no actual smut tho)

Summary: When you first met Dutch Van Der Linde, the two of you were in love. It was bliss. But as the gang is on the run from the law, trying to stay hidden and safe, tensions rise and you find the two of you drifting apart. That's not what you want to happen, but you find as you try to fix things with your love it only gets worse. When you finally confront Dutch will it make everything better, or will it be damaged beyond repair?

Here’s the AO3 link:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29191437

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Meeting Dutch van der Linde had been the best thing you had ever done.

The work you did to make a living wasn't anything big, but it was enough for you to get by on your own. Delivering packages from one post office to the other was something that most people didn't want to do--it consisted of long days and uncontrollable weather conditions, but you always liked traveling. Seeing different sights, meeting new people, and giving your brown quarterhorse, Scout, some good exercise gave you more joy than spending your days in saloons like it did most people.

The first time you met Dutch van der Linde it was quite dramatic. Like a knight in shining armor, he saved you from some men who had surrounded you while you were riding your horse to a neighboring town. They wanted your packages and you told them to go to hell. Bandits weren't uncommon, so you made sure to always carry a pistol, but the three of them to your one presented odds even you weren't happy about. Dutch showed up out of nowhere, along with a man who introduced himself as Arthur. Dutch tried calmly speaking to the men, but when they drew their guns he didn't hesitate in pulling his own and shooting the one closest to you in the head. The other men spooked and took off, shouting idle threats as they left in a cloud of dust.

When you had the chance to get a proper look at him, you were taken aback by just how handsome he was. Dark hair slicked back, a well-trimmed goatee on his face, warm brown eyes, and a muscular build visible even underneath his dress clothes. You hoped he didn't notice your ogling and looked him in the eye, thanking him profusely. He merely said he was doing what any decent man would do. He was suave, you had brazenly flirted, and then you were on your way. Though you didn't see the man for another week, he never left your mind.

Then when you were delivering packages to a farther town, one that required you to ride through the night, you heard some scuffling in the woods. Thinking it nothing more than a random animal, you urged Scout on until you heard the following groan that was most definitely human.

The last thing you were expecting was to find a drunk Dutch practically passed out in a bush. He didn't seem to be hurt, and it just looked like he had too many to drink after a good night out, so you weren't worried. After getting ahold of your laughter, you helped him onto your horse--his was nowhere in sight--and took him to the hotel in town where you paid for his room. He grabbed your hand just before you slipped from the room, and asked you to stay. Though a part of you was tempted, you politely declined. You just wanted to make sure he was safe in his inebriated state. It was the least you could do for him after what he had done for you.

But if there was one thing you would learn about Dutch van der Linde in the coming months, it was that he was a man of determination.

In simple terms, he didn't leave you alone. He always seemed to just so happen to be at the next town you were to go to. You'd bump into him at the post office, as that was where you normally went first. At first, you thought it was just a coincidence. He took you to dinner that night as a thank you for what you did when you found him. You told him it was unnecessary, but he insisted.

But as time went on, the bumping into each other became more frequent, the dinners were expected, and the talks were longer.

And after a month of this, it became clear that he was wooing you.

Did he do so successfully? Yes. Were you going to take it easy on him for doing so? Absolutely not.

Though Dutch was a man of class, he was also just that: a man. If there was one thing your mama taught you that you remembered, it was that you should never change yourself for a man. So you didn't.

You showed him who you were. What you liked doing. How you enjoyed your freedom and independence, more than most women you've encountered in your travels get the pleasure of enjoying. You expected him to be appalled, disgusted, wanting to move onto some other submissive woman.

But instead of doing so, he was like a moth to a flame and came around even more.

You met the group of people he traveled with, the people he called his family, and soon you came to understand why. The women were easy to get along with, and then men had their challenges, but don't they all?

After seeing each other for four months, you finally discovered the true nature of what it is that Dutch and his family did. You had been delivering a small box to one of the fancier towns in the country when you began to hear gunshots. When you walked down the street, you saw that the bank was being robbed. This wasn't uncommon--people didn't have money and some figured the only way to get it was by force.

But what shocked you was the familiar voice that was calling out orders to the men who had bandanas on their faces as they ran from the building, large bags clutched in their hands. The man, whose hair was as dark as the night, turned in your direction and seemed to lock eyes in the crowd. He paused, and then another one of the men, this one also with familiar sandy blonde hair, grabbed his arm. He seemed to shake it off and ran around the back of the bank.

Needless to say, when you saw Dutch that night you confronted him. You weren't going to keep secrets between the two of you, not when you were beginning to harbor some serious feelings for the man.

He admitted to seeing you, and that he didn't want you to find out--at least not in the way you had. He told you what you did, how he had dreams of making a safe home for his family where they could live comfortably for the rest of their lives.

And man if that dream didn't sound beautiful to you.

And when he showed you how much money he managed to get from the bank, it didn't hurt either.

Shortly after that, Dutch asked you to join the group, to travel with them. He told you they were going farther south than they had before, and that he couldn't bear to leave you. He wanted you to come with him, to be with him.

And there was no way you could say no to that.

So here you are, almost a year later, still sticking around.

Even after the hot pile of horse shit that was Blackwater.

That was rough on Dutch, but you were there to help calm him down and think clearly. The two of you were a power pair: the gang looked up to you. Where Dutch was the leader, telling everyone what the plan was for the next step and making sure everyone was provided for, you were there at his side to look after everyone and make sure they had what they needed. You were the one they came to if they really wanted something because they knew that if you batted your lashes at Dutch there was no way he could say no.

He both loved and hated it, you could tell. But he never told you to stop.

And though you and Dutch love each other deeply, ready to lay your life down for the other should it come to it, you've also noticed that he's been...more withdrawn as of late.

You shouldn't complain. A lot has happened in the past six months, and unfortunately, not much of it is good.

Sean was killed after someone ratted the gang out to the families in Rhodes. Kieran was beheaded as a warning to your gang. Arthur was kidnapped by the Pinkertons, and try as you had to convince Dutch to go after him, Micah was there to whisper in his ear that it wasn't a good idea. You already butt heads with Micah as it is, and you had thought for sure that Dutch would listen to you, but Micah's voice was stronger you suppose. It had hurt, but when Arthur miraculously showed back up on his own, all attention was fixed on getting him better so you pushed it to the back of your mind.

The time in Saint Denis was nice. Dutch took you to dinner like he did when you first started seeing him. He even took you to the theater and judging by how Dutch simply watched you instead of the show, you get the feeling that he took you there simply for your own pleasure instead of his own. You thanked him in more than one way later that night in your tent.

Then when he made a plan to rob the bank in Saint Denis, you got a bad feeling in your gut. It didn't sound right to you, and Hosea agreed. In a rare moment, Dutch seemed to display a show of jealousy that you were siding with Hosea over him. You tried to reassure him that you were just looking out for everyone's best interests, but he didn't want to hear it. You didn't like the plan, so you excused yourself from the job and stayed back at camp.

And severely regretted it.

Hosea and Lenny were killed. The others who went to the bank, Dutch included, disappeared. For a month. All of you thought them dead, unsure if they managed to escape or if the Pinkertons eventually got them in the end. You were all overcome with grief, and you were riddled with guilt for not being there. Maybe something would have gone differently, maybe if you had tried harder to convince him to stay...

But they came back. Dutch clutched you to him like you were what he needed to survive, and you didn't leave his side (or stop crying) for nearly three days. He put up no argument and didn't complain when you doted over him. He had lost weight, was injured in more than one place, and compared to the other men in the gang when they also eventually regrouped, he was lucky. Javier was shot.

And so you thought things were finally moving in a better direction. He grieved for those you had lost. For Lenny, for Hosea...and you were there for him. There to hold him when he needed it, there to comfort and care. You were his rock.

And when you arrived at Beaver Hollow, he seemed to be a little more positive than before. Everyone did. Maybe it was the location, maybe it was the town that was nearby where nobody knew who any of you were, or maybe it was the fact that he was inspired once more to look for a place for all of you to settle down. This was finally it, you hoped, and then you could live the rest of your days out happily.

Except Dutch started spending less time with you and more with Micah and Bill. More time was spent either at Micah's table or in your tent, and Dutch didn't allow you in the tent when he was talking over plans with the men.

You had frowned and argued. "Since when am I not included in the plans?"

He shook his head and cupped your cheek, but you stepped out of his touch, unable to hide how hurt you were from being excluded. "We don't keep secrets, Dutch."

"It's not a secret," he had frowned, "it's a plan. The less who know, the better. I promise that once we get everything laid out here, it'll already be over. It just ain't...the safest of things, Sweetheart."

You didn't want to hear his words anymore and so you left.

And that was the beginning of the rift.

Dutch tried to patch things up at first, reassuring you that he was doing this for your safety, but you just wanted him to be done with his plans. You didn't want any more risky business like the bank in Saint Denis. Hosea's death had been the last you could take. You couldn't lose him too.

But bringing up Hosea's death was a bad idea. He had closed off almost immediately. Micah had snickered and told you to go sew with the other women where you'd be useful, instead of distracting the boss. You had scoffed at his words, expecting Dutch to come to your defense, but...he didn't.

And so the hurt between the two of you grew. You stopped actively seeking him out, and he did the same with you. You started spending more time with Miss Grimshaw and Arthur on occasion, going out to hunt with him just so you'd feel useful. He knew that there was something wrong, but he never asked. And for his silence you were grateful.

One morning something was different. Dutch was gone already when you wake up, and as of late that isn't odd. It hurts your heart to think about how you were when you first moved in with him, how he would hold you in his arms as if you were the most precious thing he'd ever had in the world. He told you about Annabelle, about how deeply he cared for her. You told him about your own experience with love. About the man you had been engaged to for a time, about how you broke it off because he wanted to keep you at home.

He told you how though he cared deeply for Annabelle, he never thought it possible to love a person more...until he met you. And you told him you never knew what it meant to love someone until you met him.

But these days you don't get that feeling from him anymore. It's like breaking up, even though you're still seeing the person. It's awful.

And the worst part? You still love him with every breath you take. You still watch him as he walks through camp, as he talks with the others. When he glances your way you turn, almost embarrassed that he would think you were looking at him, even though just a little bit ago you would have done so without hesitation.

You miss your best friend.

"You listenin'?"

You tear your eyes away from where Dutch is deep in conversation with Micah, a frown tugging the edges of his lips down. Tilly has her hands on her hips as she waits for an answer from you. "Yeah, sorry. Just lost in thought, I guess."

She scoffs and shakes her head. "Lost in thought my ass."

You frown but take your turn and place a domino down, not saying another word on the subject. Mary-Beth looks between the two of you silently, her journal forgotten in her lap.

"Y/N, when was the last time you was out of camp?"

You glance over at Mary-Beth, trying your best not to look over her shoulder at the man who's constantly on your mind. "I dunno...about two weeks ago, I reckon."

She frowns, tapping her lips with her pencil. "You're lookin' a little worn. Maybe some new scenery would be good for ya."

You can't help the weak smile you give her. "Are you sayin' I look bad?"

She laughs softly at that. "Not at all. I think we could all do with a nice ride around the area. We ain't really...checked it out since we got here. Only a few of the men have had the chance. There ain't no good reason we shouldn't go."

You look to the sky. Though it's only the middle of the day, the sky isn't that bright. There are gray clouds in the sky, a warning of rain to come. Hopefully, it won't happen for a few hours yet.

She's right. Maybe some fresh air, a place that's new and will offer a distraction would be nice.

This time you allow your eyes to drift to Dutch. He's still deep in thought, and you can't help but sigh. Maybe it would be good for more than just you to get out of here for a little bit.

Tilly can already see where your thoughts are heading. She throws the rest of her dominoes on the table in frustration and crosses her arms, startling you and Mary-Beth. She looks between the two of you. "What? Just go ask him already."

You snort, and that manages to get a lip twitch from her. You stand and take a deep breath. "I will. Just give me a minute."

You smooth your hand over your skirt, smoothing it as you muster up the courage to speak to Dutch. It shouldn't be this hard, you think to yourself, and just that reminder makes a twinge of sadness race through you.

Maybe this can be the first step back in the right direction. Just a simple ride, right? Just to go see what's out there? He knows how much you like traveling. You know he does too, so maybe he'll be open to spending some time with you.

Micah spots you first as you walk over. He stops speaking and sneers, not even trying to hide his disgust at you. He's always been jealous of the sway you've had with Dutch, and now that he's somehow managed to gain that upper hand, you can understand how he was feeling. You want nothing more than to rip that mustache off his face.

Dutch lifts his head and stares at you without saying a word. Of course, he wouldn't speak first.

You clear your throat. "Me 'nd the ladies was thinkin' of takin' a ride around the area, getting out of camp for a while."

"Just another excuse to avoid the work that needs done 'round here." Micah's voice is dripping with disdain. Dutch shoots him a displeased look but doesn't say anything.

You continue on. "...how does that sound?"

He takes a deep breath, folding his arms over his chest and looking away from you. "Take Arthur or John with you. We don't know who's living around the area, so just be safe."

You purse your lips. "I was hopin' you'd come with us, Dutch."

His eyes flit to yours quickly, and the surprise in them is gone just as fast as it was there. But you still saw it. Did he not think you wanted him to come?

He sighs and reaches into his pocket, pulling out his pocket watch and checking the time. "I'm too busy today, Y/N."

You frown. "You can't spare any time? Any?"

"He said he's busy," Micah jumps in. You throw a glare at him.

"I'm not talkin' to you."

"And it's obvious that he don't want to talk to you."

You can't ignore the hurt that Micah's words send through you. Because even though you know he's just trying to make you leave, there's truth behind his statement. Dutch doesn't want to talk to you, otherwise, he'd be looking you in the eye right now.

"Is that how it's goin' to be between us, Dutch?" You ask quietly. You wave a hand out at Micah. "I barely see you anymore, we can't share more than a few words, and Micah is answerin' for you now? Is that what he is, your bitch?"

Dutch does look at you now, but he's glaring. He's never looked at you like that before. You take a step back, unsure of how to handle this situation. It was never meant to escalate like this.

"Better than bein' his whore," Micah chuckles evilly, and you reach across the table and smack him across the face before he's able to get another word out. The camp goes silent. Micah is on his feet in a second, hands balled into fists at his sides and lip curled.

"I'll fuckin' gut you, ya slimy--"

"Micah," Dutch barks, standing as well and facing the man, giving you his back. You're not sure what look it is he gives the blonde man, but whatever it is is enough to make him sit back down in his chair. That doesn't mean he doesn't continue to throw dirty looks your way.

"You're just going to let him say stuff like that? You're not going to say anything?" You ask, pointing at Micah. He looks like he wants to jump across the table and bite your finger off. You don't care that you're shouting at this point. Everything has gone too far--the old Dutch would never have allowed Micah to even look at you like that. "You're going to let him call me a whore and not say a god damn word?"

"You slapped him," Dutch says lowly, turning to look down at you. His brows are pulled together as he frowns down at you, annoyed that this is happening. That people in camp are listening in.

"Because he called me a whore, Dutch. It was an insult to me, and it was an insult to you." You shake your head, unable to believe that you even have to explain yourself. "Be honest with me Dutch, because that's all I've ever wanted from you was, to be honest. Do you even care anymore?"

He blinks, some of his anger fading away. He clearly wasn't expecting that question to come from you, not right now. "What?"

You feel your eyes begin to burn as the hurt, the loneliness, the grief from the past months start to creep forward. "About me. Do you care about me anymore, Dutch? I feel like I'm alone. I feel like you don't even want to be around me. I feel like a god damn nuisance to you anymore."

His face softens, and he murmurs your name quietly. "I didn't mean--"

"She's just lookin' for attention, boss. We got more important things to do." Micah growls, the back of his hand pressed to his inflamed cheek. Your eyes cut to him briefly before going back to Dutch.

Do it, you think to yourself, prove him and me wrong. Prove that you still care about me. Pick me over him.

But Dutch just snaps his mouth shut, tight enough that you can hear his teeth clack. A muscle ticks briefly in his jaw. "I am trying to plan something for all of us, Y/N. A better way of livin'. I can't do that if I can't focus, and all it seems that anybody around here can do anymore is distract me."

And just like that, your heart drops to your stomach.

You let out a shaky breath as tears start to stream down your face. Dutch's eyebrows raise in surprise and he flinches, his hand automatically reaching out towards you even though he probably doesn't mean for it to. "Y/N--"

"Don't touch me," you hiss, taking a step backward out of his reach, "don't talk to me. I can't do this to myself. I love you, Dutch van der Linde, and you're breaking my heart."

You turn without another word, refusing to look him in the eye. You pass the table you just sat at with the women, ignoring their sympathetic looks and the way the men politely avert their eyes as you walk past.

Only one man tries to stop you. "Y/N," Arthur calls, jogging to reach your side, but you throw a hand out behind you to tell him to stop.

"I'm goin' out," you say, hating the way your voice shakes. You go over to Scout and don't even bother putting the saddle on him, knowing you'll be gone quicker if you go bareback. You hike up your skirts and throw yourself on his back, grabbing fistfuls of his mane and finally looking down at your other friend in this camp. Arthur looks lost, like he isn't sure if he should push and follow you anyway or give you the space you're asking for. "Don't follow me. I need time alone to fuckin' think."

You squeeze your legs and Scout takes off, going faster than you asked but letting it go since it's been a while since he's been allowed to move like this. You let the sounds of camp fade away in the dust that Scout picks up and focus on getting as far away from this nightmare as you can.

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You'll never admit it to anyone, but part of you knows that riding off like that, alone, when there's a storm gathering in the sky and the sun is beginning to set might not have been the smartest thing to do.

But you're feeling sad, hurt, betrayed, so you don't really give a shit.

When you first rode off you headed towards the nearby town, but you remembered you don't have any money or weapon on you, so you turn and head off down the trail through the woods instead. It's an obvious path and doesn't seem all that threatening, and Scout is calm as he trots along, so you push any possible fears to the back of your mind and instead focus on stewing about what has happened between you and the man that you would kill for.

You give Scout control and allow him to wander wherever he pleases, satisfied when he decides to linger around a small stream just away from the main trail. You dismount and sit down at the bottom of a tree, pulling your knees up to your chest and watching Scout as he starts sniffing around the area. Once you're ready to go you'll whistle for him and he'll come, but for now you're fine with just being here for a while.

The sound of the stream is calming in ways you didn't think possible, and every once in a while you see a rogue squirrel or bird come to the area before catching sight of you and quickly scurrying off.

You just can't believe that Dutch is acting like this, treating you like this. You fell in love with the Dutch who knew what he wanted but cared enough for everyone else that he was careful about making such rash decisions. And most importantly of all, he included you in what he was doing. It made you feel wanted, made you feel like he needed you by his side.

And now?

Now you feel like a bother. Like you're some garbage he's stuck with and he's looking for the closest trash can to throw you out in.

You gave up your life for this man because you wanted to. You wanted to travel with him, join his family, be by his side. As you were around him, you got to know the real Dutch van der Linde. The one who had big dreams and wanted to share them with you. The Dutch who loved you.

You don't know if that man exists anymore.

It's not until a tear falls on your hand that you realize you're crying. You wipe your face clean and stand to your feet, deciding you can go for another ride and looking around for Scout. You don't want to shed any tears, especially for a man who no longer shares the same feelings for you as you do for him.

Not spotting Scout, you put your fingers in your mouth and whistle loudly. An answering whinny sounds just down the stream, so you start trudging down the rocks in that direction.

"--the hell is a horse doin' down here?"

You hesitate on a rock, looking down the path and seeing a man sitting astride his own horse as he peers at Scout. He doesn't look threatening, and you don't spot a gun on him anywhere, so you continue moving and clear your throat, alerting him to your presence.

"Oh, hello," he frowns as he greets you. Not the most welcoming thing, but you've certainly had worse. "Didn't see ya there."

"Hello," you keep one eye on him as you walk up to Scout and scratch his muzzle when he thrusts it in your direction, "sorry if he startled you."

He looks you over from head to toe, almost as if he's assessing if you're a threat like you did with him just a moment before. "Just surprised is all. Ain't many wild horses 'round here."

"He ain't wild, we were just takin' a ride is all."

"He's not wild?" He asks, sounding surprised even though he can clearly see how easily you're interacting with him. You take a better look at the man. He seems to be around his mid-forties, with long legs and a lanky frame. Though he looks like a twig you wouldn't doubt that he's got more strength in him than he's willing to show. You know better than to judge a book by its cover, especially considering some of the people you live with.

"No, sir, he ain't. I was just headin' back home, but it was nice to meet you."

"You out here by yourself?"

You keep your back to him as you mount up on Scout once more, making sure to hide the way your eyes widen at his question. Why is he being so pushy?

"No, sir, my brother is just upstream. We're on our way to visit our father."

The man strokes a hand over his clean-shaven face in thought. It isn't until now that you start to feel a hint of unease bloom inside you. Get out, your mind says to you, get away from here.

"Well, these places ain't nice to a lady on her own, 'specially one who's as pretty as you are. Would you like me to ride with ya until you meet up with your brother?"

You shake your head as the fear you had pushed away earlier starts to come back. "I appreciate the offer, but it's unnecessary. Have a nice day."

With a gentle squeeze of your legs, Scout starts walking up the stream and away from the mysterious stranger. "Hope you get there soon!" He calls after you, his voice scaring all the critters that had been lingering in the bushes. "Rain's comin'. Stay dry!"

You say nothing and make Scout move a little faster, just wanting to get out of there. Thankfully you don't notice anyone following you, even five minutes after you left the area, so the man didn't follow you. A sigh of relief escapes you and you start pushing Scout back in the general direction of the camp.

The man was right about the weather. Not twenty minutes into your ride back to camp and the rain starts. It's a small trickle at first, nothing too bad, but then five minutes later and it's as though the gates of heaven themselves have opened up and the earth is being flooded for the second time. You have to rely on Scout to really know where he's going, as the rain is so heavy that you can barely see more than five feet in front of you. Your clothes are soaked less than a few minutes later, and you're starting to seriously regret riding this far from camp. Or any shelter, really.

Thirty minutes later and the rain has lessened, though it's still steady as it falls from the clouds. The cold no longer bothers you, but you're not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing. Scout is puffing and constantly shaking his mane, trying to clear off some of the rain running into his eyes, and you feel guilty that your horse is suffering because you needed to be alone.

"I'll give you lots of treats when we get back," you pat his neck, "promise."

"Hey!"

You look up ahead and see that just off the main path there are a few men standing on the ground by their horses, looking directly at you. They're dressed in long black coats and hats that are shielding their faces from the rain. As you ride closer, you can see that they have pistols strapped around their waist. That uneasy feeling from before comes back again.

"Can't talk," you call out as you get close, "weather is unkind, gentlemen."

Two of the four men step away from their horses and into the path, causing Scout to slow down automatically. You grip his mane tightly and sit up straighter as they force you to stop anyway.

"Sorry 'bout holdin' you up, Miss," the one man says as he walks over to Scout's side to peer up at you. He's tall and well-built, and if you had to guess you would say he was either involved with the law in some way or a ranch hand. "But we just wanted to know if ya saw a man here recently. Tall, middle-aged. Has dark hair, nearly black, dresses real smart?"

You fall silent, the image in your head instantly forming into one of Dutch. You swallow and wipe some of the rain off your face before shaking your head. "No, sir. Haven't seen him."

The man nods, but judging by the way his lips thin you can tell he isn't happy with your answer. He waves the other man standing in the path over, and he goes to stand on Scout's other side. The man walks up and places a hand on Scout's muzzle, acting like he's petting your horse when in reality you know that that's not his intent.

"Say, this ain't the kinda place for a woman to be out alone," the first man says, and you tighten your hold on Scout's mane. "What're the odds you're out here travelin' alone?"

"Small," you say through a thin-lipped smile. "My brother is waiting. The storm just caught up to us. Now if you'll excuse me--"

"Haven't seen any other man ride through here," he interrupts your excuse, "think it'd be best if you waited here with us for a while."

You narrow your eyes. "No. Step away from my horse, please."

The second man chuckles humorlessly. "Better listen to what he says, Sweetcheeks."

When you feel a hand start to creep up your leg that's pressed against Scout's side you inhale sharply, caught off guard by the brazen touch. You don't hesitate when you tighten your grip on your horse's mane and squeeze your thighs, urging him off and away from the men. You startle the two men with your sudden departure and you hear swearing before there are some whistles behind you.

Looking over your shoulder through the rain you're just able to make out the four men as they mount their horses and take off after you, shouts of glee echoing through the thunder. You force down the panic that threatens to rise inside you and face forward once more, lowering yourself and trying to help Scout ride as fast as possible.

The rain makes it hard to see, but thankfully Scout has a good sense of where to go and where to avoid. He takes you through the woods and weaves around trees, making it harder for the pursuing men to follow your trail. You start to feel like you might actually make it out of here, that you might actually succeed in losing them.

Until they start firing their guns. As good of a horse as Scout is, if there's one thing he hates it's guns. He spooks and startles so bad that he trips over his own hooves, nearly sending the two of you tumbling forwards. You can tell from their shots that the men aren't trying to hit you, but they are trying to scare you.

Sadly, it's working.

Just as Scout makes a breakthrough the woods into an open clearing, a bullet is fired too close for comfort and lodges itself into the bark of a tree just by Scout's head. Your poor horse rears and lets out a whinny of pure fear, and if you weren't bareback and if it hadn't rained then you would've been able to hold on. But Scout is too slippery and is shaking too much so you fall onto your back on the hard ground with a muffled thud, the impact knocking the breath out of your lungs and causing you to bite your tongue hard enough to draw blood. Scout takes off into the clearing and over a hill until he's out of sight, leaving you for the wolves.

The men ride out of the woods and surround you just as you start to push yourself up, two of them immediately hopping down and circling you like vultures. The one from before who touched your leg kneels down beside you and shoves you back onto the ground by your shoulders, looking up and down your body with a disgusting glint in his eye. You reach up and slap his face, just like you did to Micah a few hours ago, and give him a good kick to his chest as well for good measure. He falls away from you with a grunt and his eyes turn angry, his lips pulling down in a sneer.

You just can't seem to please any men.

Not that you care to please them.

"Son of a bitch--"

"--just hold 'er down--"

"--make sure she ain't got any weapons--"

You let out a scream of frustration as multiple sets of hands grab hold of you then, one of them holding you down again by your shoulders, another skimming over your clothes to check for a gun or knife, another just touching and feeling and being all over intrusive. You try not to panic, you try to fight back, but when a fourth pair of hands grabs hold of your own and starts to wrap rope around them, effectively restricting you, you start to feel hopeless.

"Let me go!" You cry out, your voice competing with the cracks of thunder that shake the sky above you. Rain is falling into your eyes and mixing with your tears as you grit your teeth. "I'll fuckin' kill all of you! Get away from me!"

"Let's take her to the cabin," one of the men says, and the other starts making noises of agreement. You're pulled up onto your feet and then thrown over the shoulder of one of them like a sack of potatoes, but you continue fighting. You bang your fists into his back, kick your legs, scream until your throat feels like it's going to start bleeding.

And then one harsh strike to your head with the butt of a rifle takes the fight out of you. You try to stay awake as your vision swims, your ears ring, and your stomach churns, the man's shoulder suddenly pressing into the wrong spot of your stomach. Something warm runs down the side of your face, a stark contrast to the cool rain that's already running in rivulets there.

And then suddenly the man holding you is dropping to the ground like a stone, his hold completely gone. You roll off his shoulder and onto the ground, your face pressed into the cold and muddy ground. The ringing slowly fades away and you can make out shouting, but not shouts of triumph. No, it's a mixture of panic and fury.

You open your eyes and see what looks like more men riding towards you on horses, though you're not sure if they're here to join the men you're currently with or not.

More gunshots ring out and you watch as another one of the men standing near you falls to the ground, dead. The other two fumble for their weapons and start firing back, not expecting the attack and underprepared for it. It doesn't take long before they're also on the ground, blood spilling from their own wounds.

Three horses come to a stop near you and the men quickly dismount. Two sets of hurried footsteps move in your direction, and then someone's knees are hitting the ground as they fall beside you. A new set of hands reaches out and lifts you out of the mud and props you up in their arms, far more gentler than the other men did.

You blink away the rain and mud and whatever other substances might be in your eyes and focus on whoever it is that's holding you, feeling surprised when you see it's Dutch.

"Dutch?" You ask, almost unable to believe he's really here.

He's soaked to the bone and even though your vision is still a little murky from the knock to the head, the anguish is as clear as day.

He says your name like a whisper of a prayer--like he's unable to believe that you're right there. Someone else kneels down on your other side and takes your hands, quickly flicking their knife through the rope and cutting you free. Arthur is watching you with concern in his eyes as he tucks his knife back into his pocket and stands to his feet once more.

"Talk to me," Dutch says hoarsely, "are you hurt? How do you feel? Did they touch--" he closes his eyes tightly and grinds his teeth together.

"We're lucky that man back there told us 'bout which direction you was headin' in," Arthur says gruffly, locking eyes with Dutch.

Man? What man? And then it hits you. The man from the stream.

The man who also fit the description of who these men were looking for. Most likely their actual target, instead of Dutch.

And he just saved you by telling Dutch and Arthur where you were headed.

"C-cold," you finally croak, feeling the rain leech into your skin and take any and all warmth from you. Dutch's hands tighten on you and he looks up at Arthur, nodding firmly. Dutch stands to his feet and brings you with him, keeping his arms firmly around you as he whistles for his horse. The familiar beast ambles over and Dutch carefully lifts you onto the saddle there before mounting behind you. He takes his coat and bundles you in it until you're tucked in, though it won't do much since it's also soaked with the rain. He wraps one arm firmly around your waist and brings you into his chest before taking hold of the reins and flicking them, urging the two of you off and back towards camp.

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You're shaking by the time you get back, unable to stop the chills that are racing up and down your body. Dutch keeps you clutched tightly in his hold, your head in his neck, and his chin resting on top of your head. When you finally see Bill standing on guard at camp you feel as though you could cry tears of relief.

"Miss Grimshaw!" He calls, his voice cracking at the urgency of his tone, "I need hot water and dry blankets!"

Susan pokes her head out of her own tent, annoyed that she's being asked to do something when it's raining but then that quickly fades when she takes in your state. She nods once and gets to work without a word.

Dutch rides his horse over to your tent instead of stopping where the others are. He dismounts first and then before you have a chance to get down yourself he's bundling you up in his arms and carrying you into your tent, one arm beneath your shoulders and the other under your knees. You lean against his chest, tired and cold, and happily accepting any form of heat that you can get.

He places you on your bed and starts hastily pulling your clothes off, and if you weren't still reeling from what just happened and if you weren't still upset about what he did earlier today then maybe you would have laughed. Maybe you would have told him to calm himself and slow down.

"Dutch," you murmur as he gets to your blouse and starts unbuttoning it. He ignores you and keeps moving, determined to get your clothes off. "Dutch."

"You'll freeze," he hisses, his eyes almost black as he looks at you for the first time since he found you on the ground. You swallow and let out a deep breath. "You can't...you can't be wearing these. You need warm clothes, honey."

The name makes you melt just a little bit, but you still reach up and take hold of his hands, forcing him to stop. He frowns as he looks to you for an explanation.

You swallow and look down at your muddied skirt. "I can do it myself."

"What?" He asks quietly, hands tightening their hold on your own. "Why would you--"

"I haven't forgotten this morning," you clench your eyes shut and try not to get too angry as you think of the betrayal you felt just hours ago. "I appreciate you helping me, but I know now that you have more important things to do than be here with me."

There's a moment of silence as Dutch lets your confession hang in the air between the two of you. You're afraid to look him in the eye, afraid of what you'll find there. He hasn't had time to think through things as you have, he probably feels no different now than he did this morning.

"Y/N," he shocks you by leaning forward and pressing his forehead against your own. You jolt and look at him in surprise, finally meeting his gaze. He looks troubled, weighed down, tired. All of you in the camp are feeling those things, but Dutch? He feels all of them but in a more profound way. In a way that others will never understand because they're not expected to lead this group. In a way that you understand because you've seen him go through it, experience it, live it.

And sometimes he forgets that you know this part of him.

"I saw what those men were doing, how they touched you," he spits the words, his face screwing up in anger. "And I'm sorry I didn't stop them sooner. I should've been there."

"Dutch," you frown, not stopping him as he continues to unbutton your shirt and tug it off your shoulders. It's been a while since the two of you have been intimate with each other, and so him doing this, him touching you and taking care of you brings up feelings that you thought were gone.

"I can't lose you too," he finally admits, his voice breaking and his hands stilling as he clenches his eyes shut. "I can't. I can't. You ran from here, straight into the path of those sick bastards, all because of me. If they had...if they had taken you from me, I wouldn't have been able to handle it. Not after Annabelle. Not after Hosea. Not you."

You cup his face with your ice-cold hands, unable to stop yourself from tilting his chin up and pressing a kiss to his lips. He's warmer than you, and he flinches as your cold skin touches his own, but he doesn't pull away. He doesn't shrug you off and push you to the side as he did earlier.

"I have the water," Miss Grimshaw calls from outside of your tent. You can tell that Dutch is loathed to move but he stands up and slips out quickly before bringing the large basin inside, the steam still rising from the water as it sloshes around. You look him over from head to toe, noticing how the rain has made his clothing stick to his body like a second skin, accentuating his muscles and strength.

"Come here, Sweetheart," Dutch says softly as he takes your hands and helps you to your feet. He helps you step out of the rest of your clothes, his eyes lingering only briefly on your body before gently lowering you into the water. You can't help but groan as the warm water instantly soothes your aching muscles and burns away the worst of the cold that was clinging to your skin. You expect him to sit on a chair and let you soak, but he surprises you by sitting on the ground and grabbing a cloth, wiping your face clean.

He dabs around the wound on your temple, frowning as he soaks up the blood that had run down your face and makes you clean once more. You watch him closely, afraid that if you look away then this side of your old Dutch will fade away with the storm.

"What?" He finally asks after a few minutes of silence.

"Are we goin' to be okay?"

He hesitates when you ask that, his brown eyes locking with your own. "Of course we'll be okay. This plan--"

"No." Your voice is firm. "Are we going to be okay, Dutch? I can't...the thing that happened with Micah today. I can't take you choosing him over me."

Dutch frowns. "I didn't choose him over you."

You nod once. "You did, Dutch. And you're too blind to this plan of yours that you don't even see it."

His brows furrow, showing a hint of annoyance. "Now, Y/N--"

"No, Dutch. I'm trying to live my life, happily, and with people I love. I love the members of this family you've let me into, all of them are great. Except for Micah. He's shit and he's creating a rift between all of us that is soon goin' to be too big to fix." Tears begin to build in your eyes. "And you 'nd I aren't on the same side, Dutch. So when it finally splits, what's goin' to happen to us? Is there even goin' to be an us?"

"Hey," Dutch reaches out and gently holds your chin with his thumb and forefinger, forcing you to look at him, "nothing is going to happen to us. I'm making a better life for us--"

"Do it another way."

He shakes his head, caught off guard. "What?"

You grit your teeth. "Do. It. Another. Way."

"What does that even mean, Y/N?"

"I want this better life, Dutch. This dream you've told me about from the beginning. I want that, I want that for us. But it ain't gonna happen with this plan, especially if you're makin' it with Micah and I ain't allowed to know what it is."

"Micah has good ideas--"

"I don't care!" Your frustration finally breaks through, and you decide now is as good a time as any to let it all out. "I don't care if he has the best plan in the world. Micah Bell is ruining our family, Dutch. He's killing all of us, turning you against us and makin' you think we're out to get you when we love you!" Your lower lip wobbles and you bury your face in your hands for a moment, getting your composure back. "So you need to make a choice, Dutch. You either do it another way, or I'm gone."

He falls back on his haunches, eyes wide as he stares at you with an open mouth. "Y/N--"

You tear your eyes away from him, unable to look at him while simultaneously feeling your heart break. You take the rag that now lies forgotten and continue to clean yourself, trying your best not to wince when you brush over a particularly tender spot that smarts with pain.

A large hand slowly and gently encompasses your own, halting your movements. You look up with stinging eyes, afraid of what you'll find. Dutch's hair is unkempt, his face paler than usual and bags under his eyes. He's exhausted. You're exhausted. Both mentally and physically. He looks the same.

"I mean what I said, Y/N," he murmurs quietly, "I can't lose you." He squeezes his hand over your own, an intensity crawling into his chocolate brown eyes as he refuses to leave your gaze. "I didn't know that you were feeling like this."

"It's not just me, Dutch," you try not to let your voice wobble, but it still sounds shaky anyway, "it's our family. We don't like what's happening here. We don't feel safe. We just want a home."

"Home," he murmurs, and you know it's more to himself than to you.

"Micah is not a part of my home." You solidify your voice, making sure to stress to him how serious you are about that statement. "I want the others, Dutch. I want Abigail and Susan and Tilly and John and Arthur. I don't want Micah. I don't want him with us and our family." You take his hand and lift it so you can press a delicate kiss to his knuckles. "Our family, Dutch. Blood or otherwise. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Dutch watches you with a lost expression, so to help you take his hand and dip it in the water, guiding it until it's resting lightly on your belly. His fingers tickle your skin but his touch is soft and gentle. His eyes widen as he finally understands the message you're trying to tell him.

"I want a home. I want our family." You take a deep breath, tears once more brimming in your eyes. "And I don't want Micah there for it."

Dutch's face falls blank, and then he's pushing off his knees and standing to his feet. You think it's a rejection, him getting ready to leave you, your demands too high, and you want to cry. Tears slip down the side of your face and fall in the water to mix with the dirt and blood that's swirling around.

But Dutch surprises you when he gently grasps your hands and pulls you up to your feet, helping to gingerly guide you out of the tub, taking care so you don't slip and fall. He takes one of the towels that are sitting over by the entrance of the tent and wraps it around you, guiding you over to your cot and urging you to sit down. You do so, keeping it held tightly around your shoulders as he then pulls out a pair of his long johns and a soft union shirt. He helps to dry you off before leading your limbs through the holes in the clothing, putting dry and clean clothes on you.

"Dutch--" you ask in confusion, but he merely blows out the candle that's burning on the table and strips out of his own wet clothes, dressing himself once again in quick fashion before guiding you to lay down on the bed. He crawls in beside you, using his large hands to grasp your waist and tug you into his chest, one of them skimming up your back and cradling the base of your skull, asking you to rest your head in the crook of his neck. You do so without hesitation.

"I'll always pick you," he presses a kiss to your forehead, and in the darkness of the tent you start to cry once again, a wave of relief as big as a tsunami washing over you at the realization that he's not picking Micah over you this time. "I'll make a new plan, Sweetheart, for us. For our future."

You grab handfuls of his shirt and tilt your head up, peppering kisses along his jaw and over to his lips where you give him a longer and more meaningful kiss. "Do you promise?"

He nuzzles his face into your hair, letting out a sigh. "Anything for our family." He snakes one hand to your waist and softly brushes his thumb over your belly. "Both of them."

#Dutch Van Der Linde #dutch x reader #dutch van der linde x reader #arthur morgan #Red Dead Redemption #Red Dead #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption two #red dead redemption fanfiction #red dead redemption fanfic #red dead redemption one shot #this took so long to write and should've been posted a year ago #i'm so sorry

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freudensteins-monster · 4 years ago

Text

You Say “Mad Scientist” Like It’s A Bad Thing

Based on my own tumblr post: 3am thoughts… Has anyone written Jane Foster as a mad scientist, I mean like a villain?

Chaotic neutral Darcy and Jane featuring modern/human SHIELD Agent Bucky.

Available on AO3.

Content Warnings: Implied/Referenced Torture, Aftermath of Torture, Amnesia, Memory Suppressing Machine | The Chair (Marvel), Dark, Sort Of, Ambiguous/Open Ending...

In a world full of megalomaniacs, straight up supervillains, and fricking aliens, mad scientists were a dime a dozen. Dr Foster was one such scientist who was quickly moving from mildly irritating to SHIELD’s Most Wanted.

Dr Foster’s gimmick was portals. She first gained international attention when she claimed responsibility (via an untraceable Instagram account, @dr-mthrfckng-foster) for diverting LA’s 405 to a dirt road in rural Australia. Then came a string of impossible robberies – bank vaults and the private collections of the world's richest assholes stripped bare in seconds. Then she created a portal that caused an Indonesian typhoon to bear down on Wall Street, flooding the trading floor. And then she robbed a top secret government black site of some classified technology.

And that’s when Director Nick Fury made finding and stopping Dr Foster SHIELD’s number one priority.

Agent James Barnes had been stuck on suspension for two weeks, with two more to go, and was itching to get back into the field. He had way too much free time on his hands: he’d caught up on his sleep and everything in his Netflix queue. He’d cleaned out his refrigerator, done laundry and enough meal prep to last him until next month. He’d caught up with his family, cleaned his whole goddamn apartment twice, and now he was well and truly bored.

He was out for his fifth run of the week (and it wasn’t even Wednesday) when his work phone rang.

“Thank Christ,” he muttered before answering.

“Barnes.”

“It’s Hill. How’s the arm?”

“Fine,” Barnes grunted, rotating his metal shoulder irritably. “You got something for me?”

“Are you up for a recon mission?”

Usually he would have protested. He headed tactical units. He was an elite ‘first through the door’ kind of field agent. Not that he couldn’t be stealthy and patient - he’d been a sniper in the army for christ's sake - but going unnoticed in public was kind of a problem for him these days; he’d have to wear jackets and gloves in the middle of August to hide his prosthetic for starters.

On the other hand, his mother had been calling him every second day to feed him carb-heavy meals in exchange for help around the house, all while dropping not-so-subtle hints that he should start dating again. Requests for more grandchildren couldn’t be far behind.

“I’ll be there in thirty.”

Thirty-five minutes later Agent Barnes was back at his desk at SHIELD HQ perusing through the increasingly large file of one Dr Jane Foster.

She had been a brilliant student and had earned a PhD in Astrophysics from Culver University by the age of 25. By all accounts she should have been one of the leading researchers in her field, and if doctoral programs handed out superlatives Dr Foster’s would have been “Most Likely To Win a Nobel Prize By 30”.

Unfortunately for Dr Foster, and the rest of the world, she had been forced from that path by a sexist tenured professor who publicly denounced her theories, and the woman herself, as crazy, discredited her published work, and used his influence to ensure she was denied all of the more lucrative research grants.

When federal agents went to interview him after the 405 incident they found his office looking like a tornado had gone through it and the professor himself was nowhere to be found. A few weeks later he stumbled into a US Embassy in Russia after being found wandering in from the forests outside Vladivostok, half mad and still decrying the evils of allowing women into scientific fields.

He had been placed into witness protection and promptly admitted into a psychiatric facility under his new name, and was being monitored by several undercover agents in case Dr Foster felt like punishing him some more.

Anyone else who had a part in ruining Dr Foster’s legitimate career was also under surveillance, as was her mother in London, a terrified ex-boyfriend in Boston, and a handful of known associates, though Dr Foster hadn’t been in contact with any of them in years.

SHIELD and other federal agencies had tried the usual methods of tracking down a rogue mad scientist. They tried to find out where her base of operations was, firstly by looking for any properties in her name, but Dr Foster had been a broke student with an impressive amount of debt (until the day she decided to wipe it, and the rest of Culver’s student debt, out). So if she had property it would definitely not be in her legal name and all but impossible to trace back to her. Then they tried to look for drains on the powergrid. However she managed to generate her portals - SHIELD scientists still hadn’t figured that out - it surely had to be using huge amounts of electricity. So far they’d found six grow labs and two server rooms running illegal god-knows-what, but no Dr Foster.

Agent Barnes read the file twice, reviewed all the transcripts of the interviews with her known associates, and came to one very important conclusion: she had an accomplice.

As smart as Dr Foster was there was nothing in her academic history to suggest that she had a background in computer science that would account for the notable hacks and the untraceable nature of her activities. To add to that several interviewees had made passing remarks about her not having a cell phone for most of her academic career, and how she had zero interest in social media.

Two days later, after getting the okay for a field trip from Hill, Agent Barnes made his way to Culver University to speak to anyone who had even the vaguest recollection of Dr Foster. And that’s how he learnt about the intern.

He’d started by dropping by one of the physics labs where Dr Foster had spent most of her time, and by pure chance met a doctoral candidate who remembered her, and her intern.

“I think her name was Darlene. Glasses. Always on her phone.”

…which led him to the academic advisor who put the two of them together...

“Darcy. Darcy Lewis. She was actually a PoliSci major but left it too late and Dr Foster’s internship was the only one available. She had only been working with her for a few weeks before… before Dr Foster’s funding was revoked and she was asked to leave.”

...who pointed him to one of Darcy’s former professors…

“Average student. Good debater. Often late, and always had a coffee in her hand.”

...who gave him a few names of some former classmates who might remember her…

“Not the worst person to be stuck with on a group assignment. Pulled her weight. Obsessed with her stupid iPod.”

“I swear she lived off pop tarts and coffee. And not Starbucks either. Some stupid hipster chain.”

“Deja Brew. Serious problem. Went through one of those loyalty punch cards every week. Always complained about having to go home for the holidays and resort to big chain coffee shops.”

...which had him driving out to Darcy Lewis’ hometown, located a few hours south of Roanoke, Virginia, stopping first at the local high school to speak to the school principal…

“She’d always been good with computers but wasn’t allowed to use them at home for some reason so she spent a lot of time at the local library using theirs. We had to suspend her once. One of her classmates accused her of accepting payment from other students to hack the school’s records and alter their grades. Their grades were definitely getting altered, but we couldn’t get any concrete proof it was her.”

...who was able to find a photo of 16 year old Darcy in an old yearbook and told him what bar he could find Darcy’s mother in.

“She knows not to come to me if she’s in the shit, because I would call the cops in a heartbeat. Especially after that stunt she pulled before she went off to college…”

“What stunt was that, Ms Bennett?” Agent Barnes asked patiently, hoping he wouldn’t have to enable her alcoholism to get some useful information.

“I made some mistakes, okay,” she slurred defensively. “I was having an affair with my boss. Don’t know how Darcy knew. She told her stepfather but he didn’t believe her. Then a few weeks later we went out to dinner for my boss’s birthday... all the tv’s in the bar start showing security camera footage of us falling into offices and motel rooms. Took her all of a minute to ruin two marriages and a law firm.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he replied diplomatically. “Is there anyone she could turn to for help? Her father, perhaps.”

“He died when she was about twelve. They were as thick as thieves,” she recalled with a tinge of bitterness.

“Was there any place that was special to them? Someone she might go to ground?”

She shook her head. “He used to rent this old cabin near the Catskills off a buddy of his every other year. Winter or summer, Darcy loved it. But it's long gone. Forest fire, I think, the year before his accident.”

Back in his car Agent Barnes reviewed the data points.

Dr Foster had a base of operations somewhere. Had to be private, and as best SHIELD could guess it must be off the grid and Dr Foster must be generating her own power.

Dr Foster was a space nut at heart, and while an abandoned observatory might be too much to ask for, she’d probably want somewhere with minimal light pollution.

And while they could portal anywhere, neither of them spoke any other languages and had no familiarity with any international locations, so they were most likely still State-side. (Dr Foster’s mother had moved to London when Jane was twenty-three, but she’d never found the time to visit.)

Miss Lewis was familiar with the Catskills area. A base of operations there could be very isolated.

Dr Foster was most likely building and modifying her own own equipment so she had to be able to access materials. Sure, she could portal to her local hardware store, but having Darcy drive into the nearest town for supplies would attract less attention.

Miss Lewis had an addiction to coffee procured from Deja Brew, a small hipster chain with only a handful of locations along on the east coast. While she could have found another way to get her caffeine fix, people were creatures of habit.

Miss Lewis was also known for stocking up on poptarts. In one of the only images of the other side of one of Dr Foster’s portals there was what appeared to be, if one squinted, a box of limited edition pop tarts on a counter.

He plugged it all into SHIELD fancy search engines and got a few results back. The most promising was an abandoned ski chalet turned abandoned research station halfway up a mountain, an hour drive away from an up and coming tourist town, whose main street hosted a Deja Brew cafe. They also had a small mom and pop hardware store, as well as a post office, and a grocery store that had still been selling pumpkin pie pop tarts around the time Dr Foster’s portal had been caught on camera.

Agent Barnes came to with a groan. The flesh of his shoulder where it met his prosthetic felt like it was on fire, and he was pretty sure he could smell fried wiring.

The research station had come up in SHIELD’s initial search for a potential mad scientist's lair, but had been dismissed for not using any power and for not sending back any heat signature readings. Perhaps they’d found a way to fool the scanners. Or maybe they just weren’t in the day the readings were taken. Whatever the reason, Agent Barnes had a good feeling about it. He filled his tank up at the nearest gas station and got on the highway, forgoing checking in at the Triskelion on his way past in favour of driving all night. He’d call Hill when he had something solid.

** *** **

“Fuck…”

He willed his eyes open and came face to face with Darth Vader.

Barnes reeled back at the sound of the synthesized voice. “Who sent you? Who do you work for?! The Rebellion?”

“What the fuck!”

It took him until his eyes adjusted to the fluorescent lighting to realise that Darth Vader was wearing a grey knit dress and black tights. Darth Vader laughed and ripped off his mask to reveal a smiling bespectacled brunette underneath. The accomplice. Darcy Lewis.

“Sorry, I was just messing with you, dude,” she teased, tossing the mask over her shoulder. “I’ve always wanted to do that. But seriously, who do you work for? Who knows you’re here?”

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” he lied. “I was just camping in the woods, man. I saw the lights and decided to check it out,” he rambled in a lazy Canadian accent. “How the hell did I get here? Did you electrocute me?”

He used his not-quite fake panic to test the limits of his restraints. He’d been strapped into some sort of junkstore barber chair, with thick metal shackles locked around his wrists, ankles, and chest. His metal arm could probably make quick work of them but the damn thing was not responding. His panic became a little less fake.

“Just camping, huh?” she echoed back with a raised eyebrow, leaning forward to the point where Barnes couldn’t avoid getting a good look down her top and the 15-carat pink diamond (worth about 40mil and reported stolen in one of Dr Foster’s vault heists two months ago) hanging around her neck. “So that wasn’t you poking around town this morning?” she asked pointedly, drawing his attention to the wall of monitors he hadn’t noticed showing various street cameras around the town. “I’ve got eyes and ears everywhere, dude. You got into town bright and early in a beat up looking truck with plates that didn’t exist two weeks ago and started flashing my yearbook photo around. So, who do you work for?”

He levelled his best steely-eyed agent stare at her and switched back to his native pissed-off Brooklynite accent. “I ain’t tellin you shit, sweetheart.”

“C’mon now,” she cooed, taking a seat on his lap. “Who do you work for? FBI? Interpol? SHIELD? Crawford County Library Services? Listen, I was totally going to return Eat Pray Love, but we had to skip town in a hurry and it got lost in the move. I will totally pay to replace it.”

Years of training (and regular poker games with the Black Widow) had taught him to school his features, even if that last one threw him for a loop.

“Nothing? You sure you don’t want to talk to me? Fine,” she whined. “Jane!”

It was only then that Barnes switched his focus from his captor to his surroundings and realised that there was another occupant puttering about on the other side of the large telescope that took pride of place on a hydraulic platform underneath the research station's retractable roof. The infamous Dr Foster.

“Jane!”

“What?” came the irritated reply.

“Come over here and practise your monologue. Look! You’ve got a captive audience and everything!” she announced, laughing at her own joke.

“I don’t have time, Darcy,” the disgruntled voice argued.

“Hey! I spent two days writing up that monologue, the least you can do is spend twenty-five minutes reading it out loud so I can make sure it doesn’t make you sound too much like a cartoon villain.”

“Twenty-five minutes?! Are you kidding me?” Dr Foster stormed out from behind the telescope to wave a wrench at her assistant. She looked less put together than her ID photo, appearing to be long overdue for both a shower and a nap. “I’m in the middle of something. I’ve almost figured the problem with the mobile portal generator, and… Darcy, why is there a man tied to a chair in my lab?”

“This man?” Darcy snorted, taking Barnes’s chin in her hands and wiggling it about. “This is the intruder. You remember the intruder alert, like fifteen minutes ago? Lots of flashing lights and alarms? Well, I found this guy passed out on the lawn. For most people, hitting my force field would be like getting lightly tased, but this bad boy,” she continued, tapping a fingernail against his dead metal arm, “meant you ended up getting the full 50,000 volts to your heart. Thanks for letting me practice my CPR by the way,” she added with a wink.

“It’s not a force field, Darcy. It’s a glorified invisible pet fence, upsized and modified so it reacts to the electrical impulses in the human body.”

“It keeps people out; I’m calling it a force field.”

This was definitely the weirdest interrogation he had endured by a large margin, Barnes mused as he followed their bickering like a pingpong game.

“Who is he, Darcy?” Jane sighed wearily. “What is he doing here?”

“Fiiiine. Janey, meet Agent James Barnes of SHIELD.”

“What?! SHIELD?!!”Jane screeched. “Why did you bring him here?”

“He found us, Jane. What was I supposed to do?”

“Something other than bringing him inside our secret hideout.”

“I am not killing him and burying him in the woods; I just did my nails.”

Jane scowled, turning the full force of her overtired fury on James. “Why can’t you SHIELD issue jackbooted thugs just leave me alone? Can’t you understand how important my work is? I am challenging the very foundations of modern science - of the laws of the universe! I am on the verge of a breakthrough! And if you or Nick Fury think you can stop me, you’ve got another thing coming!”

Before his mouth could betray him and ask how the hell they knew his boss Darcy spoke up.

“A little off script, but I like the energy, Jane. Very much the mad scientist vibe we’re going for. But next time, try not to make it so personal – we’ve got to hide the target of our frustrations, remember? Instead of saying “SHIELD” say “government”, instead of saying “Nick Fury” say “president”.”

“Right, right,” Jane nodded absently, tapping the side of her head with the wrench she had just been waving around like a weapon.

“Now, go back to work. I’ll handle this.”

“Okay, thanks Darce. Oh, have you seen my soldering iron around?”

“It’s in the locked cabinet because you’re not allowed to use it unsupervised, you know that. Gimme ten minutes, I’ll bring it to you.”

Jane wandered back to her side of the observatory, muttering under her breath, leaving Barnes at Darcy’s mercy.

“She’s not the criminal mastermind here, is she?” he wondered, his eyes roaming over the strange cupcake of a woman in his lap.

“Not exactly,” Darcy admitted. “I mean, it’s not like she set out to be a mad scientist. I kind of rebranded her after that little freeway incident.”

“Rebranded?”

“Yeah. She was in a bad way after New Mexico and then when the first live test of her portal engine went a little sideways I didn’t want dudebros on the internet coming after her, so I changed the narrative. Instead of ‘girl scientist makes mistake, should stick to making sandwiches’ I changed it to ‘Dr Foster, genius astrophysicist, causes chaos, totally on purpose.’”

“And all those robberies?”

“I may have encouraged that. I’m all for sticking it to the one percenters, and Jane needed to fund her experiments somehow,” she added with a shrug.

“So Jane’s the absent-minded professor and you’re the brains behind this operation, huh?”

Darcy laughed and slid out of his lap causing a distracting amount of friction. “I’m really not. So you, Coulson, and Fury should be really, really scared.”

“How do you know those names?” he had to know, cover be damned.

“You don’t know? Of course you don’t,” she huffed. “Fury and his clearance levels. I’d tell you to ask him about New Mexico sometime, but you’re not going to be able to.”

“Why not? What are you going to do to me?” Barnes fretted, unable to ignore the sinking feeling that he was in big trouble; she wouldn’t have told him anything if she intended on letting him walk out of here.

“Oh, relax. I’m not going to kill you. I’m just gonna scramble your brain a little.”

She circled his chair, flipping switches as she went, and something behind him started humming ominously.

“So, admittedly I didn’t major in hard sciences. I had an ex who did, but he also fancied himself something of a cat burglar, so when he went to jail I liberated all his college textbooks and gave myself a crash course in electrical engineering. And it helped that those HYDRA designs were really easy to follow.”

“HYDRA?” Barnes cursed.

HYDRA had been the scientific branch of the Nazi regime and believed that discovery required (human) experimentation. They were supposedly eradicated at the end of WWII but Project Paperclip saved some of HYDRA’s greatest minds, giving them immunity in exchange for their genius. If Foster or, more worryingly, Darcy had aligned themselves with some surviving HYDRA faction the results could be catastrophic.

“Yeah, I found them in that SHIELD warehouse when we recovered Jane’s stolen research.”

“What are you talking about?”

“They just call it ‘The Chair’, which is totally not creepy at all,” she continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “And this is the Halo,” she added, drawing Barnes’s attention to the whirring circle of metal that was lowering itself over his head.

“What the hell are you doing?” he shouted, renewing his efforts to break free of his restraints. “Get that piece of scrap metal the fuck away from me!”

“Hey! Don’t mock my work. It may look like I raided a junkyard for the components - and I did - but my welding game is on point. It’s totally safe. Mostly safe. It’s just going to send focused electrical pulses to your…” she paused to consult some smudged writing on her hand, “hippocampus and prefrontal cortex.”

The Halo stopped moving and two metal plates extended, pressing against the sides of his head, holding it like a vice.

“Please… don’t do this,” he begged as she approached him with a rubber mouthguard.

“C’mon, open wide. You don’t want to end up braindead and unable to chew your food,” she jested, waving the thing in front of him. “Oh, just one question before I fry your brain,” she added just when he was about to give in. “How did you find us? I was so careful,” she whined.

Agent Barnes, terrified as he was, still managed to look smug at his small, short lived success. “Deja Brew coffee.”

“Curses!” she wailed theatrically. “Betrayed by my one true love!”

Darcy huffed and quickly returned her attention to the matter at hand.

“Thanks for that,” she said with a smile as she forced him to bite down on the mouthguard. “I’ll know better for next time. Start making my own coffee at home… but it never tastes as good,” she muttered to herself.

She stepped away from him and bent down to pick up a similarly frankensteined industrial remote with long wires snaking back to the chair and a clichéd big red button at its centre. He began struggling anew, screaming around the foul tasting rubber, begging for mercy.

She took great delight in his terrified expression and put on her best supervillain voice, “Give my regards to Nick Fury.”

Nick Fury observed his agent from behind a two way mirror as he sat behind a table in an interrogation room. Barnes had been sitting there for the past hour as still as a statue, except for his unfocused eyes which flitted about the room.

In true horror movie fashion, Agent Barnes’ screams echoed down the mountainside like an avalanche, sending animals fleeing in terror for miles around.

** *** **

Local LEO’s had found him wandering aimlessly down a stretch of highway just outside the ruins of what had previously been Puente Antiguo, New Mexico, and ten minutes after they ran his prints Agent Romanoff had been on a quinjet to collect him. She’d been directed to the nearest hospital and found him sitting up on a bed but not responding or reacting to any of the medical staff as they buzzed around him. Agent Romanoff took a cautious step forward and held her breath as his unfocused eyes settled on her.

“Hello James...”

An excruciating minute later the veil lifted and he attempted a smile.

“Hey Tasha.”

She’d brought him back to base and dragged him to SHIELD’s medical bay for more tests - not that Barnes put up much of a fight, in fact he was terrifyingly compliant. The SHIELD doctors confirmed what the New Mexico doctors suspected: the bruising and electrical burns around his temples and his memory loss were indicative of some back alley version of electroshock therapy. His memories should come back in time - how long was anybody’s guess - but for the moment Agent James Barnes had no memory of the last four weeks.

Fury picked up a tablet with depressingly little information on its screen and stepped into the room, waiting for Barnes eyes to focus on him before taking a seat.

“Agent Barnes.”

“Director.”

“I know you’re probably sick of questions by now, but I have a few more for you, if that’s alright.”

“Yeah, sure…”

It rankled Fury to no end how meak and passive Barnes seemed. Heaven help him, he missed the argumentative sonofabitch.

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

“Being called into your office.”

“What for?”

“I punched Rumlow.”

“Why?”

“He was bragging about taking advantage of a drunk woman at a club when he was last on leave. He didn’t like me calling out his shitty behaviour. He punched me, I punched him back.”

Fury sighed. He hadn't gotten a straight answer out of Barnes at the time of the incident and he couldn’t feel happy about getting one now.

“Do you remember what happened once I called you into my office?”

His brow creased and his eyes zipped back and forth like the carriage of a printer as his mind searched for the elusive memory.

“You suspended me?”

“I did,” Fury confirmed. “For a whole month. But two weeks into it I pulled you in for a special assignment.”

Barnes tensed, shrinking in on himself. The confusion about his lost time seemed to be the only thing that got under his skin, but only when someone brought it up. Once the moment passed he forgot to be concerned about it.

Fury took pity on him. “For the past two weeks I had you running down leads on the whereabouts of Dr Jane Foster.”

“The scientist with the portals? Did she do this to me?”

“It’s not exactly her MO, but then again no law enforcement agency’s ever managed to have a confrontation with her. Never had the chance. Those portals of hers let her keep at a distance. You might have been the first person to have a face to face with her, but I can’t confirm it because I don’t know where the hell you were when this happened,” he grumbled, letting a little more of his usual exasperated tone filter through. “You missed check in by two days. The last we heard from you, you were at Culver running down leads on what you said was a potential accomplice. We found your car in Tromso, Norway, a day after you were found on the side of a road in New Mexico. You don’t appear on any security footage or speed cameras in the area. There’s no activity on your work or personal credit cards. Your activity logs on our highly secure system for the last two weeks are nonexistent, as are your call logs on your work phone. Even the messages you sent Romanoff from your personal phone complaining about your assignment have since been deleted - from her phone too. She’s real pissed about it. As far as your digital footprint is concerned you disappeared from a gas station outside Roanoke, Virginia, last week - do you know how weird it is to know you were headed out towards a place called Roanoke only to up and vanish?” He sighed at Barnes’ painful silence. “Is there anything you can remember, anything at all about Dr Foster or her accomplice? Anything that will help us catch up to you without talking to everyone on campus to figure out what you discovered?”

Barnes’ brow creased in painful confusion.

“I think… I think I saw Darth Vadar.”

Director Fury blinked. “Right…” He took a deep breath to stop himself from venting his frustrations at Barnes, the sorry bastard looked like a kicked puppy as it was. Instead he got up and tapped the tablet against the metal tabletop harder than strictly necessary. “Well, I’ll just go put out a BOLO out for Darth Vadar then.”

“Okay,” Barnes murmured, and promptly zoned out again.

Agent Romanoff exited the viewing room looking uncharacteristically unsettled.

“I want a full detail on him at all times,” Fury ordered as he stormed off towards the elevators. Hill had just stepped off and was looking even more grim than usual. “Until his memories come back he’s vulnerable, and once they do he’ll be a target.”

“I’ll get a STRIKE team on it. Not Rumlow’s.”

“Get another one along with any assets currently not on assignment. Flood that campus, interrogate everybody. I wanna know who the hell Dr Foster’s accomplice is, and I wanna know yesterday. Understood?”

“I think we might have more pressing concerns, sir,” Hill reported, tapping at her tablet as it beeped erratically. “Coulson’s said there’s an issue with the Tesseract. Dr. Selvig read an energy surge from it fifteen minutes ago.”

“NASA didn't authorise Selvig to test phase,” he grunted, taking the tablet from Hill.

“He wasn't testing it, he wasn't even in the room. Spontaneous advancement.”

“Motherfucker.”

#you say mad scientist like it's a bad thing #freudensteins-fics #mad scientist jane foster #competent assistant darcy lewis #shield agent bucky barnes #torture #aftermath of torture #amnesia #winter soldier memory wipe chair #darcy lewis #jane foster #bucky barnes #natasha romanoff #nick fury #maria hill

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