#we finally find out what those mother fucking beads were for

[feelingtheaster99]

Gosh we should’ve known after they spent so many times listing factions that they would have to fight ALL of them

[evilminji]

You know one of the purposes of Lining?

Shock Absorption.

If the Zone is the Inter- and EXTRA-Dimensional Lining, connecting, containing, and generally powering all of Multiversal Creation? The Great Primordial Soup? The Ashes to Ashes, Dust to Dust, from which we came and too which we return?

If the Zone itself is basicly the place between Universe, where your soul goes to get washed down, cleaned up, recharged, and sent out to wherever the next random portal takes it? To BECOME whatever you happen to find? An infinte recycler and Multiversal management?

The great metaphorical Yggdrasil, grown far beyond few branches, into an incomprehensible forest of one?

Well!

That kinda changes things! And also nothing! Because it means that those who remain? Are basicly squatting in the DMV's attic. Have built bunkers, under the country's main power generator. They really SHOULD move along. Granted, there is no one to MAKE them... but like...

That's cause no one thought anyone would NEED too?

Lol. Don't they feel silly? Anyway, I'ma put MY house over-! *wander off to go squat in the rafters*

Yeah, the CONCEPTS are native. But those probably just generate naturally. It's all the Souls constantly flowing through. Lots of background Sentience and Memories and such being washed away into the air. But? Then these lil souls were like "yeah, but if THEY get to stay... me too! D:< " "no, you can-" "ME TOO" and then they stopped listening and did what they wanted.

Good thing we have literally infinte amounts of room.

T...there's so MANY, you guys.

But! Not the point here!

*smacks white board* Realities! The Die too sometimes! And get born! A beautiful process, really. You can find Reality Beads if you know When and Where to look, some times. They, OBVIOUSLY, don't last for very long. Since they are basicly just seed universe. The explosive growth takes them almost immediately out of our range of perception, as they Begin.

Foundations of all Life and such.

But good God are they MAGNIFICENT!

However, sometimes? The REVERSE happens. If you find the area of the Zone your in? Is getting... "wavey" is the best way people describe it. Distorted. Fun house mirror. As though your vision has weird wrinkles that are distorting and stretching your view of things? Get Out. FAST.

If it's only SLIGHT? Barely noticeable? You can grab your Lair. IF, and ONLY IF you are NEARBY! If not? Remember. Things can be replaced. YOU? Can not.

Cause that "wavey"-ness? Is the final stage of Realm Entropy. The universe that portion over the Zone is covering and connected too, is all hollowed out. And about to CAVE IN. You DO NOT want to be there when that happens!

Remember! You see "waves"? Fly for three days!

Get to the edge of the affected area then KEEP GOING for a full three days flight. Warn everyone in you path. We stay safe together, guy. Collapses are NO JOKE. People get... well. Let's just say it's NOT a nice way too go.

Knowing this of course? We should all be SAFE right? Respectful if Awed distance from Reality Seeds, run like he'll if "waves"? We Gucci?

.....Sooooorta.

*flips Whiteboard to other side, to reveal a cartoonishly drawn Supervillian labeled "Asshole"*

Behold! A Terrorist!

It's a charged word. Not used lightly. But THESE fuckers? Oh ho ho! THESE fuckers?! "Ooooh~! Look at MEEEEE! I'm gonna play with FORCES I DONT UNDERSTAAAAAAAND! Destabilize my whole funckin UNIVERSE! Kill countless TRILLIONS OF TRILLIONS! Cause life was bad to me personally and I'm mad about it! Wah wah wah!!" ASSHOLES!

These fuckers? Cause Collapses. Blow Outs. Weird Fucked Up Cancerous Real Growths. You ever seen the Cleaners? No? You don't WANT TOO. They are basically eldritch, deep sea, angler fish looking mother fuckers THE SIZE OF SOLAR SYSTEMS. They travel in SCHOOLS.

BIG ONES.

When Realities collapse, they "fall off" as it were. Detach. And have to get recycled. All the countless impurities of Life eaten way to a blank slate. So it too, can start again. Thus the Fish. But! They ALSO eat anything "problematic".

Like tumors. Cancers. Poisoned, Multiversal Threats. Those quote on quote "God Killers".

Yes. Yes this IS part of why you DONT want to be near a Collapsing Reality.

No I WON'T explain how I know.

I DONT WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT.

*smack the board with pointer* pay attention.

Jason Todd. Not! An Asshole. Sexy thighs. Fancy lil hair strip. We all miss him. But! He's off living his "no really, I'm totally alive, guys" hot girl summer or whatever. We are going to respect that! But!!! How did that happen? When he was DEFINITELY Hella dead?

Superboy Prime-y Pants. Who IS an ASSHOLE.

Because THAT fucker? PUNCHED HIS REALITY SO HARD IT NEARLY SHATTERED. Oh, no, I'm sorry! He punched SOMEONE ELSE'S reality! Because he is a tantruming MAN CHILD! And NOW? Now, Your Majesty, that WHOLE ASS Reality is more hair line cracks then border walls! One good shove? It'll cave in. Killing every soul inside.

The Cleaners are ALREADY circling.

It needs to be patched. Immediately. But that's not something normal ghosts can DO. The Zone won't LISTEN to us. Nor allocate the energy for it. The Concepts of Healing? We can't even FIND them.

We need help.

Please help them, King Phantom. You're the only one who CAN.

@hdgnj @babbling-babull @hypewinter @ailithnight @mutable-manifestation @nerdpoe @the-witchhunter

[djarinbarnes]

me recordarás - two

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Pairings: Javier Peña x female reader

Rating: Mature - explicit themes

Word count: 3.8k

Summary: summer has come to an end. you find yourself thrown into a whirlwind of emotions, difficult choices and more adversity, like you’d never believed possible. someone is there to pull you out of it - but it’s not someone you’d ever imagined.

a/n: ... surprise, surprise. I had to bring this guy in. sweet little baby Pedro. <3 also,,,, no javi in this chapter!

SERIES MASTERLIST

Read it on ao3 here

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“Mom, can we please just sit down and eat in silence for once?” your face had turned red, and your forehead was littered with small beads of sweat. “I just want one quiet family dinner before I leave for uni.”

You evaded your mothers heated, angry gaze and ducked your head into the plate in front of you. You wished you could just disappear into the plate of chicken and rice. God, you couldn’t wait to get out of the house.

Your mother hesitates before sitting down beside you. She reaches out and grabs your hand, and you freeze at the touch. You don’t feel it as a mother trying to comfort her daughter. It feels like something else. “Sweetheart, why didn’t you tell me?”

Your gaze whips up and you face your mother, her eyes glossed over and a little red. “I’m not mad at you, sweetheart. I could never be mad at you.” You feel your insides freeze over and your stomach drop. If you weren’t nauseous before, you certainly were now.

Her voice was cold. A tear streaked her cheek, and you wanted to roll your eyes at her.

“It’s not that I didn’t want to tell you, mom… I just wanted to think it over myself. I’m not even sure I’m going to keep it.” You watch your mothers face contort into a grimace, and you scoop a bite into your mouth. You were so damn hungry all the time.

“You don’t- honey, it’s against our beliefs to have such a procedure don-”

“Well you know what else is against our beliefs?!” You finally get enough of your mothers’ insistent comments. You push your chair back violently as you stand up, taking your mother by surprise. “Fucking a complete stranger in a different country because you’re sick of the way you’re living!”

Your mothers mouth falls open. She’s clearly taken aback by the tone you talk back to her with. Hell, she’s never heard those kinds of words leave your mouth before. Before she can even think further, her hand collided with your cheek.

You could compose one thought. You wanted to scream at her, to hit her back. Yet you couldn’t hear your thoughts over the awful ringing in your ears. Instead of reacting, you draw your lips into a thin line and leave for your room.

Your mother tries to follow you, talking to you, apologizing for laying a hand on you, but you shut her out. You barely hear anything she’s saying as you close the door and lock it behind you. You were luckily going back to Miami a few days later. You decided on leaving that same night.

A few days pass after your arrival back to Miami before there is a quick rap of knuckles on your door, your closed eyes wishing that it would just stop again as quickly as it started. The annoying sound increased though, and you felt a sharp pain blossom between your eyebrows.

You shot out of bed and pulled on your cardigan, before trampling to the door and pulling it open with a snarl. You sigh when you discover Eddie on the other side of the door. “Eddie, shit.” You breathe and turn back into your apartment, sitting down on your bed.

“You startled me a bit. Thought you were someone else.” You pushed your head into your hands and sighed to yourself, all while Eddie watched from where you left the door open.

“Well don’t just stand there, come in.” You sighed before he slowly made his way into your apartment where the two of you had spent many hours laughing over everything and nothing the past semester. He shut the door after him, his eyes watching your sulking body. “Just so you know, my mother has tried to call me close to a hundred times.”

“Yeah, I tried calling you as well, with no success. Figured something was up.”

Eddie was one of your best friends at uni, and one of the people you knew you could always trust. You knew you could talk with him about everything, yet you didn’t feel ready to talk to him about Javi. Looking at Eddie now, you could see a striking resemblance between the two men, and it startled you just a bit.

God, everyone just looks like him. Is this God’s way of testing me? You think to yourself and- “Looks like who?” Eddie spoke, his tenuous voice thankfully nothing like Javi’s. Well, you figured you had to tell him anyways, since your stupid mouth decided to betray you.

You straighten your back as Eddie sits down in the chair by your desk, looking at you questioningly. “You know I went to Colombia this summer right?” you start, and Eddie nods. “Well, I met this man.” You fiddle your fingers, looking at the digits swirling about each other.

“And it was… Amazing. He was sweet and gentle, and we had the best time. We were inseparable in those three weeks we spent together.” You smile at the fond memory, before continuing. “It was perfect, and he showed me so much of Colombia and I-” You stop yourself, not sure of just how many details you wanted to tell Eddie just yet.

You look up from your fingers, finding Eddie looking at you with a soft smile. You knew he could read you like an open book. . “Someone fell in love over the summer, huh?” Eddie teases, before rubbing his hands together, leaning his elbows on his knees. “Tell me more. Was his dick big? Did he show you a real good time?” Eddie asks with a wiggle of his eyebrows and you throw a pillow at him which he easily catches. “Was he hot? Older? Tan and dreamy?”

“Oh my god.” you hide your face in your hands before you lay back with a laugh. You feel Eddie jumping on your bed to join you. Eddie knew what kind of man you were into. It’d been a very discussed topic in your many study sessions the past semester.

“So he did show you a good time!” Eddie laughs and you join him. “Bet you’ve been thinking about that Colombian dick for the past months, huh?” You throw out your hand and hit Eddie square in the face with another laugh, both of you soon unable to catch your breaths.

“First off, he’s American. But he did.” You say after you’ve both regained your senses. “He really did.” you trailed off, your eyes once again focusing on anything but Eddie. You know he’s able to read you like an open book just by looking into your eyes. “And so much more.”

“Why do I feel a ‘but’ coming?” Eddie asks, with good reason. He looks at you while you feel the tears welling back up into your eyes and he slings an arm over you to calm you in the best way he can. It felt as if the whole atmosphere of the room had changed in a matter of seconds.

“Because there is a but.” you take a breath, deciding it’s better to just tell him than to keep it a secret. You know you can trust Eddie, and you’re having a really difficult time keeping this secret for yourself. You look up at Eddie with wide eyes, and he looks back at you with warm, brown orbs.

“I think I’m pregnant, Eddie.” You manage to whisper, and you feel your bottom lip starting to tremble. “No, I know I’m pregnant, and I’m scared. I don’t know what to do.” You watch Eddie’s face as it changes from neutral to shocked. You shut your eyes, letting a tear fall. You feel a finger catch it before it rounds your chin. “I don’t know what to say to him.”

You hear Eddie whisper your name, and you open your eyes to look back up at him. “I don’t know what to say to you.” You nod, biting your lip before sitting back up, the feeling of laying in bed with Eddie suddenly feeling foreign and wrong. Your clothes also feel all too revealing, even though Eddie has seen you in shorts and a tank top before.

“I don’t know either. I know I’m nowhere near ready to have a child.” You sigh and place your hand back on your lower stomach. You feel Eddie’s hand on your shoulder, and it calms you a bit. “No matter what happens… I have no idea if Javi and I are going to be a thing. I have no idea if he still wants me.”

“Does he know?” Eddie speaks, and you shake your head no. “You need to tell him.” He says and you nod. “Of course he would still want you. He needs to man up and take care of you right now. Do you know how far along you are?” You think about it for just a minute before putting everything together.

“Maybe two and a half months.” You whisper, and you feel Eddie embrace you from the side. You lean into his touch and appreciate it. You let out a breath you’d been holding in, afraid of Eddie’s reaction. This was what you needed from Javi. You feel the stress of emotions slowly calm down, and breathe in the scent of your best friend.

“You need to do something, and quickly. If you need it remo… um, if you need to have an abortion, it needs to be soon. I may not know much, but I know a little.” You nod slowly, and Eddie reaches for your hand. You let him take it, noticing how warm his skin feels against your clammy hand. “I’ll be here, okay?”

“Thank you.” You stand, and make your way to your windows, casting a glance at the sun setting in the distance. The sky was painted in orange, lilac and purple hues, and it gave you a sense of comfort. It was a sight to behold - you wished you could frame the view on your wall, so you could admire it from the comforts of your bed.

It reminded you of the night you spent perched on top of Javi’s car, watching the sunset in Colombia, only this sunset wasn’t nearly as beautiful. Maybe because he weren’t there to share it with you.

“Eddie…” You whispered as you felt your vision darken, and your legs giving in under you. Eddie’s hands were quick to grasp your body as it fell towards the carpeted floor, and you fell into his arms with a sigh.

“Jesus, when was the last time you ate something? Your skin is all clammy,” Eddie scolded while lifting your tired body back to your bed. He placed you on the bed and wrapped the duvet around you, before leaving for your small kitchen.

You knew he would come up empty handed - you hadn’t had the time to go out and grocery shop. You were surprised you even had some crackers in your cabinets, since you had been gone for a little over two months.

“I’ll be right back. You need food.” Eddie pointed an accusing finger at you before he grabbed the jacket he’d hung by the door, hurrying out of it and slamming it shut behind him. You laid back, the duvet baring your legs to the air of the room which suddenly felt freezing. You barely had the strength to get into another position, so you simply closed your eyes and let out a deep breath.

You had no idea how much time passed, but you managed to fall asleep, and you woke up to the smell of something delicious cooking in your kitchen. You couldn’t feel your toes at this point. Everything beneath your knees just felt like it wasn’t there, even though you found a blanket thrown over your legs when you looked down.

You mustered a small smile, realizing Eddie must’ve made sure to cover your legs once he got back to your apartment. You sit up and throw your legs over the edge of the bed, looking down at your toes as you wiggle them a bit to get the feeling back into the little digits.

You shuffle over to one of your drawers and pull out a pair of fluffy socks, pulling them on your feet before you make your way into your tiny kitchen. Eddie has his back to you, cutting something while something else was sizzling on the pan and boiling in a pot.

“Hey,” you manage to croak out, and Eddie turns slightly with a smile.

“Hey. I figured you could eat a whole feast by now. I made your favorite.” You let out a laugh and Eddie joins you soon after, because of the inside joke the two of you had going on. It was easy to cook your favorite food, since your favorite food was free food.

I was something Eddie would always tease you with - long days in the library and during late lectures about American literature and whatever followed after that. The two of you would agree to go out for a late dinner or take away - he would ask what you wanted to eat, and you would tell him your favorite.

He never complained, and he would always be happy to pay for you when you didn’t offer to pay first. You hadn’t ever asked him to - maybe it was just something he did - and you appreciated the gesture every time. And you made sure to tell him, every time.

“What’ve you got cooking?” you feel your curiosity get the best of you as you shuffle closer to his back, leaning on the counter to look past his broad body. He turns, as if to shield the food from your hungry eyes, and you gasp dramatically.

“Hey! Don’t want you sucking out all the nutrients from the food before we even get to taste it!” he grins before he turns slightly, letting your eyes find the cutting board. Tomatoes, garlics, carrots, the lot.

“Are you making spaghetti?” You felt your mouth watering at the thought of Eddie’s grandmas’ recipe for spaghetti bolognese, and you vividly remembered the first time you’d visited his grandma during the first year of uni, where the lovely old lady had made you both dinner and three tupperwares each for the fridge.

You realized soon after, that Eddie maybe liked you as more as a friend, since he wanted you to meet his family, and made sure that you ate and even helped you with your grades one time during the third semester. The two of you never spoke of it, and you didn’t feel like you needed to.

“Now get out. I can already see the carrots wilting!” Eddie gestures for you to leave the kitchen and you do so with a small laugh, padding through your small condo and setting yourself down in your bean bag in front of the window.

The sky was visibly darkened, the deep purple turning black, and the last rays of sun shining over the top of the buildings and casting a shadow over the fronts facing your windows. You found your thoughts drifting towards Javi again, and the evenings you spent together, watching the sun go down.

You barely realize you’re crying by the time Eddie lays a hand on your shoulder again, wanting to let you know dinner’s ready. You don’t even know how much time has passed by then. Time is a strange concept at this point, yet you can barely find the will to care. Your head is spinning as well, and it’s making you dizzy.

“Do you need a hug?” It’s barely a whisper, and you’re slightly taken aback. Eddie has never been shy about touching you, hugging you or nudging you, and now he’s stepping around you carefully, like the floor is littered with pins.

You turn into him and throw your arms around his body, embracing him tightly. You feel the dams break and the tears flooding your eyes yet again, the little-to-none wall you’d managed to build around yourself being torn down.

“It’s okay. I’m here. I’ll protect you.” Eddie’s hands rub your back, and they flood you with warmth as they glide over your clothes. It’s a warmth and comfort you didn’t know you needed, yet you welcome it with open arms. You feel cold and foreign, like you don’t belong in your own body.

“Come on. You need to eat something.” You unlatch yourself from him and his hand is warm as it rests on your back as he leads you to your small table where he’s managed to set the table without you hearing a thing. He pulls out the chair for you and pushes it in as you sit, before he sits opposite of you.

He pours you a great amount of food on your plate and you let out a laugh. “You expect me to eat all that?” you joke and he smiles, before jokingly dipping the spoon into the pot again and spooning another spoonful on your plate with a wink.

“Alright then. Challenge accepted.” You smile and take the plate as he holds it out in front of you. You watch as he serves himself a plate before you’re looking at one another, internally counting before breaking out into smiles, and digging in.

It was an unwritten ritual between the two of you, who could get the first spoonful, or forkful, into their mouth. And not just a small bite, no, a whole bite, either twisting or turning spaghetti, sawing through a sandwich, picking away with chopsticks or going fingers first into whatever dish you were having.

It could cheer up the both of you, and make you smile instantly. It felt so natural to eat dinner with Eddie again, even though it’d felt foreign when you’d seen him again after all those weeks. You’d be lying if you said you’d been thinking about him over summer break.

To be honest, you’d forgotten all about Eddie as soon as another male had given you any kind of attention. You weren’t proud to admit it. Eddie was your best friend after all. He’s been there for you every time you needed him, late nights at the university library or constantly accessible to you when you needed him.

“Eddie?” You look at him through hooded lashes, your head still spinning. There’s a heavy pain blooming in your belly. You decide to ignore it. He’s drying off the last plate. A man who does the dishes? That was a plus. You knew Eddie did the dishes though - he did them once, when he was a few bucks short at a family owned diner - the elderly lady accepted his offer, and paid him for an hour's work - just enough to cover the missing dollars.

You were sitting at the bar, watching as the lady popped on a hair net which definitely wasn’t necessary, along with an apron, a little too feminine for a male to wear. Yet Eddie wore it proudly, and spent an hour washing a few dishes since the diner wasn’t at its busiest.

You’re leaning against the doorway, barely able to hold yourself up, smiling at the fond memory. You feel bad that you’re just standing around doing nothing, but Eddie insisted. “Yeah?” He turns to you as he finishes, hanging the dishcloth at its spot and putting the plates away.

You can barely allow yourself to speak, but you feel like it’s something you need to do. You really don’t want to be alone. “Will you stay the night? I don’t feel like being alone.” You watch as his features soften, and he nods.

You shuffle into your tiny bathroom and brush your teeth, finding little to no strength in your actions. It’s like you’re slowly being paralyzed. You don’t have the power to even brush your teeth properly. You manage though, and also manage to drag yourself to bed.

You climb under the covers and Eddie joins you, staying over the covers and pulling a blanket over himself. Sleep easily overcomes you, yet it’s not pleasant. Nightmares riddle your mind yet again, fear riddling your body and agitating your core.

Eddie had trouble falling asleep beside you. He felt the way your body went limp with sleep, yet he also notices the way you continuously tense up and writhe in your sleep. He reaches out and pulls you closer to his body, trying to warm you and calm you down.

You whimper as you push your face into the crook of Eddie’s neck, and he feels his heart skip a beat. It was no secret that Eddie harbored a crush on you. He knew that he probably wouldn’t ever be taken into consideration as someone you would be romantically involved with, so he spent his time trying to make you as comfortable as possible.

He had a hard time letting sleep overtake him, the constant whimpers falling from your lips waking him every time he felt himself slipping away. It didn’t last long, though.

The call came in at 03:42.

“911, whats your emergency?”

The feminine voice greeted him. The male on the other end of the phone was clearly startled by the situation he found himself in, his short, sharp breaths letting the dispatcher know something was gravely wrong.

“I need an ambulance,” the man breathed into the phone, giving the dispatcher on the other end the address. “I can’t wake up my friend. There’s blood.” The man felt his heart thump heavily behind his ribcage, so hard it almost hurt. He knew why - he was scared shitless.

“I have a vehicle coming your way, can you tell me your name please?” the dispatcher spoke quietly. Her voice was nice. Full of warmth and comfort. He needed it.

“My name is Eddie.” he manages to croak out, before looking back at the silhouette on the bed. “Please, hurry.”

“Can you tell me a little bit about what happened, Eddie?”

“Um, well, I’m sleeping over at my friends’ place and she’s not been feeling too good and we went to sleep a few hours ago and I just woke up to her screaming before passing out.” the man’s voice is quivering.

“You told me there was blood? Where’s this blood coming from, do you know that?”

“From her.” Eddie whispers. “It’s on the bed. Through her blanket,” His eyes register flashing blue lights through the blinds of your apartment windows. Then the sound finds his ears, and he shivers. “She’s pregnant.”

“Alright Eddie, will you let the paramedics in for me?”

“Y-yeah.” Eddie stutters and lays the phone by the housing and unlocks your door. He finds the paramedics coming through the hallway at just the right time.

Everything from there is a blur. He barely remembers the short ride to the hospital, but he remembers how fragile you look as they wheel you into the ER and behind closed doors.

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next chapter

[ihearthes]

Quarantine Christmas Part 1

Author: @ihearthes Pairing: Harry x y/n Rating: Fluff/Smut (Smut in Part 2) Word Count: 2826 (Part 1) Fiction Chalenge via @caitlin‘s fiction party via @sweetcreatureinthedark

December 23, 2020

My head spins as I haul my suitcase from the trunk, using two hands due to the heft of the dirty clothes inside. Setting it on the ground, I yank on the handle before grappling with the two shopping bags filled with presents, reaching back for the decorated Christmas tin that is filled with homemade cookies, fudge, and other delicacies baked by my colleagues at Apple Music. 

Wrestling with my hands full, I close the trunk with an elbow, shivering in the chilly LA air. At the front door, I want to cry. Dammit. I could clearly remember that when Glenne had given me the code for the front door and the alarm, I placed them in my phone under her contact information. 

“FUCK!” The primal scream is released from my lungs, likely scaring the neighbors if any of them are outside enjoying Christmas lights or having family celebrations on this Christmas Eve Eve. Balancing the tin of cookies on top of the suitcase, I set down the shopping bags to reach for my phone. My purse slips off my shoulder, knocking the container of sweets, and in the scramble to rescue them, I nearly fall head over heels into the bushes. 

It isn’t until I punch in the numbers and drag my personal effects inside that it occurs to me that the alarm isn’t armed. Had Glenne and Jeffrey forgotten to punch in the code before they left for Palm Springs? Deciding I don’t care, I leave everything by the door as I drag my suitcase to the main floor laundry room, dumping everything in without regard to color or type of clothing. Since we’ve been working remotely the majority of the time for the last fucking nine months, “dressing up” encompasses blue jeans and the occasional blouse, but most of my clothing is sweatpants and t-shirts. Deciding washing the blue jeans and blouses with the sweatpants and t-shirts is the worst idea ever, I fish those out before pouring laundry detergent over the remaining garments and starting the washer. 

Glancing down at the clothing currently on my body, it seems completely reasonable to drop them into the washer too. Stripping the t-shirt from my body, I toss it into the swirling water before adding my bra, socks, and leggings to the murky mix. Wearing only panties in the cool house makes my nipples bead. 

Ha! I’m sure my nips are happy to get any action after almost a year with no dating of any sort because of the fucking pandemic. Which reminds me that I’ve forgotten my vibrator at home. Shit. Of all the things I don’t mind borrowing from Glenne, I do have a line I won’t cross. 

Placing the tin of Christmas yummies on the kitchen counter, I grasp the handles of the two bags of gifts. It might be silly to put them under the tree since I’m the only one in the house, but it will make me feel better. More like I’m at home with my family in Indiana. Less like I’m stuck in quarantine in an empty house for my favorite holiday. Sniffling, I swipe at my nose with the back of my hand as I pad down the two steps into the living room to the tree. 

Kneeling at the fake tree, I reach for the switch to turn on the lights. As the colors begin blinking, I carefully withdraw each present, reading the tag before gently placing the gift under the tree. Even my brother had sent a present through the mail which must mean he misses me his year. Right now, we should be challenging each other to the most ridiculous games to see who is the best. Inevitably, he would win some while I beat him at others until eventually we declare a tie. My mother would chastise us both with a grin on her face, implicitly encouraging us to continue our “reindeer games” as my father called them. 

From behind me, I hear a shuffling sound. Hadn’t they taken Myles with them? No matter. I could use the company a dog would provide. 

“Santa, you’ve changed!” a soft voice exclaims, and I jump, twisting around to find another human wearing sweatpants and a hoodie. 

“It’s you!” Both voices exclaim simultaneously. “What the fuck are you doing here?” We both pause, “Stop saying what I’m saying!” 

Out of breath, I stare at him. The Harry Styles. Fuck. 

His eyes roam over my body, and it finally dawns on me that I’m wearing nothing but my Victoria’s Secret lace panties. Shit. 

Pacing measuredly to the couch without openly cringing, I grasp a wool throw and wrap it around my chest regally like I’ve just exited the pool at some exotic locale near the equator. My shoulders straighten, and I face him openly. 

“Are you joining Glenne and Jeffrey in Palm Springs?” My back is a board, and my tone is barely restrained. 

“Nope.” His nonchalance combined with his truncated answer pisses me off, per usual.

“So you’re flying home, waiting here for your flight tonight?” The hopeful tone is obvious to me and probably to him as well.

“No.” Those green eyes of his rake over my nearly-naked body, and I shiver. From the cold of course. Jesus. Get your heads out of the gutter!

“Watering the plants prior to returning to the Soho?”

“Uh uh.”

Delayed dread begins to fill my stomach. “You mean --” I clear my throat -- “you’re staying here?”

“Yep.”

“Shit.” Running my hand through my hair, I ponder the impact and my next steps. 

“You?” He asks politely, even though I know he doesn’t feel solicitude at this moment.

“Glenne told me I could stay here for a few days. I made arrangements for my place to be fumigated while I was in Indiana for Christmas.”

His raised eyebrow mocks me. 

“I’m not going, though. Okay?” 

“Why not?”

“Seriously? Where the fuck have you been, Styles? In case you didn’t know, there’s a global fucking pandemic, and all of Los Angeles is locked down. So no -- I am not getting on a plane with a bunch of potentially infected and contagious --” Emotion overwhelms me, and I have to stop and catch my breath. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I turn away from him so he can’t see the tears that form in my eyes. 

“Whatever, Smith.”

“My name --” I draw myself up and gather my anger around me like a cloak -- “is not Smith.”

“Yeah, right. Which bedroom are you planning to sleep in?”

“Surely you’re not suggesting we both stay here?” Appalled, I stare at him with my mouth open. “I’ll get a hotel room.” When I realize my wardrobe is in the washing machine, I softly say, “As soon as my clothes are dry.”

He shakes his head. “Don’t be ridiculous, Smith. We’ll share the space. It’s only a couple of days.”

“Excuse me!?” Anger wells up. “Only the most important days in the entire year!” Superiority makes me stand up fully to him. “Besides, I’ve been quarantining for months. No way do I want to share germs with you!”

“Oh please! As if you’ve got a monopoly on quarantining! I’m perfectly safe. We get tested every morning before we film. When was the last time you were tested?” 

“Two days ago!” She’s at her boiling point. “Look, if we're both staying here together, then we’re just going to have to avoid each other. It’s a big house. We can do that.”

“Maybe once you put some clothes on,” Harry comments, smirking in that way he has where the left side of his mouth tilts up. 

Mortified, I glance down at myself. Briefly I consider scurrying for Glenne’s closet, but I pause. Why should I rush away? Because he’s male? Because he was here first? Because he’s sexy as fuck and my panties can’t take anymore? 

“Fine,” I respond as I brush past him like the Queen of England. “I’ll find something to wear, and then we can hash out the details.”

“Great plan. I’m ordering something for dinner.”

My stomach growls, and I suddenly feel an irrational hatred for that part of my body. How I long to state that I’ve already eaten or that I plan to cook something! But alas, I’ve brought no food with me, and I’ve no clue what’s in the kitchen. If Glenne and Jeffrey even left anything. 

“Does that mean you’d like some too?” He gloats, and as much as I would like to smack the grin off his face, I’ve not eaten since a quick bite for breakfast hours before. 

Knowing I’m going to have to grovel, I face him. “I’m capable of ordering for myself.”

“Yes, but that’s not necessarily good for the environment, is it? Sending two drivers to the same address from different restaurants?” Pausing, he appears to swallow whatever snarky comment was forthcoming. “Can we agree on this one small thing? I’m thinking poke.”

Shit. Fuck. Goddammit. That’s exactly what I would have ordered. Fuck. 

Casually, I shrug. “Yeah, whatever. I can choke down some poke.” As I saunter away, tucking the ends of the makeshift shroud under my armpits, I call back to him, “Spicy please.”

Quickly I make my way to Glenne’s closet, surveying the items there. Ripping down a pair of joggers and a Full Stop Management hoodie, I drop the covering I’ve been wearing and rapidly draw the clothes over my naked body. Nothing I can do about not having a bra, but the hoodie is roomy so I worry less. 

In the bathroom, I run my fingers through my hair, combing out the curls as best I can in this environment. In no way do I want it to appear that I’m trying to look amazing for Harry. Biting my lip, I admit to myself that the opposite is true. I absolutely want him to fall at my feet. 

Which isn’t going to happen, I remind myself. Give up the ghost of a fantasy. 

Making eye contact in the mirror, I provide a pep talk for myself. “Listen,” I remind my reflection, “this is just one more fucked up situation in 2020. You’ve gotten through worse. It’s truly a giant house, so there’s no reason -- wait. Why is he staying here anyway?” For whatever reason, I had allowed him to dodge that incredibly simple question. 

Tucking my hands into the hoodie’s front pocket, I amble to the kitchen where Harry is just disconnecting his phone. 

“Food will be here in 45 minutes,” he promises. 

“Why are you staying here again? I missed your answer earlier,” I prompt. 

I’m confident I see a flash of embarrassment crossing his face as he lowers his head. “Wine?” He asks, gesturing towards the extensive rack of reds and then the chiller of whites. 

Unsure as to whether I should allow the diversion or press, I examine him. His eyes look tired and sad. His clothes, while comfortable, aren’t upbeat. Nor is his current demeanor. Is he okay? 

Planting his hands in his hoodie in an unconscious mimic of my pose, he glances at me before his eyes stray to the side, examining the marble countertop. That look tells me more than I need to know, and my empath side emerges as I toss him a life preserver. 

“With poke? I think perhaps a Reisling.” 

He nods, bending to look through the wines in the cooler before he extracts one, holding it up for me to inspect the label. My eyes start to widen at the vineyard, assuming the extravagant cost, but I calm my features. “Perf!” I declare. 

Grasping the wine opener from a nearby drawer, Harry removes the cork as I snatch two wine glasses from the cabinet and place them near him. Carefully comparing the amount in each glass, he pours enough before recorking the bottle. Taking my glass, I move into the living room where I can view the tree. It’s Christmas Eve Eve after all, and I refuse to be deterred from watching the lights twinkle and celebrating the season. 

Harry apparently has a similar idea as he fiddles with the sound system before a crackle of ‘Jingle Bell Drunk’ by RaeLynn starts playing which causes me to giggle. 

I settle on one side of the sofa, and Harry plants himself on the other side. Separately, we each take a sip of the riesling. My tongue does a happy dance at the flavor on my tongue. “This sweetness will cut the spicy quite well. Excellent choice.”

“You made the selection,” Harry reminds me, and I cringe. 

“Oh. Yeah.”

Silence descends as the song proclaims “I’ve been naughty. I’ve been nice.” 

“If there was ever a year for this song, this is it.” I announce into the quiet. 

“Yeah. It’s been quite the year.”

Sharply, I glance at him. Perhaps I had missed something? “Excuse me? You’ve had one hell of a year, Styles. Grammy nominations aside, there were how many music videos released during this global disaster? Plus a movie!”

“Agreed.” He’s quiet, his jaw clenched, and suddenly his words burst forth as though a gate at a dam has been opened. “But no tour. And almost no family time.”

Wait. Was this superstar feeling some of my emotions? He’d had a stellar year in anyone’s estimation. Maybe I could be more sympathetic. 

“Yeah. I’m sorry about tour. I had tickets to Vegas and one of the LA shows.”

His head swivels to me more swiftly than an owl focusing on prey. “You had tickets?”

“HAVE.” I swallow. “Thanks for not canceling by the way. I cannot imagine the bloodbath for getting tickets in the future. You’ve become the ‘it celebrity’.”

A blush is followed by a sheepish smile. “You can always get tickets, Smith. Just ask.”

“I don’t do that.” My voice is filled with the prickles that I feel at his words. 

“Do what?” 

“Use my privilege to get tickets to shows.”

“Oh. I…” His words trailed off. 

Suddenly, I feel less uncomfortable around him. Reaching out, I shove at his shoulder. “You’re a giant star, and you have a ton of fans who want to see you. Me? I’m just happy to be a member of the audience.”

“Really?” Incredulous is what I sense in that one word. “Why?”

“Seriously?” I’m appalled. “Do you not know what an amazing entertainer you are, Styles? Fuck. If I hadn’t been able to see your Fine Line show at the Forum last December, I probably would have cried. You know exactly what your audience wants, and you deliver it. Consistently.”

“But --”

“Hush. Don’t you dare negate your talent!” Taking another sip of wine, I reveal unabashedly, “Maybe it’s the wine talking, but I really enjoy your shows.”

“Smith?” He inquires, and my hand stalls with my wine glass halfway to my mouth.

“Yeah?”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why do you like my shows?”

Stalling, I run a finger through my hair and empty my wine glass before holding it out to him. “More please?”

He rises, but I can read his reluctance. Within moments, Harry is back at my side, handing me a second glass of the riesling. I can’t help but notice that he’s topped his own off too. 

“Answer the question, Smith.”

“My name isn’t Smith. In fact, there’s not a single part of my name that’s related to Smith. Why do you call me that?”

“Tell me why you like my shows, and I’ll reveal the meaning behind the nickname.”

My head feels fuzzy from the wine and the headiness of being near Harry, and I watch the lights flashing on the tree for a few minutes while Meghan Patrick belts out her version of ‘I’ll Be Home for Christmas’ over the sound system. 

“You make your fans feel like they matter.”

“How?” His question comes rapidly, and I have to gather my thoughts. 

“You...talk to them. Listen to them. Watch them. Appreciate them. It’s rare, Harry. I mean, I’m in this business too, you know. Not every artist does what you do.”

“False.”

“I’m fucking serious, you asshole.” I gulp down more of the wine. “You make your audience feel like they’re your closest friends. I wish more artists did that. Specifically the ones I represent.”

“Oh.” His single utterance is enough, and we sit in pure tranquility for several minutes as the lights blink and Ava Max sings “Christmas Without You”. 

“Wanna watch the quintessential holiday movie?” I inquire, looking at him. 

“Which is?”

“Die Hard, of course,” is my response. “What were you thinking?”

“It’s a Wonderful Life.”

“Nope. It’s pretty good. In the top five for sure.”

“Wait. What are your top five?”

“Oh, that’s easy. ‘Die Hard’, ‘Home Alone’, ‘A Christmas Story’, ‘The Santa Clause’, and ‘It’s a Wonderful Life’.

“You’re serious?”

“Deadly?” I giggle at the joke since ‘Die Hard’ is full of death. 

“Fine. But we watch ‘Wonderful Life’ afterwards.”

“Deal.”

Part 2

[finn-ray-nal-beads]

Sackler, my love. Sackler. I neeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeed him to give me a little slap or a few. I'll let you and Sackler decide..

A/N: @mariesackler I LITERALLY CANNOT WITH YOU... I HOPE YOUR CUNT IS AS SLICKED UP AS MINE WAS WHEN I WROTE THIS. I LOVEY OU MOST MY DARLING!

Warnings: Cock slapping, face fucking, cum eating, cum swallowing, using cum as lipgloss if that’s a warning?, all of the cum I can fit in to one fic, mentions of huge cocks (horsecocks if you will), DOM!Sackler, degradation, slight edging, slight breeding kink, doggystyle, dirty talk, stuffing like an Xmas turkey, just all of the smut possible, a little fluff at the end for my baby 

*SNAP* 

‘My kitty misses you baby 😘’ 

*Three bubbles immediately popping up* 

‘When I get home, you had better be on your knees waiting for me, kid’ 

Your heart dropped into the pit of your stomach as your cunt clenched the open air. Your smirk staring through your phone as you marveled at the skill and lighting it took just to send a simple picture.

You bit your lip, bringing a finger to them as you rubbed the moist skin, looking at your closet to figure out what to wear to impress him even more. 

He was out on an audition, the prepping before meaning there was no horsing around or funny business to be had. He had to get into the zone, going over his lines endlessly, even dressing in character to nail it down just right. 

The pent up tension was too much for you. It had been two weeks. TWO WEEKS. Since he touched you, made you feel utterly full of him while he whispered sweet nothings over your sated figure. 

You missed the sound of the headboard knocking, the smell of his musk wafting through your nose as his sweat would drip over your tits while he fucked you into oblivion. 

His dirty words would have you moaning like an absolute whore for his cock. You were practically on the verge of tears as you got up from the bed, rifling through your clothes while your body shook in the open air of the bedroom. 

You slipped on a lace number, the cleavage spilling out the top of it in the best way as you tightened the straps of the garter belt, your thighs looking extra plump as the curve of your ass hugged the thong in a sinful way.

You finished the look with a killer red lip, smacking your mouth together to spread the gorgeous color that paired so perfectly with your garb. You tapped your foot, glaring at yourself in the mirror to decide whether or not you’d finish the masterpiece off by wearing his favorite pumps. The ones that he stated ‘made you look like his favorite pornstar’ had been sitting collecting dust since the beginning of the year, begging to be worn. 

“Oh, what the hell,” you relented, sauntering over to place them on your feet, then admiring your figure in the mirror, “Mhmmm, yes ma’am,” you playfully smacked your own ass, satisfied with this plan as you glanced at the time on the clock. 

He’d be home any minute now. You readjusted your tits in the mirror, puckering your lips to make sure nothing had gotten out of place, and clicked over to the front door, situating yourself like the good girl you were. 

The burning sensation in your pelvis a full-on flame as you heard his heavy footfalls climbing the stairway. You jumped a little, so excited you’d taken this chance to rile him up, waiting in anticipation for what he was going to punish you with for being such a bad girl.

The key turned in the lock, his heavy body pushing it open, his head hanging low looking at the knob while he slammed it tight, locking the deadbolt before dropping his messenger back with a thud. 

He let out a heavy breath, running a hand through his hair as he threw the keys in the bowl, then turned around to find you perched looking so delicious. 

“My lil’ brat does take orders,” he growled, his t-shirt hugging his taut muscles as he surveyed his prize in front of him, “doesn’t mean I’m not gonna punish you for makin’ me all hard before my audition.” 

You whined, watching his long legs come in front of you, doe eyes gazing up at his dilated pupils, “I know I was a bad girl, baby,” putting your hands behind your back while you arched your back to show your jugs to him, “I deserve everything you’re gonna give me,” showing your tongue as you wiggled your ass for him.

“Such a lil’ slut I have,” he cooed, running a thick finger down the bridge of your nose, showing it in your mouth as he watched those cherry red lips suck them feverishly, “so fuckin’ needy for my cock,” your whines emitting from deep in your belly as he pulled his digits in a pop from your face. 

He chuckled darkly, taking his shirt off to reveal his thick body, undoing his belt and his fly as you watched hungrily. His cock popped out like a jack in the box, the springing making it bob deliciously in front of you as the tip wept a thick bead of precum. You licked your lips unconsciously, your tongue falling out again as you moaned from the sight. 

“You want me to fuck your face that bad?” he ran a thick hand up and down the shaft, inching closer as it touched your waiting tongue ever so slightly, a single tear falling down your cheek in anticipation. 

Just as you thought you’d get a release, he whipped the side of your face as hard as he could with his member, the stinging of it radiating as you audibly cried from the blow. 

He reveled in your cries for him, grabbing your face with his free hand as he wiped a tear from the other cheek, “you’re gonna take my whole cock, kid,” pushing your uninjured side to face him and slapping you with his dick to match, “and you’re gonna swallow like the good whore you are,” bringing your half bitten lip to line a precum coating over the lipstick. 

You nodded, black streams mixing with the raised bumps on your cheeks as you glazed your lips with him. 

“Open that fucking mouth,” he commanded, watching your gaze meet his, barely giving you any time to breathe as he bottomed out to your windpipe. 

The sensation taking you aback as you gagged around him, his hands finding clumps of your hair while he held you still on his pubic bone. He mused at your moans, feeling your tongue graze his shaft, your lips pulse on his base, and the feeling of your hair in his fingers. 

He began to move, stilling your head as he plunged into your mouth with deep heavy strokes. His breathing erratic and his grunts low in his gut as he watched you swallow him whole. 

“That’s my g-good g-girl,” he hissed, the feeling of your mouth closing on him making him throw his head back in utter pleasure. 

You rolled your eyes back, reveling in his tip knocking your uvula, his hands in a death grip on your head while his balls slapped the underside of your chin. His smell was tantalizing, his hair falling over his chiseled face in the prettiest way as he split yours open with everything he had. 

His strokes became erratic, his balls tensing as his stomach muscles flexed in front of you. Your hands coming to grab his tree trunk thighs as you dug into the skin, his feral moans egging your spit to fall out in ribbons on the floor. 

“F-fuck kid!” he groaned, his body stilling as he emptied his ample load down your gullet, the feeling spreading throughout your entire body in a tingly wave. 

He pulled off you, his tip twitching as a string of spit still connected you both. Your breaths coming in hot and heavy as your hooded eyes looked up at him.  

“Was I a good girl, baby?” pushing your tits with your arms to see if you deserved a turn to be released from your hell. 

“The best girl,” he panted, lifting you on your heels as he took in the rest of the pretty outfit you’d picked for him, “and the prettiest one too,” running a hand over your throat as he pulled you to his lips. 

“I fuckin’ love these heels on you,” he cooed, watching you lead him to the bedroom, his half-hard cock bobbing as he waddled behind you, gripping your hand in his. 

“Well, I fuckin’ love dressing up for you,” wiggling your body as you crawled on the bed, the sight making him completely hard again as he smoothed his hands on your ass. 

“You all wet for me, kid?” pushing your thong to the side as he brushed his thick fingers on your folds. 

“Mhmm,” feeling your slick as he lined up with your center, “just perfect for me,” pushing in completely in a collective sigh of relief. 

“Mother of fuck,” he gasped, your hands gripping the sheets as you pushed your ass into him. 

His speed picking up slowly as the headboard began to knock its melodious tune, “G-God I-I missed y-you,” whining into the mattress as you met his thrusts. 

“I-I love t-this pussy,” he groaned, bruising your hips as he knocked your cervix with every stroke he made. 

His balls slapping the top of your mound, pinging your clit in the most perfect way as you gasped for more. 

“Y-you’re gonna be s-so full of me you’ll b-be s-sloshing around the apartment the r-rest of the n-night,” he gritted out, feeling your velvet walls clench him in your impending orgasm. 

“F-fill me up, Adam,” you cried, bringing your hand to rub your clit in a fervor as the electric current boiled over in your body, the much-needed release washing over you in a cascade of elation. 

High pitched moans penetrating the air as he punished your cunt with his strokes, his balls clenching again as he felt your slick come over his dick. He pushed further and further, finally emptying his seed deep within your body, completing the warmth as it spread again in your lower half this time. 

He stilled, putting his arms to drape over your ass, pulling himself out as he slumped on your back, his heaved breaths coming in high and fast. 

His pulse rang in his ears as did yours. His chest pounding as he became thirsty and hungry, his balls hanging empty between his thighs as you dripped his spend from your gaping cunt. 

“What do ya say we order some Thai,” he chuckled, kissing a trail on your lower back as you laughed back under him. 

“I’m totally okay with that babe,” reaching a hand around to pat his head. 

“You want a Gatorade, kid,” lifting up to take a centered last heavy breath, watching your turn around in fucked pleasure. 

“Can’t be dehydrated ya know,” his toothy grin meeting your eyes as his lips began to pout. 

“I would love one babe,” smiling back and wincing on your ass now, “I’ll call the place to order the food,” reaching to grab your phone as he rushed to your side, enveloping your face in another deep kiss. 

“I love you,” he whispered, pushing a piece of stray hair from your face, rubbing his nose on your cheek as he nuzzled you. 

“I love you most,” you cooed back, rubbing yours on his opposite before pecking him on the lips again. 

And with that, he jumped over the pile of pillows to the fridge and gulped an entire gallon of red fluid before you could even order your pad thai and his spicy beef noodles. 

______________

IM GONNA HOW MANY TIMES A DAY I CAN FIT HORSECOCK INTO MY WRITING... SPOILER ALERT THE LIMIT DOESN’T EXIST FOR SARA LMAO 

🖤,

ray-nal-beads

taglist: @maybe-your-left, @safarigirlsp, @clydesfavoritegirl, @emeraldsiren20, @thepalaceofmelanie, @hopeamarsu, @caillea, @historyandfandoms50, @mariesackler, @millenialcatlady, @thepriceofstars, @roanniom, @kathorax, @driversmutbucket, @clydes-hole

 LMK if ya would like to be added to the taglist! All of the love!

[pascal-isaac]

home.

Llewyn Davis x f!Reader

Warnings: 18+ NSFW! Smut/Sex

Summary: Your brother brings home local stray Llewyn Davis, who you think is sweet and cute and finally one night you act you your feelings. A/N: This was mainly a thot I had and shared with @sergeantkane and I had the inspiration to write it. Did I proof read or get a vibe check? Nah- we post our fics with bullshit here.

You didn’t realize how quiet it would get, how empty the house could feel when it was late, but for your plan to succeed you had to wait your patience out. Finally when the house settled and the chill of the night creeped into your bones you attempted to quietly sneak out of bed. Achingly slow you stepped towards your door and held your breath while you opened it, waiting for the noise to give you away. Shuffling quiet down the hall you stopped in front of your brother’s room, listening for any sounds of life. If you heard him shift in his bed, no sounds of sleep, you would adjust your course towards the bathroom and leave this fantasy in your mind. You held your breath again, for what lasted forever you waited, hearing the house settle and groan with age, until a light snore from behind the door signaled you to continue. Sighing triumphantly you made your way towards your actual destination, the living room where he slept for the night.

Earlier that night Llewyn had played at the bar where your brother worked, the two met during the Korean War and kept each other company while transporting cargo. After the war he had a hard time and your brother sympathized with him, offering him a warm place to stay for the night and a meal you made for him. During the times he’d stay your heart opened to Llewyn, ached for the downtrodden man with the sad brown eyes and soft smile.

“I don’t deserve that sunshine,” You offered him your bed for the night, someplace comfortable for him to sleep other than the couch. “Couldn’t take your bed from you.” If your brother wasn’t there you would have told him that you’d stay with him, keep him sheltered and warm that night in your arms. The smile he gave made your heart leap, but it completely stopped when you were washing dishes in your small kitchen later, he made an attempt to move passed you, but his large hands settled on your hips and squeezed softly- “sorry angel” his lips brushed against you ear, a shiver working its way down your body and landing at your core. You have been wet since then.

He was sleeping, wrapped up in the quilt your mother made you and looking beautiful, sleep making his face soften and not harsh with life and pain. The cold made your body crave his warmth even more, the tshirt you had on- the only thing you had on, barely skimmed over your thighs and left you exposed, but you wanted to be exposed to him. Stepping over to him quietly you kneeled close to his waist, your mouth watering at the thought of finally giving yourself to him. Slowly your hand snaked up under the quilt and over his soft tummy and down over his boxers. Slowly he shifted but immediately started to harden under your touch. The feeling between your thighs ignited, the wetness spread along your pussy and you shifted to relieve some of the feeling. Again you rubbed along the hardening outline of his cock, this time he let out a low groan from his chest and rolled his hips slowly in his sleep. Suddenly a hand shot out and wrapped around yours, squeezing his cock more letting out a sigh.

“What are you doing sweet girl?” He moaned again, sitting up slightly and guiding your hand slowly up and down his now aching cock. His other hand coming up to cup your cheek, thumb ghosting over your lips.

“I want you Llewyn.” You whispered into his touch, leaning more into him, your hand moving on it’s own under his boxers and wrapping around him again. He sat up fully now, quilt tossed onto the floor while he pulled you up into his lap, your hand never ceasing in giving him pleasure that he hasn’t felt in so long. He groaned into your neck, rolling his hips into your hand and grabbing at your waist while his lips trailed up your neck, nipping at your jaw, and kissing at the corner of your mouth.

“Are you sure angel?” He whispered against your lips, dragging his hands up your thighs. “I want you so bad.”

“We have to be quiet.” You kissed him finally, fully engulfing him in your presence now. He moaned into you, grabbing your hand out from his boxers and lacing your fingers in his own.

“I can try,” he chuckled quietly, bringing your hand up to his mouth and kisses softly, “but I can’t make any promises once I get inside you.” His hands rest on your spread thigh, slowly dragging your tshirt up around your waist and choking off a groan when he sees your lack of underwear, your dripping slit glistening in the low moonlight that spilled from the window behind him. Once his hands reached your waist he pulled you closer into him, your bare cunt catching his hard length while he dragged you against him. Slowly he rocked you against him, gasping while his cock and the seam of his boxers catches against your clit. You were wet, so fucking wet it soaked him through his boxers and clung to him so perfectly. His hands continued to drag your sole item of clothing up your body and above your breast, giving him the perfect view of your chest, your nipples hardening in the chilled air and begging him to touch.

“I can’t- fuck, I need to be inside you baby” he murmured against your chest, beard scratching perfectly against your skin. In answer you sat up on your knees, reaching down and pulling his cock out of his boxers, swiping at the milky bead that collected at his tip and gave him a few drags along your wet pussy. Slowly you pushed him against your opening and sunk down, giving a few pumps of your hips to push him deeper each time, his cock too large to take in one thrust. Once you had had him as far as you could take, he sighed, finding comfort and a home inside your cunt and your arms. His head still against your chest, mouthing and sucking at your breasts with his arms around you, holding you tightly against him.

“Oh fuck…” you groaned a little too loud when he bit at your nipple, grinding and trying to push him deeper inside you- the curls at the base of his cock brushing deliciously against you clit. You whimpered into his curls, tugging while he sucked on your other nipple. His large hand quickly covered your mouth while he gave a few light thrusts up.

“You gotta be quiet angel,” he kissed up your neck, biting at your jaw and using his hand to make you look into his eyes. His thumb pushed past your lips and settled on your tongue. “Can you be a good girl for me? Keep quiet?” So sweetly he stared up at you, soft brown eyes hidden under large eyelashes, looking up with pure wonder and adoration. You only nodded, pulling his thumb in deeper to suck while you rose up on your knees and sunk down on him again, feeling the drag of his cock slowly rub against a spot so deep inside you didn’t know it existed.

“Fuck you feel so good, so fucking tight sunshine.” Llewyn leaned back against the couch, his other hand settled on your hip, guiding your pace along his cock, lazily admiring the way you looked with the moonlight dancing across your face. You dragged his hand up your body, calloused hands from years of playing guitar felt so good against your soft skin. Took his hand in yours, squeezing your breasts and almost begging him to touch you.

You wanted to cry out, wanted to scream, let Llewyn know how good he felt inside you. Everything about him was perfect. Strong thighs under you, giving a few thrusts up to meet your own. How he looked nursing his bottom lip between his teeth, those perfectly shaped lips that felt like silk against your own. His hands were warm, heavy on your jaw where he kept his thumb in your mouth in an attempt to silence your moans, calloused and strong. Finally a quiet groan escaped his mouth, unable to silence himself he leaned back into your body and bit at your shoulder and braced his legs against the floor, meeting your thrusts and taking over completely. Moans bubbles up in your chest and died against his thumb, whimpers barely able to escape your lips.

“C’mon sunshine, right there baby-“ His warm breath fanned across your neck, soft moans and gasps filled your ear, almost drowning out the creaking of the couch. Your thighs started to ache by how wide you had them spread to accommodate his own, the pressure of his hips thrusting up against your cunt. You moved your arms to wrap around his shoulders, bracing yourself to take the brunt of how his cock slammed up into your hips. His own arms wrapped around your waist, hand leaving your mouth and leaving it agape from the pleasure so he could quicken his brutal pace. At some point you both ceased to care, the pleasure felt too great to try to be quiet and try to drown the noise. The couch shifted under you, dragging with his thrusts.

“Llewyn- fuck!” You whined, fingers threading through his hair and pulling him into a kiss in a slight attempt to silence you both. His hand snaked between you both, thumb finding your clit and rubbed quick tight circles in unison with his cock. The pressure started to build rapidly, the tight string deep in your gut ready to snap from how perfectly he was fucking you. You felt like you were drowning, waves of Llewyn rushed over your body, making you cry and tighten up around his cock. All you knew was him at this point, the rough pad of this thumb on your clit, the feeling of his lips leaving you own, teeth dragging down your jaw and neck, his arm wrapped around your back and pulling you into his chest.

“Shit- fuck you’re… you’re clenching. Fuck!” He choked out a gasp, feeling your walls tighten around him and milk his cock for all that he could release. With one final thrust into your wet, warm pussy he came, spilling more than just his seed. Silent tears fell from his eyes while he caught his breath, wrapping both his arms around you and soaking himself in the feeling of your warmth. Wordlessly you sank into him, your hands soothing over his back while you kissed at his forehead and cheek. Moving your hands to cup his cheeks you made him look up at you, those soft brown eyes staring up at you and glistening with light tears and shining in the natural light of the night.

“You ok baby?” You asked, kissing him softly and letting him nuzzle into your neck. He nodded softly, pulling you closer into him and inhaling your scent, inhaling the feeling of your being, hoping the calm will take over and soothe over him. You felt warm, you felt like home, you felt like what he was missing out on in life. Your smile would brighten his day, he always looked forward to seeing you. He didn’t want this to be over or ruin it over a quick fuck because you deserved so much more than that, and he wasn’t what you deserved. But maybe that’s a thought for another day. Right now you were kissing him and smiling. That fucking smile that made him feeling it was gonna be okay.

Slowly you stood, gasping slightly when his cock slid out of you. You leaned down and picked up the forgotten quilt, and slowly you extended your hand out to him and pulled him up and against you, making the way towards your room with him quietly following. He was hesitant, standing at the threshold of your room, almost as if he was sure he didn’t belong there or you didn’t really mean to bring him along. Once again you took his hand and pulled him with you, laying on your small bed and opening your arms for him to sink into you, his head in your chest and your hands in his hair. You were sweet, warm, soft and his home for the night.

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

A Calm Storm Raged.

Chapter One.

Ororo Munroe x Erik Killmonger x T’Challa

N’Jadaka,” 

T’Challa made his way into Erik’s rather large and extra palace suite, arms behind his back and shoulders straight. He had on a beautiful gold and purple Dashiki with matching linen pants, feet covered in Shuri’s new collection of sneakers that were sound proof and made with vibranium. 

“What?” He replied malevolently. 

Erik was in the middle of being rubbed down with fresh, raw Wakandan Shea Butter from the popular and historic Shea Trees of the Wakandan jungle. Supposedly the butter has long lasting protection for days and healing elements for scars, bumps, and bruises. The palace maid looked timid as she applied the butter to Eriks naked form, avoiding his ass and dick completely. T’Challa looked on with annoyance, not really thrilled to see his cousins bare behind with his doors wide open.

“I SAID WHAT?” His cousin's sharp tone caused the girl to drop the container of butter. 

“We are having a royal dinner and I would like you to meet my fiancé.” T’Challa didn’t feel like getting into a banter with N’Jadaka today. 

“Fiancé? What ever happened with you and that annoying ass bitch Nakia?” Erik admired himself in his full length mirror like he was the fairest of them all, stroking his goatee and looking at his muscles glistening from the melted Shea butter on his skin. T’Challa rolled his eyes at Erik’s vain personality. 

“Nakia is NOT a bitch… and it did not work out for us.” T’Challa wanted to get past that, move on. He was getting married to Ororo Munroe. She was more so known as Storm being a part of the X-men. T’Challa did have his doubts with Erik meeting Ororo but this was his family and the Kenyan princess would be a part of the Royal family as well.

“Yeah, she's not a bitch, you were.” Erik laughs, “she had you wrapped around her finger, bruh.” 

“For one SECOND N’Jadaka can you please act civil! Ororo doesn’t need to witness nor be apart of your mess-“

“What am I doing? You’re the one that walked up here all high and mighty trying to tell me to act right. I’m a grown ass man, T’Challa. I’ll play nice for your little Fiancé though,” Erik looked down at the wakandan maid, admiring her pretty braided hair and chocolate skin. Puckering his lips, he air kissed her dangerously, his dick all in her face making her shiver. 

“Sakra, you may leave,” T’Challa called to the girl, glaring at Erik for toying with her like that.

“Yes, my king,” Sakra lifts from her crouched position, capping the butter and bowing to Erik before making her leave. T’Challa smiles softly at her, brushing her past as he focused back on his maddening cousin, finally wearing black linen pants and a wool black robe to match. 

“Remember, N’Jadaka, you are a royal prince now. You can’t go around doing such things like that. ufanele ube neentloni,” T’Challa could feel his beads buzzing, preferring it on silent when he was within the palace. 

“Shuri, is dinner ready?” T'Challa looked at his younger sister’s holographic figure, a big grin on her face and hair out in its natural afro. 

“Why else would I be calling, brother?!” 

“A new discovery? Maybe to annoy me like the sister you are?” T’Challa bantered. 

“I’ll save that for later. Where are you?!”

“N’Jadaka’s room. Tell Queen Mother to hold on for us. Is Ororo there?”

“She is, and she looks so beautiful! Nakia would be jealous!”

“Aye! Stop it!” T'Challa's African accent was strong.

“All good fun, hurry up!” Shuri ended the call.

Erik was putting on his last minute jewelry that was unnecessary. Golden Jaguar necklace, gold fangs, kimono beads, and even gold rings.

“It’s just food, N’Jadaka.” T’Challa shakes his head. 

“Mad you can’t pull this off?” He teased his cousin, smiling with those killer dimples.

“ndingathini? Kumkani” T’Challa finally breaks his shell, arrogance showing through. Erik’s jaw clenched with anger, annoyed with the fact that T’Challa had to constantly remind him that he was the fucking King. Just months ago he YEET his ass over the cliff damn near killed him. He would YEET his ass over the balcony of his palace room right now if it wasn’t for his more civil nature. 

“You love using that against me, don’t you?” Erik’s tone was dark just like the jade color of his eyes. 

“Just a gentle reminder since you enjoy being an ass,”  T’Challa laughs, turning to leave.

“Enjoy it while you can, nigga.” Erik could only hope that T’Challa would fall ill or some shit. Maybe if Iron man didn’t reverse the effects of the snap Erik would still be king while filling the space. Being a ruler of Wakanda felt good. He missed that. Now, he was back to being Prince N’Jadaka and lead General for the Wakandan War Dogs.

“Calm yourself, N’Jadaka. Remember who spared your life.” T’Challa didn’t wait for a response, closing Erik’s double doors made of pure gold.

—-

Ororo Munroe sat within the grand dining hall that was surrounded by the tropics. She had a long backless lilac dress on with her silver hair flowing over her pretty brown shoulders. The layout was simply too much but she understood the reasoning. Looking down at the rare amethyst rock carved into a ring on her finger, she twirled it back and forth to watch it catch the rainbows. 

T’Challa was going to be her husband. She said yes before she could stop herself. There were strong mutual feelings back when she was a teen after finding her way to Serengeti. Deciding it was best to part ways, Ororo hadn’t seen him again until a year ago when he joined up with The Avengers. 

Ororo sipped her aged wakandan rum, thinking about how she would become the Queen in only a few short weeks. Pressing a hand to her forehead, Ororo tried to calm her anxiety, the feeling of walls closing in around her triggering her claustrophobia. She needed some wild mava kush blend that a friend of hers of the Botanical Society of South Africa made. The kush always calmed her nerves when she felt on edge.

Three large raps of a gold staff alerted everyone in that room, all of them standing to their feet followed by Ororo. First entered Shuri, then came the Queen Mother, Ramonda. Ororo smiles, bowing her head respectively at Ramonda as she took her place next to Shuri who waved animatedly at Ororo. Next came a face she hadn’t seen before but heard about. The unknown cousin to T’Challa that seemed to stir everyone within that room. 

N’Jadaka.

Ororo noticed his rather loose form, egotistical walk, and dark eyes. Seating himself next to Shuri, N’Jadaka doesn’t even look her way, grabbing the bottle of aged rum and pouring himself a generous amount that slushed wildly within his golden goblet covered in African gemstones. Ramonda gave him a warning look, causing Erik to kiss his teeth, sitting the bottle back in the center. 

“KING T'CHALLA. King of Wakanda!!!”

Everyone stood, even Erik out of respect even though he looked as if it pained him. T’Challa enters, that same rigid form and intense authoritarian eyes sweeping across the room silencing everyone. 

“kulilungelo ukuba nive nonke. wakanda naphakade!” 

T’Challa did the signature Wakanda symbol, everyone in that room following up including Ororo. 

“WAKANDA FOREVER!!!!!” 

T’Challa smiles warmly, walking forward with his eyes on Ororo. She returned the same gaze, waiting for her fiancée to speak.

“Today’s meal is a celebration for my beautiful Fiancé, Ororo.” Eyes were the spotlights for Ororo. 

“She will be the new Queen of Wakanda beside me, and I could not have chosen a better woman. Beautiful, strong, caring. Me and Ororo have a history that none of you would understand. I am the luckiest that I’ve ever been, and that is luckier than being King.” 

Ororo watched as T’Challa walked towards her, the dining hall silent as their king approached the future queen. Even in a room full of people he looked like he wanted to eat her. Storms name, Ororo, translated in her language as beauty which best suited her. The magical aura she possesses from her ancestors being sorceresses and priestesses automatically gave her appeal aside from her striking beauty. Full lips, eyes that changed the color of her hair when her powers were in full force, skin so smooth it was chocolate silk, smell of tropical rain and peppermint scented pelargonium on her skin. She was T'Challa's weakness. Ororo stood, taking T’Challa’s hands in hers, watching as he brought them to his mouth to kiss gently. His inviting mocha eyes made her eyelids flutter. He gave her a teasing smile and a wink in return. 

“So beautiful,” he rubbed her cheek with his knuckles, causing the powerful woman to blush. 

“Panther Goddess Bast sent you to me,” T’Challa whispers between them before placing a kiss to her lips again. What they hadn’t realized was that every man at that table looked at her like a piece of meat. Their mouths watered, skin prickled, hearts pounded. The strong magical pull affected them all. Even Erik. He never looked at Nakia…but Ororo…

“Let’s eat! We can’t let this wonderful Wakandan meal go to waste!” T’Challa’s voice snapped everyone out of their reverie. 

Everyone agreed cheerfully, cooks and palace maids passing around meals and filling goblets with rum or pomegranate juice. T’Challa seats himself next to Ororo, pouring his own glass of rum. Raising his glass, Ororo follows suit, clinking glasses with him before taking a long sip. She needed that drink with how intense things were going. Eyes sweeping about the room, Ororo watched everyone talk Xhosa, eat delicious food, and drink the strong rum like they were chugging water. Placing a lock of her thick hair behind her ear, Ororo’s cinnamon gaze landed on a pair of obsidian colored ones. Locked in a staring contest, she watched the brewing flame within his eyes almost spark her. Scanning her body painfully slow, N’Jadaka takes her in like it was for the first time, learning her from across the table. She felt completely bare under his eyes, a hand coming up to clutch her chest. He smiled smugly. 

“That would be N’Jadaka. My cousin.”

Ororo blinked, looking over at T’Challa’s handsome face as he chewed his slow cooked Oxtail.

“N’Jobu’s son?” 

“Yes. He looks like him, doesn’t he?”

“A little, not the dimples...they must be his mothers.” Ororo wondered who his mother could be.

“His mother is American.” T’Challa grabs a Chapatis to scoop up some spicy red sauce. He was so invested in his food that he hadn’t noticed the lust and interest in his own cousin's eyes towards his fiancé. 

“Arabella is the Cairo princess, correct?” T’Challa asks.

“Yes, not particularly a favorite with her bending of the rules but she’s getting better.” 

“I wonder if we could get her and N’Jadaka to meet? Maybe he would be interested.” 

Ororo looked at T’Challa quizzically, “You would like to arrange that?” 

“Why not? He could use a distraction. Erik needs a companion besides his five cats that roam the castle. A prince single? He should be with someone.” T’Challa laughed to himself, humor and mischief in his eyes.

“We both know how horrible Arabella is. She wouldn’t be a great girlfriend or wife, T’Challa.” Ororo senses that T’Challa wanted to do this on purpose because of the tension between them both.

“You aren’t playing fair, T’Challa,” Ororo spoke with a soft and alluring tone, “just because you are upset with how things are with your cousin doesn’t mean you should interfere with who he falls in love with.” 

T’Challa breathes out a sigh, shaking his head before forking a potato, “He talks to me like I didn’t heal his wound. He doesn’t respect me as King.” That was a personal situation Ororo did not want to get into at the moment. She decided to leave the matter alone for now, turning to her food. 

—- 

Throughout the dinner, Ororo avoided Eriks heated eyes and kept her glass of rum close. Why was he so interested? He clearly had no respect for T’Challa with the way he looked at her like he wanted to fuck her. She considered sweeping him away with a sudden tornado but that would only kill everyone in that room minus her. Plates were replaced with dessert and at this point Ororo couldn’t take any more food. Just when things were going well, the doors to the dining hall opened revealing two women wrapped beautifully in gold traditional wakandan gowns, natural hair in goddess locs. One was slightly shorter and plump while the other was tall and slender. Silence filled the large open space as the two women stood firm at the tail end of the table, waiting for a response or instruction. Wiping his mouth with a cloth, T’Challa takes his stand, the same ruling stance that hushed the room. Erik looked from the women to T’Challa, a knowing look on his face and the urge to laugh ready to explode within him.

Did this nigga really just do this?

All that power made his head swell and Erik couldn’t wait to see Ororo’s reaction to this. Erik chanced a look at Queen Mother, he could even see the disgust that she tried to hide. Everyone else was clueless and it made Erik want to beat it into their skulls with his Nguni stick that he used for combat. 

“Bold,” Erik drinks more rum, wiping the sneer from his face quickly. He wanted to have a little fun. Why not fake surprise just like the rest? He could look at Ororo and give her a reassuring look to calm her hurt. Erik couldn’t keep his eyes off her for a second. The woman was beautiful. It was her skin mostly, it glowed. No… maybe it’s her eyes. She had sexy eyes.

On second thought it was her lips. Erik almost broke his goblet in half from how hard he held it. She was gonna marry T’Challa. How unfortunate. T’Challa cleared his throat, motioning for the two women to speak. 

“I am Chioma, daughter to G’foru, warrior of the water tribe.” She was the plump one.

“And I am Hadiya, daughter to Akuchi, Jabari tribe.” The taller one spoke. 

T’Challa watched as the Dora followed suit standing from their seats. Ororo waited with confused eyes, flickering from the women to T’Challa. She shifted slightly, clearly feeling out of place.

“We are here to serve our king as sisterwives for Queen Ororo.” 

An entire uproar filled the room, some outraged while others agreed. 

“SILENCE!” T’Challa spoke loudly, quieting the room. 

Erik could not keep his composure. His laugh was the only sound in that room. After about five glasses of the strong rum, Erik’s mouth was sure to get him in trouble.

“I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU WENT AND GOT TWO OTHER WOMEN TO BE YOUR WIFE!” Ororo screamed so loud that her glass shattered. 

Shuri stomped on Eriks toes, shutting him up. He looked at her like she was stupid, toes burning from the pain. Ororo sat still and stared at the women who looked straight ahead like two dumb ass statues. She could feel her ears ringing now from her rising anger.

“Thank you, N’JADAKA, for your amusement. My cousin always knows when to make light of a situation, right, cousin?” T’Challa spoke sarcastically. 

Erik could see the scorching rage in T'Challa's eyes that was masked with a forced smile. Huffing, he keeps eye contact until he looks at Ororo with a lopsided grin. He could see her energy crackling around her. T’Challa didn’t need to worry about Erik, more so Ororo.

“My King, should we go?” Hadiya asks, eyes reading otherwise.

“No,” T’Challa looked over at Ororo’s angry face, “You will stay. The Dora can take you to your rooms and food will be there waiting for you. I’ll be there soon.” 

Excitement poured through both women as they followed behind the Dora, excluding Okoye who even had a look of utmost shock on her face. 

“THE DINNER WILL CONTINUE AS BEFORE!”

T’Challa took his seat again, grabbing up his fork to continue eating. He completely blocked out Ororo’s glare towards him. Her eyes could be felt briefly changing from cinnamon to silver but all that changed when Ramonda’s warm and nurturing hand gripped hers. 

——

After dinner, everyone joined T’Challa in the throne room where he sat alongside Ororo watching his Wakandan people dance and drink the night away. He felt proud to be the ruler of these people. Ororo however sat lazily in her chair, twirling her eighth glass of rum with great interest. Her long claw shaped nails painted black could be sharp enough to scratch the grins off of her sister wives faces. They danced seductively for T’Challa, gaining his attention in the eyes and in his crotch. Ororo almost gagged. She and T’Challa had a lot to discuss after this unnecessary party. 

“I think I need to get some air. My claustrophobia is making me suffocate.” Ororo whispered to T’Challa softly.

“Take as much time as you need, Ororo. I will be here waiting for you.” 

Accepting his kiss, Ororo stood from her throne chair, walking down the platform with her pretty bare feet and towards the large royal balcony of the palace. The noise faded out as she sipped her rum and walked. The smell of the fresh wakandan air was always soothing and pulled to her aura. Sitting her glass down and causing it to shatter, Ororo gripped the vibranium edge of the balcony, letting out calming breaths.

How could he do this to her? How could he still make her feel second? When things didn’t work out for them in the beginning he ended up with Nakia. Now that things didn’t work out between them he made his way back to Ororo. She always fell for his dazzling smile and chocolate skin. Her hands were in her hair now, scrunching the long silver strands like a mad woman. She adored this man, but he was fgoing to marry two other women to ‘sow his Royal oats’. 

“You want some company, beautiful?”

Turning, Ororo spotted N’Jadaka approaching, a cigar in hand and a drink in the other. Taking a puff, he blew out smoke into the fresh air, licking his lips afterward to take a drink. Ororo looked him over, noticing the scarring on his torso. Imagine how much pain he had to be in to do that to himself. This man that T’Challa despised had a story that caught Ororo’s attention.

“It represents the people I’ve killed. I don’t think you want to know the number.” Sneering, Erik approached her, skin smelling like African fantasy: luscious fruit and musk giving him a sweet but sexy aroma. Ororo turned away, breathing in through her nose. The rum was clouding her brain. She can’t be attracted to T'Challa's cousin...that was wrong.

“That’s the second glass you broke within the past two hours, you good?” That Oakland drag made her belly flutter. It felt good to hear an American speak. She faked an American accent living there for so long as a reporter turned X-men.

“As you can see, N’Jadaka, I’m not all well.” Ororo brushed her hair over her shoulder.

“He is a fucking idiot,” chuckling, N’Jadaka offered some of his rum to Ororo, but she kindly declined.

“Just more for me then, Isondo,” she could hear the flirty nature in his tone.

“Don’t call me that. It’s disrespectful to refer to me as sexy when I am your cousin's fiancé.” Ororo gripped her upper arms as if covering herself.

“You cold?” N’Jadaka’s husky voice practically singing in her ear.

“No. Can you back up?” She shot daggers at him with her eyes, causing N’Jadaka to step away. 

“Fiery. I like that,” he laughs smugly, drowning the rest of the rum and focusing on his cigar, “He doesn’t deserve a woman like you. T’Challa thinks he can have whatever the fuck he wants and clearly having you is the golden egg. Too bad you look like you’re ready to rage a fucking storm.” 

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” She sassed him.

“I would actually. I heard about what you can do. Show me.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“Show me what storm is all about,” N’Jadaka invades her space again, eyes on the evening sky.

“Show me lightning.” Blinking away from the stars, he looked down on her, “Show me a thunderstorm, no...a hurricane.” 

His eyes were wild and lustful. Ororo blinked away tears, her psionic powers over weather affected by her emotions. She often suppresses extreme feelings to prevent her emotional state from resulting in violent weather.

“And I heard about how cunning you are. You used to be a thief, right? So did I. I bet me and you could have made the perfect team. Stealing vibranium, giving back to our people the proper way, beating niggas asses and snapping necks,” N’Jadaka took his fingers to touch her soft hair, “You’re dangerous just like me.” 

Ororo smacked his hand away, touching her hair as if it were infested, “You’re disgusting. You can have any woman you want and you choose to chase me?” 

“I always get what I want.” He said with a dangerous smile 

“You sure? You didn’t get the throne. T’Challa did that.” 

“Yeah...he did. That’s where I fell short but I’m here. I’m in Wakanda now and I still bark orders and make decisions. I’m the one that pushed T’Challa to open the Outreach Centers. If it wasn’t for me, none of that shit would have fucking happened.” 

Ororo looked at N’Jadaka with great interest, “That was you? You made him do that?”

“In a fucked up way that resulted in me getting stabbed through the chest, yeah.” Her pretty cinnamon eyes had him hooked. 

“Wow...I praised him for that and I should be praising you.” Forgetting her recent disinterest in touching him, Ororo grabbed his hands, grateful eyes dancing with tears.

“I’m happy he finally opened his eyes. You made that happen.” As quickly as she held his hands she let go. N’Jadaka felt a void.

“You didn’t have to stop touching me. Your skin feels good against mine.” His face was dangerously close to hers, their noses almost connecting.

“Did I make you feel better?” He asks in a hushed tone.

“...Not so much. But thank you.” Ororo tucks her chin bashfully only for N’Jadaka to lift it, forcing her to look at him.

“I like what I see...and apparently so do you.” 

“I’m not...I can’t N’Jadaka.” 

“Erik.” 

Confused Ororo looks down at his chest, “Who is Erik?”

“Me. My American name. My alias,” he looked at her juicy lips, “I prefer that anyway.” 

“You’re too close, Erik. What if someone sees?”

“So what? I don’t give a fuck about their opinion of me. They already have their minds made up about me anyway so fuck them.” His hard exterior caused Ororo to step back. He was a force to be reckoned with. Erik was the type of man to ruin her in good and bad ways. The temptation to allow this man to use her body was slowly surfacing. His wild nature was like a drug to her.

“I have to go. T’Challa will be wondering where I am.”

“Only if you give him a reason to. I can take you to my private Villa in the mountains? You can let me fuck you like I know you want me to. I bet T’Challa never ate the pussy.”

Ororo gasped from the vulgar comment, covering her cleavage with her silk lilac dress. This man had no pause. He had no filter. Just blunt and obscene.

“You know about the irvingia gabonensis of African trees? There are some planted in the Wakandan jungle,” Erik takes her hair, placing it behind her ear, 

“some people call them wild mango, African mango, bush mango, dika or ogbono.”

Ororo’s eyes went low from his smell and the warmth of his touch against her ear. He was enticing her.

“They Bear these edible mango-like fruits that if extracted of their juices can arouse the person,” Erik takes her fingers, kissing each one slowly with his eyes on her. She couldn’t breath at all, her phobia back again like the wakandan air didn’t matter.

“You can ask any woman in Wakanda where they like that juice to be,” Erik nibbled the tips of her fingers, Ororo gasping with pleasure. 

“I bet your pussy tastes like irvingia mangos,” his dark chuckle finally did its job with making her pussy wet. Her pussy hadn’t been this wet in a very long time. She thought T’Challa was the only man to ever make her drip as much as she did but here comes Erik with the same effect on her horny body. It was wrong, but sexual desire could cloud your better judgment.

Leaning in close, Erik whispers against her ear, his nose in her good smelling hair.

“If you let me eat I’ll show you just how good I can juice that sweet pussy over and over on my tongue.” 

Ororo bit her lip, fingertips sparking. She imagined laying on Eriks bed, allowing this man to please her with his tongue for hours and making her scream and shout. It was so nasty and bad to think of doing that in the same space as the King but the old Ororo didn’t have remorse. He had those perfect lips to sit her pussy on and ride his face. 

“I’m getting married, Erik, I can’t do this.”

“You don’t wanna be in a poly relationship, Ororo. You telling me you would rather torture yourself? Nah, I don’t believe that. I’m finna take you back to my room and fuck some sense into you.”

“Are you hearing yourself?!!!” Ororo looked around to be sure no one could hear, “You’re insisting on sleeping with me and without a thought as to how this will hurt the royal family?”

Erik kisses his teeth, “Ramonda doesn’t approve, Shuri sure as hell doesn’t and neither should you. The Dora will kiss T’Challa feet before going against him. We ain’t gotta deal with that!”

Erik gripped the sides of her face, eyes boring into hers intensely.

“All you gotta do is say yes. And it’s not the rum talking. I really wanna take you away from him.”

“You don’t even know me. What makes you think I would jump and do that?” 

“Because I already got your attention. All you need is a little push.” 

Ororo took one look at his lips, biting her own before leaning in to taste him. His tongue deep down her throat and grunts deep, Ororo moaned. His tongue wiggles and curls like a garden snake and his lips rubbed hers like soft pillows against her face.

“Mmm,” she moaned into his mouth, allowing Erik to suck on her tongue. He was so nasty and demanding. Gripping the back of his head, Ororo battles him, the sloppy passionate kiss making her stomach tightened and her pussy wetter. She could even feel the hardening of her nipples rubbing his studded chest through her silk dress.

“Mhm,” he moaned in return, pleased with his accomplishment. She was so tasty. Ororo pulled away, gasping for air only to give Erik room to invade her neck with his long pink tongue that stroked like a slippery reptile. She shuddered, back arching like his tongue was deep in her pussy. Ororo bounces slightly with need, mimicking the way she would bounce on his tongue if he told her to. Her eyes turned silver, night sky swirling until a strong wind brushed past, closing the balcony doors. Pausing their kiss, Erik looks her dead in the eyes with a sly smirk, getting on his knees now and lifting her dress up and over his head. The high split of the dress revealed her long toned legs draped over his shoulder. Bracing herself on the balcony edge, Ororo could feel her panties slipping to the side while Erik pulled her petals apart. 

“Fuck,” she widened her legs, Eriks flat and thick tongue brushing everywhere like he was licking a plate clean. He wiggles that damn tongue against the underside of her clit, alternating between sucking and slurping. Mouth wide and wordless, Ororo clawed the vibranium, hips moving in conjunction with his tongue. She closed her eyes in defeat, all regrets long gone as this man ate her pussy like no other. He circled her clit with his pointed tongue, earning a cry. The tears in the back of her eyes fought to fall from how amazing he ate her. 

“Erik,” she whined. He had her begging.

Now he had the nerve to tongue fuck her pussy. Careful not to fall over the edge Ororo held her legs open wider, sliding down on his tongue to give him all of her.

“You’re so good at this, ahhh, it feels so good, N’Jadaka.” She cradled his head closer, rubbing over him gently. Her chest rose and fell with rapid breaths, heart racing at the thought of being caught by T’Challa or anyone for that matter. The long billowing curtains that covered the Palace doors did hide them but that didn’t mean that someone couldn’t be peeking right now. She repeatedly moaned out with every movement Erik made, her intoxicated body moving in slow motion. Drunk or not this felt AMAZING.

“Right there, fuck, yes, right there,” her hitched breath caught in her throat, body frozen as Erik decided to add two fingers inside of her. She could hear him laughing beneath her. Tired of him hiding, Ororo lifted her dress away from his head, lust filled eyes holding his dark and sinister gaze. This man was pure evil sucking on her pussy like a beast. She grabbed a fist full of his tapered dreads, guiding his head as he sucked her clit and finger fucked her pussy.

“Erik!” She was ready to explode.

“Give me all that juice, baby,” he pushed her and pushed, coaxing her with a curl of his fingers.

“Cum on my fucking tongue.” With his command, Ororo shouted so loud it felt like the party beyond those doors ended to see what the screams of pleasure were all about.

“You taste so damn good. Your pretty sweet pussy tastes just like I like it. So pretty and good, baby.” 

Erik kisses her entire pussy with love, watching with greedy and admiring eyes as the Storm goddess moaned and weakly spoke his name.

“Erik...oh, Erik...Erik…”

He savagely started eating her again.

[byorder-fanfic]

A Ghost Walked Through the Door

Summary: Anna Gray has been looking for her brother for a very long time.

Word count: 2637

Warnings: Mention of foster care and children taken from parents, swearing, implies abuse from Church (nothing explicit) and implies homelessness/ rough childhood.

Author’s Note: In the show, Anna’s age is all over the place so I’ve decided that she is a year older than Michael (born in 1902) because I really like the older sister dynamic. Hope you enjoy xx

Anna stood outside the wooden gate, staring into the typical country garden: green grass (that surely would've been vivid in any other season but the grey winter) that stretched as far as she could see, and slap bang in the middle of it all was the little brick cottage. The fire was lit. Perhaps he was there, the person she had been searching for as long as she escaped the boat. Perhaps this was it- the day she found herself. Her shaking hands did not reach to open up the gate. Not yet. The rusted old car of Jack Low's had clunked its way down the dirt road many minutes ago, leaving behind a trail of smoke and her. She was lucky she had found someone to drive all the way to the front gate, and Jack was quite kinder than she'd expected when she saw the white-haired bloke. It was because of the fur lining her throat and wrists, the newly gained winter's coat showing off a majesty of wealth she did not have. If Jack had noticed the thick chunk of mud clinging to the bottom of her leather boots, or had he clued on to her makeup less face behind her slick bob and fringe, or even saw the dimness of the plastic beads as she rolled them between her calloused fingers, he hadn't asked. Thankfully. Maybe Michael would- he'd probably be impressed with her finery, especially if the farm life was all he knew, and then he'd probably be a bit disappointed with how she acquired each luxurious item.  Finally, her hand (pale and shaking with more than nerves- why hadn't she taken Alberta's gloves that she'd had her eye on?) pried open the gate with a creak, as she walked into the garden. The sound of her quickening breath thrummed in her ears as she kept on going, heels clacking and tangling in the field. She made it to the door. Laughter boomed inside- could it be Michael's? Eagerness overcame her as she rapped on the door, politeness replaced with loud booming knocks that scraped her already bruised knuckles. The voices quieted, a quick "I'll get it!" from a woman. Michael's foster mother, perhaps, would she let Anna see him? The weight of a knife in her pocket proved that hypothetical pointless. Heels tapped closer. And closer. And- the door swung open, Anna's heart nearly burst. She was a portly woman, a warm smile on her face as she observed the girl with evident surprise. "Hello there, can I help you?" She asked kindly, hand still on the door frame. "Yes, please." Her eyes flickered behind her, where photos lined the walls, but she couldn't make out the one face she needed. "Are you Mrs James?" She nodded, yes she was. Another breath fell from her, a smile curling on her lips. The nun hadn't lied, then. "I'm looking for Mich- Henry, I mean. Henry Johnson. Your son, I believe." The other name still seemed so wrong on her tongue. Mrs Johnson's face fell, sadness and suspicion souring the woman's once kind expression. "It's Michael Gray now," she spat out. "Those Shelby bastards took him back to Birmingham with them." Anna breathed in deeply- her entire family was reconciled, all but her. Surely, if they found Michael, that meant they knew about the documents. Fuck. "When was this?" Her voice was meek. Maybe she could stop any real damage before it was done, stop Michael and her mother from mourning a girl still alive. "Two years ago," she said in a solemn voice, her eyes growing glassy. "Why?" "I'm Anna Gray," she stuck out her hand. Mrs Johnson hesitantly accepted it, eyes wide again in shock. "I'm looking for my brother." "Don't." She shook her head. "Those Shelbys are the devils, dragging my boy," she paused, "my Henry, into their Peaky Blinders nonsense. Your Michael...he isn't that boy any more." "He's my brother," she said, trying not to feel too offended at the disgust directed at her cousins. "He's all I have." "Very well," Mrs Johnson conceded, although obviously still disapproving from the look in her eyes. Motherly, Anna would call it, if she even remembered what having a mother was like. "They live in Watery Lane, Small Heath. Everyone there knows them, so just ask for directions." "Thank you!" Without entirely thinking it through, Anna pulled the older woman into a quick hug, pulling away when she felt her tense. "And thank you for looking after my brother all these years. It's good to know he had a good woman taking care of him." She couldn't call Mrs Johnson a mother, although she knew from the grief in her tone and photographs still hung up, that she was exactly that. But her mother was still alive- her loyalty was to Elizabeth Gray, first and foremost, even if she felt pity for this woman here. Just as Mrs Johnson had said, directions to the Shelby's betting shop (now Shelby Company Limited, she was impressed to hear) were easy to come by. Although she was getting odd looks from the men in uniform caps and coats, who were obviously comparing her clothes with that of most Small Heath citizens. Her years of searching were finally over and yet she couldn't find herself to knock on the bloody door. Or even walk down the bloody street. She loitered around the Church, not daring to go in, but not straying from its sight. The rosary in her pocket was wrapped loosely around her battered fist, as she uttered a silent prayer. The nuns and priests from the orphanage had jaded her to all things Christian, but this was a gift from Peggy. The good Catholic girl that took one look at the girl on the streets and decided to befriend her. Well, friend wasn't exactly the right word. She felt a burst of courage at the feeling of the wooden beads now, the crucifix hanging on the end of it no longer bringing vomit up her throat. "Oi, you there!" She jumped at the accent. It wasn't Brummie, sounding closer to Isabela's voice: another girl that friend wasn't the right word for. She looked at the boy, who was lighter skinned that Isabela, and wore the same cap and coat of many men in Small Heath. However, he himself couldn't have been older than Anna. "You coming in, or am I allowed to lock up?" "I'm just leaving," she said. Her voice wasn't from Burmingham either, immediately making the other boys eyebrow to shoot up in suspicion. She didn't really have an accent, just a blend of all the places she'd been and all the people she'd ran from. Despite her statement, her shoes stayed firmly on the path. Michael and mum were just a walk away, and she was stuck outside the Church as the boy faffed with the keys.  "So," he came up behind her, tilting his head. "Just leaving anytime soon, or...?" He had a smirk on his face and a teasing glint in his eyes, that immediately took in her appearance with curiosity, stopping at the rosary. "Just getting courage," she held up the beads before putting them back in her pocket, tapping over it to make sure it was safely in. "Whatdya need courage for?" He asked as he lit up a cigarette, standing stationary besides her. "Need to get to the Shelby betting shop," she shrugged her shoulders, hoping that'd get Church boy to stop asking. She hadn't missed the almost fearful nature her family was spoken in. But not Michael, of course- her Michael wasn't a Shelby. "Oh, really?" The boy put the smoking cigarette in the corner of his smirk. "Cause I'm just going there." She groaned internally, knowing this meant she actually had to go. "Alright," she snapped. "Could you show me the way?" "Course," he held out his elbow like he was a gentleman. Anna didn't stop her self from rolling her eyes as she took it, with only a little smile. "I'm Isaiah Jesus, by the way." "I'm Sally." Only the nuns ever called her that, in an attempt to pacify the girl screaming for her mother. Everyone else called her Anna, and Sallyanna if she was in trouble. "No last name?" "You'll find that out soon enough." For someone who seemed so talkative, Isaiah sure knew when to shut up. "Alright, Ms No Last Name," Isaiah teased as he held open the door, gesturing for her to go inside. "Here we are: Shelby Company Limited's very own betting shop." She was slow as she walked in, head turning to the pale pink wallpaper and the floral sofa. A cross hung up on the wall, alongside a number of Biblical quotes. There was a double set of doors, painted green, that were thrown open. Inside, a crowd of men and woman sat as numbers were called out, typewriters clicking and Peaky Blinders smoking. Isaiah walked past the frozen Anna, welcoming into the shop with cheers of greetings. "Hey there Isaiah!" One boy yelled. He was round faced and freckled, taller than everyone else and skinny as Anna was behind her thick coat. "Who's that you got with you?" "Sally here wanted to come to the betting shop." Isaiah gave a shrug, revealing that was all he knew, as he sat on his desk. Three men looked up from the table: one looked a lot like the skinny boy that had noticed her, but older. Not Michael. The other was broad shouldered and intimidating, with a moustache. Not Michael. The third man had hair as dark as Anna's, with the bluest eyes. But Michael had brown hair, and hazel eyes.  "And why do you want to be here?" The blue eyes man questioned, voice cold. She recognised the three vaguely, mind scanning for facts she once knew as well as the sky was blue. "Tommy?" She asked, eyes squinting, then she pointed to the other two. "And you must be Arthur and John, then." She didn't heed the curious glances as she stepped further in, head turning around to the people staring at her. "Finn, I'm gonna guess, although I never really knew you." The freckled boy had a shocked look on his face, as he turned to Isaiah in a "who the fuck is this" kind of look. "So, where's Michael?" Her voice was stern as she looked around again for the brown hair she only barely remembered.  "And why the fuck do ya wanna know that?" John, Anna thinks, stood up, arms folded as he watched her scan the room. "I've been looking for him for fourteen bloody years," she cocked her head, seeing a light flicker in the blue eyes of her cousin. "Now tell me where the fuck Michael is." Suddenly, a door opened, two sets of shoes walking through as they muttered to one another.  "Mum, there's abso-fucking-loutely no way I'm gonna do that," a voice said as he walked into the betting shop. The round face she remembered had sharpened out, his skin tanned (probably from the farm) in ways she knew her pale skin would've had she gotten onto that boat. His mousy brown hair was tidily gelled up, a smart suit on his broad build. He didn't walk in it like he stole it, she noticed proudly. His hazel eyes widened as he looked at her. The woman at his side was frozen too, watching the betting shop's sudden pause. "Who is this?" The woman snapped, dark eyes falling on Anna. She had the same dark hair, although hers was longer and in curls, and their eyes were just the same. No one could answer for her, and she seemed too absorbed in the two figures in front of her to bother with formalities.  "Anna," Michael's voice was barely a whisper, but is shattered everyone. Next to him, Polly trembled, pale skin suddenly whitening as she started to draw the same comparisons to the baby she had held what felt like a life time ago. "Hiya Mikey," Anna said in the same soft voice she'd use when they were little. She opened up her arms. "You too old to hug your big sister or what?" In a second, her brother fell into her, arms wrapped so tightly around her torso that she thought she was going to suffocate. If the fur on her coat was itching his face, he didn't seem to mind as he pressed his face against her neck, tears spilling from both of them. "I missed you so fucking much," she croaked into his ear, not daring to look up to her mother's broken face, or her cousin's undoubtedly confused faces. "I thought you were dead." Michael sobbed a little, pulling her closer as if to check she was real and not just the ghost Polly used to have nightmares about. "They said you were dead, gone to fucking Australia so I couldn't even see you." "I didn't even get on the boat, Mike. Couldn't leave. Not with you in England." They finally broke away, as Anna allowed her rough hands to wipe away the tears on her little brother's face (not so little anymore) and giving the biggest smile she'd ever worn for the longest time. "Been looking for you for years, been from orphanage to orphanage trying to find Michael Gray. Turns out that wasn't even your fucking name." "You were looking for me?" Michael's voice was an echo, sadder and on the verge of more tears spilling. "Course. Wanted to find you so we could come back home together." She took a dramatic turn of her head, grinning. "Although you didn't seem to share that sentiment, huh?" He tried to chuckle a little, shyly wiping off tears and snot with the sleeve of his probably expensive suit. "Went all the way to the fucking countryside only to be told that I had to go all the way back to Small Heath. Honestly, couldn't have waited a few years for me?" Her teasing tone was second nature, a whisper of the what was. "Bus fare wasn't cheap, you know?" Not that she used the bus. Or paid, with her own money at least. Still, it got another smile on his face as he hugged her again, letting her breathe this time. "Anna?"  The broken voice was enough to get Michael to back away, falling by his sister's side to allow Polly a proper view of the much longed for daughter. "No, it can't be, I thought- they said...but...you were alive this whole time?" She barely whispered, shaking the dark locks of curls with her head. She took a few strides forward, lifting her hand. Despite the great comfort she felt in the woman's presence, she flinched at the sight of the manicured nails being bared. Ever so gently, Polly placed her hand (too cold for comfort, but Anna had felt colder) against Anna's cheek. Bringing another hand slowly up to pull back the dark fringe that covered her forehead. Like this, she could see her wide eyes that had once looked so big on her bald head, the little pout that would tremble when John took her toys, the curves of her face that were so like Michael's, and her dark eyes that could only be Polly's. "My girl, my Sallyanna." "Mum," Anna smiled as she fell into her embrace, letting the woman hold her like she should've done for the last fifteen years. There was no tears this time, just soft smiles and tight arms clinging to each other like she had done when the coppers came knocking. Only she was grown now, and she wouldn't let them take her from her family ever again.

[aclosetfan]

are u still doing the ask game? can i ask for 19 or 20?

for you anon, of course! 20 is actually a really lame two-sentence note that isn't worth anyone's time, so I'll do 19!

19 is a really sad story tbh. I've always really liked the character Sedusa and it kills me that the writers never did more with her. I believe they said the reason why was because they couldn't think of many kid-friendly scenarios to put her in, which is fair lmao.

lol one of my notes for this outline is "this is my dark manifesto to [Sedusa] and it comes off like a bad CW remake," which was written way before the CW show announcement. so not to get a big ego about things, but I totally beat them to the punch. This fic is my only rated M fic (though arguably Acting Normal may also change into M just for its dark themes as well).

This story is adequately tilted "Sedusa" and it follows how a plain jane named Sara became one of Townsville's most notorious villains. The plot's below, though content warning, please don’t read if your triggered by abusive relationships, domestic violence, child abuse, sexual assault/harassment, or gore. The outline won't be detailed (and tbh the actual story won't be heavily detailed either) but i believe that everyone still deserves a fair warning :)

The outline doesn't do the plot justice, but it's all I got so hopefully people just Get It.

CHARACTER NOTES:

Canonically, I believe the Sedusa's character was supposed to represent envy and lust. So, one of the main themes I try to stick with when writing her character is the definition of envy, which is a "feeling of discontented or resentful longing aroused by someone else's possessions, qualities, or luck."

PLOT:

Sara is a sweet and mousy little girl, who tries her best to stay invisible. She's rather plain-looking except for her really beautiful long dark hair. Originally, she's not from Townsville, but somewhere in the "country" where a person could be considered a bumpkin. Sara's a smart young girl, but her intelligence is rather unrefined. She spends most of her time obsessing over greek and Egyptian mythology.

She's from a rather big family, but she's the baby. Her father is abusive. Her mother is neglectful and Sara resents her mother for just standing by while abuse is occurring. To cope, Sara dreams of running away and falls deeper into her mythology obsession--specifically Medusa. Sara feels like Medusa would understand her.

At 16, she runs away to Townsville where she tries to be a hairdresser. With no money, she ends up in a really seedy part of town and the beauty parlor she works for ends up being a front for more illicit activities. She still does hair, but really makes her money as a call-girl of sorts. Just one of those girls who gives handjobs in the back to sad old men. It's easy money (I'm pro-sex work lol so I don't make this a big deal, but she's still a minor and it's wrong), but she's disgusted with herself (and men). At this time, she isn't very good at manipulating men--it's more like they have power over her and it reminds her of her father, only making her angrier and angrier.

It is also of note that while she's working at the Parlor, she encounters Sarah Bellum via tv (Ms. Bellum is just an intern with the Mayor at this point). She's instantly fascinated by this other Sarah and forms an odd (slightly toxic) parasocial relationship with her. Sara thinks it's amazing that Sarah went to school and is just so glamourous. Ms. Bellum is really everything Sara wants to be.

*time skip*

Sara falls in love with some jackass. Still slightly obsessed with Sarah Bellum. Still working at the parlor. Sara feels stagnant and worthless. Her jackass boyfriend and a few of his shitty friends end up attacking Sara and cutting off her hair (which was her prized possession). She gets away, but not totally unscathed.

In the process of running away, she bumps into a mysterious man who promises He can fix whatever is troubling her. The mysterious man manipulates an affirmative answer out of Sara and he "fixes" her problem. The man is HIM and he transforms her into the woman we all know as Sedusa (who goes by Ima when disguised).

“And what is it that you want?” HIM tsked, almost sounding bored.

She looked back at the mirror, at her broken reflection and lipstick smeared down her face. With a sore, croaking voice she sneered, “I want my fu-fucking hair back.”

Behind her, the entity smiled, Its facing splitting wide into two, “Oh, now that I can do.”

She watched through the shattered glass how It—HIM—snapped its odd monstrous claw. HIM’s smile grew more grotesque, as a thin bead of sweat began to break out on her forehead.

“This might hurt a little bit,” the entity giggled as she began to hyperventilate, “but what is that you little humans say?" HIM paused, watching her with a tilt of Its head as pain shot through her temples, "Oh, that’s right—”

She gasped and then screamed, dropping to her knees as she clutched at her head. Something wiggled underneath her scalp, pushing harder and harder to break against the resistance of her skin. It felt as if something was pressing against her brain, trying to carve away at her skull.

“—beauty is pain.” HIM growled, appearing next to her so Its voice—now low and baritone—was right in her ear, and It grasped her by the chin forcing her to watch the mirror as snake-like tendrils sprouted from her skull. She cried out at the sight and her body trembled with the pain.

One black, oily, twisted snake after another shot out of a bloody crater on her head. She tried her best through the pain to shake HIM off—to look away—but It held her still with a twisted laugh. She thrashed and howled in agony as the blood poured down her face in rivets. HIM didn't let go. Instead, HIM forced her still, grabbing her by the chin so she'd peer directly into the broken mirror.

Sara paled right before her very eyes, from a peachy skin tone to a white paste. She tried to blink away the tears that wouldn’t stop welling in her eyes—the green of them becoming more acidic with every passing second.

“The fun should be ending soon.” HIM giggled again, Its voice back to a soprano, but she was too forgone to hear him, as her eyes began to lull into the back of her head.

Eventually, when the transformation is complete, we see this:

Sara had stayed collapsed on her knees after HIM vanished into thin air. She stared with wide eyes as blood, sweat, and tears dripped onto and rolled off her thighs. She hardly paid attention to her surrounding, all she could do was listen. She listened to her hair. She listened to the constant moving, living, mass that slithered around her head, neck, and shoulders. The coils almost seemed to be cooing at her, comforting her through her pain, offering sweet apologies for what they had done. They promised her nothing bad would ever happen again. They were a dangerous shield forged from her own body to protect her.

Her body. A vessel for this odd new life.

“Heh.” A deranged giggle escaped her mouth, “Heh. Heh ha—hahaha!” She laughed until her throat burned and tightened, her tears finally drying.

It was instantaneous. It was powerful. Sara had never known love before, but she loved them. She loved every single one of them.

And here she had thought she'd never be a mother.

Sara becomes Sedusa--taking inspiration from Medusa, her childhood fascination. She wonders if HIM knew, but she wouldn't bother asking. She feels sexy, powerful, and unstoppable. Her hair has instilled a new confidence in her and she's finally able to stand up for herself. Soon, she realizes that she's an "exotic" beauty and has men eating out of her hand. She isn't someone who kills, but if she gets bored (or feels threaten) she will.

Things are going good until the PowerPuff Girls are finally created. When she sees them for the first time, she pities them, especially when they're run out of town. She relates to them for not being loved little girls, but is completely shocked when she finds out they've won the town over. This shock turns into resentment and she decides she'll get even with the girls

Then, cue canon. Sedusa seduces the Professor. We see what happens in that episode plus a little more. Sedusa takes out a lot of her repressed childhood trauma on the girls and is plain awful to them. By the time her stint with the Professor is over, she hates them all.

Then, there's the episode with Bellum. Bellum becomes the Athena to Sedusa's medusa. Bellum is still this elevated person in Sedusa's mind, and it only makes sense to Sedusa that she should become Bellum. To become Bellum, Sedusa seduces Bellum and they end up having a brief relationship. (Sedusa pretends to be an intern at City Hall and the two ladies bond over having the same first name). Eventually, Sedusa reveals her plot and the canon events happen. (Bellum is heartbroken over Sedusa).

I'd like to emphasize that Sedusa's relationship with Bellum almost turns her "good," but her hair coils (HIM's curse) prevents her from taking those steps. Her coils prevent close loving relationships--since they're supposed to be shield that keeps people out, preventing any chance that Sedusa's heart may be broken again. [coils represent her inability to heal from the past]

Then we run through a quick montage of her other appearances.

[throughout all of this, I would write how her hair coils are making her more and more insane]

*time skip to after the events of the og show*

This is where my plot can go anywhere. I think Sedusa becomes sloppy, maybe kills a politican. She's spirialing out of control and mad that she can't find any real happiness in her life. I think it'd be interesting to show her interacting with the rrb, not necessarily to show their relationship, but to show how Sedusa would be infuriated that HIM had sons, especially sons who hurt girls for fun ( i.e. the ppg) (a real 'the enemy of my enemy is my friend' moment for her). She's also infuriated at HIM for turning her into a monster, so being mad about his "sons" is just an excuse to get even with the entity.

To hurt HIM, she decides to hurt the boys, but the girls interfere. They won't let innocent live be taken, no matter the person's moral alignment. This infuriates Sedusa even more than HIM ever could. Because again, despite all the shitty things that have happened to the Girls, they are still good as opposed to Sedusa, who ended up bad. She doesn't understand why she had to end up the way she did.

However, the girls aren't the people who finally "defeat" Sedusa. Instead, that honor is left to Ms. Bellum (Sedusa's "Athena"), who Sedusa still very much loves in her own sick twisted way. Paralleling the Sedusa/Bellum episode in the og show, the girls (while protecting the boys) are almost defeated by Sedusa until Bellum intervenes. It's revealed that Bellum had a shitty childhood too (again enforcing the parallels/differences between the two women) and believes that it's not too late for Sedusa to change her ways (it’s a real “I’m rotten work” “no it isn’t. Not if it’s you” moment) In a moment of mental clarity, where the coils (and by extension HIM) cannot affect her judgement, Sedusa releases the boys and the girls. Sedusa doesn't stay though, like Bellum pleads, she gets scared and runs away. (but does tell Bellum she’d always love her, whatever that’s good for)

[also I decide bellum to defeat sedusa to show that the girls are still to young and that adults should be the ones dealing with other adults] [and bellum has a good track record of doing just that]

Idk if she'd be gone forever, but it's implied that she hasn't been seen in Townsville for a long time. What she gets up to is left ambiguous. She can't be good because of her hair coils, but she doesn't want to be bad. idk I don't want it to have a sad ending, but I don't think it can really be happy.

-----

I try hard to play with the concept of beauty, womanhood, purity, love and how negative/positive responses to trauma affect these concepts. Idk it's really rough and needs to be thought out more, especially the end, but I think Sedusa deserves her own story.

[aliwritesfic]

Our Black Hearts Part 2 (F!Reader x Jack "Whiskey" Daniels)

Summary: You decide it's time to come clean to Jack about the man he's after

W/C: 2k

Warnings: None for this chapter I think, but please tell me if I missed something

Spotify

Part 1

You loved working the towns garden. The feeling of warm dirt in your hands, the feeling of accomplishment watching something go from seedling to edible vegetable in the span of just a few weeks. Hell, sometimes you even relished in the ache in your back after a long day. It let you know you were alive.

It was while you planted a new crop of carrots that you rehearsed what you were going to say to Jack when you saw him next. Hello, I hope you don’t kill me for not telling you as soon as I was sure, but I know who killed your wife, and I think I know where to find him, or at least how to find people who know where he would be. We good?

You frowned as you dug into the earth, unable to escape the guilt gnawing at your insides like a parasite. You know you should’ve told him the first morning, when you woke up encased in his arms. But the way the pale pre-dawn light played on his skin distracted you. Then he woke up and he really distracted you. Then a week passed, and you still hadn’t summoned up the courage to tell him, despite several more rendezvous with him. You knew it would be worse the longer you waited, a somehow larger betrayal.

Of course, you could just lie, tell him you weren’t sure, but that wasn’t in your nature. You hated to lie, and you were fucking terrible at it. You had been since childhood, unable to hide your secrets from the scrutinizing gaze of your mother. Now, every time you tried to lie, you remembered the sharp blow to the back of your head you would receive, and instead you chose to just avoid the truth.

Straightening your back, you turned your gaze toward the cloudless blue sky. It was nearing midday, the hottest and most dangerous hours to be outside would soon be upon you. Already people had sequestered themselves inside, the only ones who couldn’t were those patrolling the perimeter of the town. Large sheets of rusted metal had been erected along the perimeter; the only protection afforded to those who protected the town. It had once struck you as deeply unfair, but now you knew it was necessary. Too many stories of towns being attacked at the suns highest point had reached your ears, chilled you to the bone.

“Chase,” the use of your nickname snapped you out of your thoughts. You glanced behind you and saw Sparkie, the middle-aged man who oversaw the gardens waving to you. “Come inside before you get crispy.”

You obliged, abandoning your shovel in the dusty earth. It was only a couple degrees cooler inside the garden house but being in the shade made all the difference. The garden house was arguably the dirtiest building in the whole town, boot prints and stray tools littered the cracked tile floor, the entire thing smelt of fertilizer and no number of open windows could get rid of the stench. You sat yourself down on a plastic crate and turned your attention to the window.

In the distance you could see the perimeter wall of Deepwell, a single speck of a figure under the small metal sheet. No stupid hat, so it couldn’t have been Jack. You had learnt that he was assigned as a guardsman for the town, replacing the guard who had been brutally gunned down in a raid a month before he had arrived. At the thought of that, the image of the dead guard flashed in your mind – shot so many times in the face no one could identify them until a headcount of surviving guards had been taken. Her name had been Lydia, you found out later, and you hadn’t said more than three words to her.

~

A shrill whistle sounded in the distance, signalling it was safe to be in direct sunlight again. Jack stepped out from the small perimeter shelter and adjusted the grip on his rifle. He had learnt protocols during his first day of what was done directly after Midday. First, he had to make sure no one was trying to breach his appointed section of wall. Most days there was nothing, occasionally a pack of wild dogs or boar would be gathered drawn by the smell of living creatures. Once he had found a Skulker, barely clinging to life, sent crazy by sun and hunger and dehydration. Parts of her skin had melted away from time spent in the Toxic Plains, leaving shiny white bone. That had been an easy kill – a single bullet between the eyes before she had even realised he was there.

There was nothing today, only the ever-present patches dead earth and haze of heat on the horizon. Jack adjusted his dark glasses, traded a year back for a half blunt knife. They had become one of his most prized possessions, a saviour for his eyesight.

The next hour passed quietly on the outside of the wall. A single mutt had appeared briefly in the distance, Jack kept his gun trained on the creature until it had slinked away, disappearing over the horizon. He could’ve shot it, sent word to the fetchers about fresh meat, but the dog wasn’t worth the bullet. Its ribs and pelvis had stuck out from its body, more skin and bones than anything edible.

Sweat was beading down the back of his neck and dampening his shirt when relief finally arrived. His replacement was a burly teenager, arms criss-crossed with scars from a childhood spent living in the lawless no-mans-lands. Jack tipped his hat and handed the shotgun to the kid.

“Happy watchin’,” he said with an easy grin. The kid grunted in response, turning to face the vast nothing in front of them.

It was mid-afternoon, early enough for the water troughs to be devoid of most people and late enough that the water wouldn’t be boiling hot anymore. The troughs were close to the well for which the town was named, though the well was just a hole in the ground fenced off by frayed rope. It was the towns only source of clean water, so deep underground it took almost five minutes for it to be pumped up.

The troughs were worked by just one woman, who Jack thought probably had the worst job in the whole town. Keeping the troughs filled and clean, making sure the stores were stocked with enough for the townspeople to clean themselves with. Not to mention having to wash the clothes of anyone who asked. Jack avoided asking for as long as he could, only going to her when the stench became too much for him to be able to deal with on his own.

Today, fortunately, his clothes weren’t an issue. He stripped down, folding his clothes neatly before easing himself into one of the troughs. He dunked his head under the warm water, scrubbing at his scalp with his fingers. He didn’t have the luxury of soap today, having worn through his last bar before he could find a suitable trade for a replacement. Jack didn’t mind though – sometimes the water itself was enough to feel clean.

“Jack,” Chase was standing at the foot of his trough, hands on her hips. Well this is a nice surprise Jack thought as he sat up, pushing his wet hair back. Her face was shiny with sweat and streaked with dirt that seemed to attach itself to any available bit of skin.

“Hello, Doll.” He had taken to calling her that, preferring it to Chase. At least, he preferred it when he was trying to seduce her.

“I need to talk to you,” she said, and Jack’s blood ran instantly cold.

“You’re not – you know?” He gestured to her stomach. Chase looked down, confused, before realization dawned on her face.

“It’s been a week, Jack, Maker help me! No. Didn’t you learn anything about how babies are actually made when you were married?” Chase raised an incredulous brow at him. Jack shrugged. “I have a book on that, you should give it a read.”

Jack rubbed at his legs with a scrap piece of cloth, knowing he was not going to read that book. “So, what’d ya need, doll? Come to take another ride?” Chase rolled her eyes.

“No. I need to talk to you-” Chase hesitated, looking conflicted. “Look, just don’t hate me, please.” Jack sat forward, suddenly intrigued.

“Well, don’t leave me hangin’ in suspense,” Jack said.

“I know who killed your wife. I can find him.”

Jack’s ears rang for a moment, he wasn’t sure he heard correctly. “You . . .”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” Chase crouched down next to the trough as she spoke, her eyes imploring him to understand. “I wasn’t sure it was him; I thought he was dead! But – but it’s too much of a coincidence.”

“Who is he? How do you know?” Jack tried to keep the pain out of his voice. How long has she known, he wondered, and not told him?

Chase at least had the decency to look ashamed. “He’s – his name is Elijah. He’s missing an eye because ten years ago I stabbed him, thought I killed him too. I tried to kill him!”

“Chase, who is he to you? Are you sure you can find him?”

“I can find him. I still have connections with his old crowd, someone there will know where he is.” Chase rubbed her face, somehow smearing on even more dirt. “If I tell you who he is . . . just don’t hold it against me, okay?”

“No promises,” Jack said.

“He’s my brother. Womb brother, actually.”

“You tried to kill your brother?” Jack was too shocked to feel angry. He was an only child, but from what he knew, the bond between siblings was one of the strongest, especially those bonded in the womb.

“You’ve met him,” Chase shrugged helplessly, “he’s – look I’m not gonna pretend that I deserve understanding for keeping this from you. But now I know he’s alive . . .” she trailed off, chewing on the inside of her cheek.

“Tell me where to find him.” Jack said.

“No, you need me.” Chase shook her head. “You won’t get far without me, I promise you that.”

Jack scoffed at her. “Don’t underestimate me.”

“I’m not, I’m being realistic. You don’t know Elijah like I do. He’s paranoid, delusional, he thinks he’s a fucking god. You won’t get within ten feet of him without someone blowing your brains out. If you’re serious about this revenge thing, you need me.”

Jack pushed himself out of the trough and began to dry off quickly in the sun. Still naked, he turned to face Chase, arms crossed over his chest. “And just why are you so damn insistent on comin’ with me? You could tell me what you know, I could hire any number of mercs who could get the job done better than you, and you wouldn’t have to get your hands dirty . . . well dirtier than they already are.”

Chase took a deep breath, evidently to calm herself down. “I need to make sure what I started is finished. Someone has to kill Elijah, and I won’t be able to sleep until I know he’s dead.”

The look on her face told Jack she was completely serious. He considered for a few moments, pulling his clothes back on. If everything she said was true, he would need her help, to find Elijah, to get close enough to kill him. But –

“If you tried to kill him, how can you get close without you getting your head blown off?” Jack combed his fingers through his hair and secured it with his hat.

“He doesn’t know it was me. It’s a long story but you just have to trust me.”

Jack considered the woman standing in front of him. Of course, he didn’t trust her – it was stupid to trust anybody. But it was his only chance, he was beginning to realise, and she’d have to come along whether he wanted it or not. Which given his current mood regarding her keeping this from him, he did not.

“Alright, get your shit ready. I’m leaving at dusk.”

Tagging: @sharkbait77 @quica-quica-quica <3 <3

[thewolfswriting]

The Dangers Of A Demon Chapter 3

Pairings: Demon Alpha!Dean x Katarina Morgan (Omega OC)

Word count: 2,009

Chapter Warnings: Profanity, Scent Marking, Knotting, Loss of Virginity, Dub-con, Non-consensual claiming 18+ content just don’t read if you’re under the age of 18

Taglist: @charmed-asylum

Divider by: @firefly-graphics

With a snarl, Dean kicked the cabin door open so hard it bounced off the wall. Even though he told the Omega to shut up, she still screamed at him the whole way back. He kicked the door shut behind him before throwing her to the floor with a thud. With tears flowing down her face she crawled backward until her back pressed against the nightstand. The fear grew more within her when he picked up the knife from the floor.

"Did you really think you could fucking escape?! He yelled while taking a fistful of her hair and pointing the knife at her face "Where the hell do you think you were going?!"

"I was trying to get away from you!" She all but yelled eyeballing the sharp object that's uncomfortably close to her face.

"You're not going anywhere until I decide when I'm gonna kill you. Understand?!"

She sobbed "Y-yes."

"Good. Now, get back up on that fucking bed and stay there." He pointed towards the bed with the knife still in hand.

Not wanting to piss him off even more she didn't hesitate to do what she was told. His eyes had even stayed black the whole time.

Keeping his eyes on her Dean growled at the sound of his phone ringing in his pocket. She let out a sigh of relief once his attention wasn't directed towards her, but to the person he was currently on the phone with.

"What do you want Crowley?" Dean barked into the phone.

"Is it done?"

"I'm working on it."

"It's been 3 days Dean. You never drag out a kill. Get it done or I'll send someone who will."

"The job will get done but on my terms. Send anyone else and they'll be dead too!" Dean yelled the last sentence before hanging up not giving Crowley the chance to answer. If Crowley knew what was good for him, he would take what Dean said seriously.

"Who was that?" Katarina asked in a hushed tone like she was afraid he'd yell at her for asking.

At this point, the demon didn't care she heard the whole conversation "Don't worry about it."

---

"We still haven't found her sheriff." One of the deputies said with a tone of sympathy.

He had to be careful to not give it away that he's looking for Katarina and because of that, only two of his deputies know she's missing. The only evidence they found was her footprints in the snow that led to her mother's grave. But Dean was careful to make sure nothing else of hers was left behind the night he took her.

"Keep looking. I want my daughter found safe and alive." Sheriff Morgan sighed. So nobody grew suspicious he had to hide the fact he knows who has his Omega of a daughter. Even worse, he's hiding that those three Omega's that were missing are now dead. All for the sake of an attempt to keep his daughter safe

"I'll find you. I promise." He muttered while gazing at the picture of his daughter on his desk.

---

Dean returned to the cabin carrying a few logs of wood before he sat down on the stool to start a fire in the fireplace. Not one word did Dean had said to her since the situation that took place earlier that evening. Every time she heard the swing of Dean's ax hit the wood, she flinched thinking if he would kill her that way.

Katarina's shivering soon calmed down once the heat of the fire finally warmed the cabin. She buried her face against the blanket as she hugged it closer to her body and made a sound she's never made before. Realizing she just purred she sniffed the blanket. That's when it hit her. The blanket, the entire bed smells like Dean. She hoped with everything in her the Alpha across the room didn't hear the noise she once again just made. To her, that would be embarrassing given she's never had an Alpha touch her let alone have a heat yet. She only hoped having an Alpha this close to her wouldn't trigger her heat.

Relaxing enough she closed her eyes, finally falling asleep only minutes after.

---

It was hours later when she awoke covered in a sheet of her own sweat. She looked at the fireplace which was still burning. She removed her jacket from her shoulders and three the blanket off, thinking maybe she got too hot from the heat of the fire and all the other layers on her. But then she smelled it, her own scent thick in the air of the cabin. Then she felt it, a cramp in her lower belly striking through her. Oh, no. So much for hoping.

"You're in heat."

She jumped as Dean pulled her closer to him. Gripping her jaw he holds her head in place as he, with golden eyes ran his nose along the side of her neck and let his hands roam either side of her body "Y-you knew this would h-happen." She went stiff as he pressed his hips forward against her ass and could feel the hardness of his cock straining against the demon fabric of his jeans.

He chuckled at her words while bringing his hand to the front of her jeans and popped the button and sliding two fingers in the waistband. The arousal pooled in her panties as soon as his fingers came in contact against hot, slick flesh. She bit her lip to keep any type of noise in from the fingers on her virgin cunt.

"Oh, you're damn right I did." His eyes flashed golden "And from the way you smell right now, I'm guessing you've never had an Alpha touch you or even have a knot in you. Now, that's gonna change."

The only response he got was a whimper of pain as another cramp shot through her. She knew this day would come, she knew what to expect, but she didn't expect was her heat to come like this. Triggered by a demon who happens to be an Alpha.

"Gonna make you feel good, Omega."

Dean flipped her on her back and ripped her shirt over her head before claiming her mouth with his. He took the liberty of palming her breasts through her plain white bra before taking it in his hands and ripping it from her chest. The demon was quick to capture her wrists in his hands to prevent her from covering herself.

While squeezing her breasts in his hands his eyes divert to her chest "Fuck, these tits are perfect, 'mega." His thumbs grazed across her aching nipples "Fit just right in my hands."

The Omega closed her eyes as he then smoothed a hand down her stomach to drag her jeans and panties down her legs. Holding her breath he pried her legs open while laying down on his stomach and slinging her legs over his shoulders. Her eyes snapped open once she felt the stubble on his face drag along her inner thigh and his breath ghosting over her mound and his tongue swiping up her slit.

"What are you doing?" She tried to close her legs around Dean's head.

"What's it look like 'mega?" He chuckled against her "Your cunt is just begging to be touched."

The shade of red that washed over her face was just a confirmation of his statement. It didn't matter how much Katarina wanted to deny it, her pussy was drenched from her arousal.

The tip of his nose nudged her clit as his tongue delved between her folds and brushed against her opening. Shame washed over her when her hips involuntarily bucked against his face and whimpered in pleasure. Not once had she ever thought about having an Alpha's face between her legs.

Dean was moaning against her sex and her face turned a deeper shade of red when he pulled back and moaned things like "your taste is intoxicating". But he always leaned back in and continued his actions.

Two rough fingers circled her tight entrance. It was almost like Dean could read her thoughts about protesting as he snaked a hand up her body and wrapped it around her throat as a warning "Come on 'mega" He licked her clit once "Open up for me." Twice.

Finally, he slid his two thick digits inside her. In an attempt to open her up more, he scissored them inside her, earning a gasp from the slight stretch.

"Oh, fuck." The Omega whimpered as Dean curled his fingers at the spot deep inside her.

"Yeah, there we go." He mumbled before continuing his assault on her clit.

It wasn't long until she became a writhing, screaming mess, her orgasm flooding through her body.

"Dean, please stop." She whimpered as he continued to finger and lick her through her orgasm.

Pulling away from her, Dean sat up on his knees and flipped her over on her stomach "Face down, ass up. Now."

It was out of pure Omega instinct that she did what she was told and she hated herself for it because she knew what was coming. She tried to crawl away as Dean removed his clothes but he only grabbed her hips and pulled her back into place before positioning himself behind her.

Before she could turn her head to look behind her he shoved her face to the mattress "It's better you don't see this 'mega." He rutted between her folds and spread her slick over his cock.

She fisted the blanket with tears in her eyes as the head of his cock pushes against her quivering heat and that's when he felt the resistance. She didn't say a word. The only sound she made was a whimper of horror as he struggled to push the first inch inside her and beads of sweat started to form on his skin.

"Please wait! Dean, I can't. It hurts!" She wailed at him when he rutted in another two inches. She felt like he was splitting her in two.

He was starting to lose patience with her "Oh, I know it does. But you're gonna take my cock like the submissive Omega you are. You wanna know what happens if you don't?" He snarled at her.

"You'll hurt me?"

"That is right. Now shut the hell up and take it like a good little Omega!"

The hands that gripped her hips tightened to keep her still as he attempted to again push forward but stilled his movement when her walls gripped him. At that moment his patience might as well just disintegrated. Snarling he slammed himself completely inside her. The glass-shattering scream from Katarina's throat echoed throughout the cabin but was soon silenced the moment Dean leaned over and clamped a hand over her mouth.

By testing her he rocked his hips forward, eliciting a whimper of pain from the girl. Slightly he pulled out only to slam himself back into her. She sobbed into the blanket with each drag of his cock against her. At first, he went slow, but with each time she involuntarily clenched his thrusts became faster and harder.

She wondered how bad it would've gone if she had fought him on it. But then again, she didn't have to wonder. Even though he hurt her anyway, it could've been worse.

"Gonna knot you little 'mega." His voice was suddenly deeper.

The words she just heard didn't fully register until she felt it at the base of him and her eyes grew wide. His knot was starting to swell. As he still pounded into her he dragged her up against his chest. He pulled back only to snap his hips forward and with one hard thrust, he forced his knot inside her. As thick ropes of cum filled her womb he licked a line from her shoulder to her neck before sinking his teeth deep in her neck.

"My Omega." Was the last thing she heard before closing her eyes.

[hrodvitnon]

Abraxas Deleted Scene/Chapter 17 Preview (Maybe)

Welp, seeing as I’m getting back to working on Abraxas I figure I might hand out not one but two deleted scenes, one of which might (very big might) be in the next chapter, so in that case it might count as a preview. Both of these scenes were originally going to be in Chapter 16, before I realized how feckin’ long that chapter was growing.

Deleted Scene: Screams on the Radio

Thor bristles at the sound.

“What the hell?” Martin gives the radio a thump and recoils as if given an electric shock; the noise coming out of the radio sounds less like the static of Monster X’s communication and more reminds him of a dentist’s drill.  Madison fiddles with it to narrow down a signal, or—

"—AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA—"

Madison nearly falls backwards, heart going a mile a minute in her throat.  What the fuck?  The voice on the radio keeps screaming, high-pitched and guttural.  She doesn't need to look at Ilene or her father to see their expressions; she's never heard something so bloodcurdling, so bone-chilling in her life, but they probably have.

By now the voice on the radio is howling with rage.  Madison reaches to shut it off but something in the sound stays her hand - she finds herself frozen in some morbid sublime trance as something becomes recognizable, the feral whooping and babbling that barely constitute as language begin to form words.  Madison’s gut sinks and her eyes water.  She’s never known what madness sounds like, not really.  But in this moment Madison has a terrible feeling that after all this time, after surviving whatever hell she and San have gone through only to get dragged back down, Vivienne Graham has finally been reduced to shrieking insanity.

“Turn it off,” Ilene whispers.  “Please.”

(And because my brain does what it does, the scream was based on Asuka’s in End of Evangelion. So there’s that.)

---

Deleted Scene/Maybe Preview: Apotheosis

“All our times have come Here but now they’re gone Seasons don’t fear the reaper Nor do the wind, the sun or the rain, we can be like they are”

All eyes on the bridge collectively land on Madison, who has a momentary defensive expression of ‘what're you looking at me for?’ before her brain catches up and realizes the muffled old tune is coming from her back pocket.  The tips of her ears turn pink and she fumbles to pull the offending object out.  So this is how the robot uprising begins: a teenager’s Spotify playlist developing a sense of gallows humor.

“Really?” Madison hisses at her phone.  “Really?”  She kills the music, mumbling an embarrassed ‘sorry,’ but then stares in confusion when her phone buzzes with feedback.  Static bursts all around and operatives check their own devices, wildly rising to a crescendo at the Argo’s communications, then cuts itself off.  There’s a moment of silence as Rick fiddles with the equipment to isolate a signal.  Something comes through and between the skips and distortions, Mark immediately recognizes lyrics being recited.  It’s a slower tempo than the original song, and almost without meaning to Mark hums along.

“Love of two is one Here but now they’re gone Came the last night of sadness And it was clear she couldn't go on...”

The radio crackles, and when Madison catches a British accent her heart skips a beat.  She doesn’t say anything, both not wanting to risk losing the connection and something in her soul relieved to hear that familiar voice.  However it soon becomes apparent that a male voice - that of San - slides seamlessly in tune with Vivienne’s, the two singing in perfect unison... or was it already like that? 

“Then the door was open and the wind appeared The candles blew and then disappeared The curtains flew and then he appeared, saying don't be afraid...”

Within the sinkhole where Berezniki once stood, crimson bolts of electricity arc around a solitary shadow.  A pair of glowing red orbs slowly blink open.  The duet has a serene, dreamlike quality, but the hairs on the back of Madison’s neck stand on end and beads of sweat form on Mark's brow; Barnes curses and Martinez crosses himself.  Ford is still scared of plenty of things: disarming bombs, inattentive drivers on the highway, facing down a vengeful mother MUTO after he'd blown her nest sky-high.  What little he can see of the shape indicates a body language that’s relaxed, maybe even bored.  So why do the sparks of hell-red lightning make him want to deal five angry MUTOs rather than face this thing?

That’s when Madison realizes: the voices are undercut with rumbles of something... else.  It’s the kind of cold, quiet anger Vivienne could conjure if pushed hard enough in her old life, where her usually friendly smiles show a little too many teeth.  Only now that anger has been magnified to something that could pound a city into dust.  Electricity arcs again, and in that brief spark of light a face looks up at the Argo, resembling an elaborate draconic skull.  From his spot Martin gasps out a word those Berezniki miners spoke of before disappearing, of something that was coming.  Palach; Executioner. 

The skull smiles, all teeth and no warmth, and the eye of a hurricane sings.  

“Come on, baby, and she had no fear And she ran to him, then they started to fly They looked backward and said goodbye, she had become like they are She had taken his hand, she had become like they are Come on, baby, don't fear the reaper...”

[eury--dice]

history, huh?

chapter one: principium

(or: the Red, White, and Royal Blue TRC AU, but no knowledge of the book is needed to read this! ao3 link in the rb)

Adam knew he was in trouble when he found himself covered in cake, champagne, and shattered glass while clutching onto someone’s sleeve.

Admittedly, the memory of the night as a whole is a bit fuzzy around the edges, softened by jet lag and overwhelming anger and a few flutes of champagne worth more than the house Adam grew up in. But he remembered enough to recall some key details: one, it was no ordinary reception, it was the royal wedding; two, the cake covering him was the 75,000-dollar royal wedding cake; and three, that he clutched onto His Royal Highness, Prince Ronan Lynch-Mountchristen-Windsor, while covered in the remnants of his champagne flute.

It was an international relations nightmare that a rational Adam Parrish, the first son of the United States, would pay to avoid at all costs. Even the slightly-inebriated Adam could feel a distant spark of fear over what Maura and Calla were going to say to him once he was not covered in frosting and brawling with a treasured member of the English monarchy. (Well, “treasured” was a relative term. Prince Ronan was more of a recently-reformed scandal than a treasure.)

But as he caught a glimpse of Blue’s expression, a carefully constructed mask of surprise for the cameras that only those who knew her personally could read the amusement behind, Gansey’s hand wrapped around his wrist and yanked Adam off of the ground. 

He must have abandoned his conversation with Roger Malory to come and bail Adam out; deep down, beyond the adrenaline and anger and alcohol pumping through his veins, Adam was touched at the gesture. Guilt also hit him with the knowledge that Gansey hadn’t had a chance to talk to Malory since he left England as a teenager and now Adam had ruined that, but he tucked it away to examine at a later moment.

Adam thought he might have heard Ronan mutter “Oh my fucking Christ” from somewhere behind him in his stupid posh accent. Slinging an arm around Adam’s frosting-coated shoulders to steer him towards the Secret Service Agents already surging forward, Gansey leaned his head towards Adam’s and whispered around a smile, “What the fresh hell did you do?”

And, well. It was a good question. He glanced back at Ronan where he lay on the ground, already brushing off the help of the royal guards and climbing gracefully to his feet, the bead of blood on his cheek sparkling in the majestic royal lighting. Just a few minutes before, the Prince had stood by himself, a dark contrast to the pristine tiered cake and tiny buttercream flowers and gleaming champagne fountain behind him. And Adam, who was rarely angry over anything but could easily go too far when provoked, decided to engage.

“If it isn’t His Royal Highness,” Adam had said, drawing Ronan’s eyes to him. He could see the moment Ronan realized he wasn’t himself, taking in the curled hand and slightly flushed cheeks. Adam was a convincingly sober drunk, and something about Ronan being able to see through it pissed him off. And the fact that Ronan had spent more than half the night hiding away from the cameras and drinking himself didn’t help. Adam would’ve expected to find him dead on his feet and barely standing, but clearly Ronan was less of a lightweight than he was.

Ronan’s lips curled in what might have passed as a smile but looked a little too much like a predator baring its teeth. “Mr. Parrish,” he said, all clipped vowels and stiff politeness that made Adam want to scream. His lips lingered on the ‘h’ shape for a moment too long. “I’m surprised you’re speaking to me.”

Honesty was the last thing Adam had expected. “Why, because you monopolized Blue and treated her like some kind of...toy to ignore?”

His nostrils flared suddenly. “No, I do not... use people. But you have been avoiding me all evening when I’ve done my best to be civil.”

Adam laughed too loudly at that. “Civil? Yeah, okay,” he said, his mouth curved into a smile. “Most civil member of your family, I’m sure. Declan and Ashley would agree.”

Ronan went silent, swirling his champagne around in his hand and raising an uncoordinated hand to run over his shaved head. When he spoke, he grit his jaw as though holding back some impulse like the good repressed English boy he was. “I’d suggest you to go drink some water and find your way out before you do something you regret.”

“Or what?”

Ronan stepped closer to Adam so that they were nearly chest-to-chest, his two-inch height advantage only pissing Adam off more. “I said I’d advise you to stop.”

And Ronan, so subtly that he doubted any camera could pick it up, pushed Adam away with one hand. It would have worked splendidly had Adam not back-tracked and grabbed Ronan’s sleeve, sending them both falling.

And now they were both covered in frosted roses and shame, Adam stuck with Gansey’s voice on the plane saying please table your rivalry for one night reverberating in his head.

What the fresh hell, indeed.

***

Silence hung over the West Wing briefing room like a wet blanket. Maura Sargent stared unblinkingly into Adam’s eyes from where she perched on the edge of the table. Adam, from his seat at the head, stared back with every ounce of courage his mother’s PR campaigns taught him. Maura seemed to be studying him, and Adam simply didn’t know how to look away.

“Blue,” Maura said finally. On Maura’s other side, Blue wordlessly handed over a stack of newspapers, her gaze shifting from Maura to Adam as though watching a ping pong tournament. Adam knew of Maura’s “no restrictions” policy at home with Blue, but everyone knew this policy in no way related to her work life. Still, Blue watched attentively with knitted brows as though trying to guess the outcome or will a better one into existence.

“Gansey?” Maura asked, all without removing her eyes from Adam’s. The touch of anxiety in Blue’s expression didn’t even begin to reach the anxiety in Gansey’s face, as he stared at Adam like he was a lost puppy. Still, Gansey had more poise than most politicians did, and he managed to smoothly relinquish a stack of magazines into Maura’s free hand. Maura combined the stacks into one in her right hand before dropping them into Adam’s lap with a dull thwap.

“These are just the ones being sold outside this morning, not to mention what’s circulating in the British tabloids,” she said, finally turning away and reaching for a mug of coffee. “Read them.” She muttered something that sounded suspiciously like Jesus, but Adam didn’t try to discern it. He went for the stack instead, glossy pages almost slipping through his thin fingers.

    THE $75,000 STUMBLE greeted him on the front page of The Washington Post.

    BATTLE ROYAL: Prince Ronan and FSOTUS Come To Blows at Royal Wedding

    CAKEGATE: Adam Parrish Sparks Second English-American War

Everywhere he flipped, images of he and Ronan covered in sparkling broken glass and frosting assaulted his eyes. The images and headlines blurred together, and he flicked his gaze back up to Maura. All he could see for a moment was Ronan’s rumpled suit and the sliver of red on his cheek. He blinked three times in rapid succession and Maura returned, her brown eyes cool and calculating over the rim of her travel mug.

“Isn’t this a topic for the Situation Room, Ms. Sargent?” He asked. His mother, seated across from him, and Blue both pursed their lips, although for entirely different reasons; Blue appeared to be holding back laughter while his mother must have been holding back something else. Maura narrowed her eyes, oblivious to Gansey’s tightening expression behind her.

“Don’t Ms. Sargent me,” she replied, her tone cool. “I knew all your secrets, kid. I’ve been watching you since you were five. The sass will get you nowhere.” She snatched the Sun article from out of his hands, flipping it open to the correct page and hiding Ronan’s buttercream-smeared frown behind her fingers. “‘Sources inside the royal reception report the two were seen arguing minutes before the cake-tastrophe. But royal family insiders claim the First Son’s feud with Ronan has raged for years. A source tells The Sun that Ronan and the First Son have been at odds ever since their first meeting at the Rio Olympics--’” here Adam made an odd, strangled noise -- “‘and the animosity has only grown—these days, they can’t even be in the same room with each other. It seems it was only a matter of time before Adam took the American approach: a violent altercation.’”

Adam locked eyes with Gansey at the last line, watching Gansey’s lips thin just as he felt the blood drain from his own face. His eyes slid over to Blue, who yielded much of the same reaction. His mother, surprisingly, didn’t change her posture. If she was thinking of Robert Parrish like the rest of them, she had a better poker face.

“They’re blaming this on Ana’s administration,” Maura continued, pushing on through the stony silence. “Please, explain the joke to me.”

“He started it,” is all Adam was able to say, which was probably one of the worst ways to defend himself. Sounding like a petulant toddler helped nobody, but he had made his bed and so he would lie in it, too. “He shoved me and I grabbed his sleeve to-”

“Adam,” his mother said, raising one hand to cut him off with the smooth, brown skin of her palm. He quieted at once, recognizing her demeanor as half-presidential and half motherly. Ana’s voice was caught somewhere between the sugary drawl that lulled him to sleep as a child and the All-American southern twang that helped win her an election. “You know I trust you, sweetheart, but the press sure as hell doesn’t give a fuck about the nitty-gritty of who started what.”

“Ronan definitely touched him first,” Gansey said, his voice unhurried but his face clearly eager to shift some of the blame off of Adam. Maura shot a cool look in his direction.

“He-said, she-said, that doesn’t matter. The press thinks and we can’t change their mind, we can only prove them wrong.” She held out a hand again, and with a sigh Blue acquiesced a new, thick file. Maura dropped it in front of Adam like a hot potato. “Here’s damage control. This rivalry with the prince of England ends now.”

“It’s not a-”

“Rivalry, we know,” his mother interrupted wryly. The tone was odd from her president-mode self, her wayward curls tamed into a perfect ponytail and her face made up instead of the more casual expression she normally had when joking. “But, sugar, if it looks like a duck and quacks like a duck, it’s probably a duck. You can call it whatever you like, but it’s always gonna be seen as a rivalry.”

Adam sat silently, flipping through a section entitled TERMS OF AGREEMENT. Maura continued. “You’re flying to England on Saturday and spending the weekend with Ronan.”

It took a moment for the words to sink in, but once they did he couldn’t stop thinking of them. Dread settled just below the surface of Adam’s skin. He looked at his mother. “I’d prefer to fake my death, actually. Or just really die. I know Calla would be willing to help with either, and Persephone is good with that stuff, right? Death of a son should boost your polling. The voters love a sympathetic case.”

“Don’t tempt me,” she warned. She looked to her watch with a heavy sigh and leaned over to kiss him on the head. “I’m too overscheduled for this. Adam, listen to Maura and don’t ignore her plan. You two,” she gestured vaguely at Blue and Gansey, “Make sure he doesn’t do anything irrational while we’re wrapped up.”

Blue lazily saluted while Gansey nodded reassuringly. With one last glance at Adam, Ana was gone, her heels clicking away from the heavy doors. She slipped away from being Ana Parrish, Adam’s mother punishing him for stupid behavior, to become President Parrish, leader of the country. Adam envied her compartmentalization.

Maura leaned over the table, flipping pages in the file. “We’re releasing this statement in conjunction with the Crown as soon as they approve. It was an accident, no harm was intended, all that jazz-”

Adam lifted one eyebrow. “So the truth?”

“Call it what you’d like. And we’re clarifying that you and Prince Ronan have been close personal friendships for several years despite conflicts in schedule making it difficult to appear publicly.”

Blue laughed out loud at that, clamping one hand over her mouth. Maura didn’t even look over to her, but Adam’s expression must have been similarly dumbfounded because she sighed resignedly, taking another sip of coffee. “Look, it’s better for all sides if your tussle just looks like some...frat boy joshing.” Blue’s laughs crescendoed louder, and Maura shot her a cool look. “If you need to step out, please feel free to, Blue. I’m sure Gansey will fill you in later.” Adam looked to Blue and her wave of dismissal, gripping onto the wrist of Gansey’s blazer to steady herself. Maura turned back to Adam.

“I know he’s difficult. You can hate him for all I care. In privacy, feel free to construct intricate arguments for his removal from this earth. Fantasize about dumping yogurt on his head. Compose songs to drive him insane. But, for the love of God, you will act like he hung the moon with nothing but yarn and a sewing needle whenever there’s the slimmest possibility of a camera or another living being witnessing it. Kapeesh?”

It wasn’t like he was allowed any true reaction, but he nodded all the same. His powerlessness was because of his own actions, not Maura. It was his own fault, and he would own up to the consequences. Even if the thought of willingly spending time with Ronan made his stomach turn.

“Your job is to not piss anyone off and to gush about Ronan. You’ll memorize this fact sheet-” she slid another page from the file and tapped it, “-and be prepared to answer any question with these as an answer. Your deal includes a minimum of two social media posts a day about Ronan and your visit. On Sunday, you have an on-air interview with ITV This Morning, and you’ll be fresh as a daisy with nothing but sunshine to say about Ronan’s competitive yachting hobby. There are only two photo ops, one in private where you can bitch and one charity appearance. That’s it, you’re free.”

Adam opened his mouth.

“Don’t care,” Maura said before Adam could make a noise. “You ruined the Royal Wedding and a cake that’s worth a year of college tuition. He’ll attend a state dinner in a few months for his part, and you will pay your penance now.”

Adam nodded slowly. He gathered the file in his hands along with all the decorum Gansey taught him over the years. He smiled a small smile at Maura. “Well, it will be an experience, won’t it?”

“I’d expect it, yes.”

“Thank you, Maura. And I’m sorry.”

She waved her hand. “Don’t apologize. Your apology will be not screwing this up even more.”

“I’ll try.”

Adam rose, Blue and Gansey following his lead. As he turned to walk away, Maura spoke again. “Oh, and Adam?”

“Yes?”

The corners of her eyes crinkled, and she looked younger, somehow. Almost amused. Guilt panged in his chest at the thought that he’d caused the tiredness on her face before. “Try to have a little fun. It’s a trip to Europe and you’re not even missing class.”

He paused, thinking of Ronan and his shaved head and cruel smile in front of the wedding cake. He tried to imagine what fun might be for him - whether to trust the fact sheet proclaiming fencing and yachting as Ronan’s pastimes or the tabloids that traded stories of illegal drag racing and getting black-out drunk. He wasn’t sure which version of Ronan sounded worse. “Sure,” he agreed quietly. “I will.”

***

Those who work in the White House know a few things about the First Family’s habits, but they never know the full truth.

They can observe things the average citizen would die to know; they see staffers pacing the halls and tearing their hair out over Instagram captions, overhear expletive-laden and fond familial conversations, and occasionally see the pristine members of the executive branch with dark crescents burning under their eyes and old high-school sweatshirts adorned like the newest fashion. But none were more elusive and two-sided than the White House Trio.

In their case, two-sided didn’t necessarily mean something bad, only something drastic. Blue Sargent, Richard Gansey, and Adam Parrish presented the perfect dynamic for the press to eat up: three attractive early twenty-somethings inside the White House who were notoriously open to the public about their lives. There were veneers crafted and stories concocted every day, all designed to get the perfect media response without sharing too much. There was Blue, the Indigenous American daughter of a single mother and prominent staffer, barely five feet tall but laser-sharp with any numbers you threw at her; there was Richard Campbell Gansey III, better known as the single-named Gansey who came from the billions that funded the Vice-Presidency but wanted nothing more than to give it all away, always ready with his winning charm and a new polo shirt to distract the press from his scathing op-eds; and there was Adam Parrish, a true American Dream born from a father from the Heartland and a mother from Mexican immigrants, a single First Son set to graduate valedictorian from Georgetown amid a political campaign with an ease most of the country only wished to possess.

Together, they hit every demographic that they could without even trying too hard. Their progressive politics were helped along by their identities, and so they aided their parents by nature of existing within the White House walls. White House staff saw these versions of them, but only glimpses of what lay beneath - Blue wandering the halls in self-created shirts and dresses with stacks of newspapers clutched in her arms, the scent of mint clinging to Gansey everywhere he went at all hours of the day, Adam’s frequent requests for coffee at midnight and propensity to wear coca-cola tee shirts.

They all knew very well that no one really saw the full picture of them, but that was how the White House Trio liked it.

The three of them spread out in the music room, one of their only haunts where they could be truly alone. For once, they weren’t a marketing ploy of their own creation or a group of kids on a pedestal; they were just Blue, Gansey, and Adam. After that meeting, they had to be.

Adam sprawled on the couch, laying exactly horizontal, flipping over the HRH fact sheet.

“You’re on the cover of Us Weekly, Blue,” Gansey called across the room, undoubtedly fulfilling his guilty-pleasure hobby of obsessively tracking their tabloids. “Full portrait of your Royal Wedding outfit.”

“It’s about time,” she responded from her perch on the windowsill, a bottle of red wine and a bottle opener in her hands. “I wore that lace to catch attention, thank you very much. It’s been at least four months since a solo cover.”

“Well, they do mention the cake-tastrophe in the corner.”

Blue waved her hand dismissively. “That was bound to happen. Scandal sells, but so do I.”

“Okay, ew,” Adam said flatly.

“They’re speculating about you two again, you know.” Gansey scrolled to a new part of the magazine, lifting a thumb to rub against his lower lip. “‘Tryst with a mystery brunette: Heartthrob First Son Adam Parrish caught sneaking back to the W hotel for an amorous rendezvous in the Presidential Suite. Sources say the brunette is none other than Blue Sargent, the twenty-two-year-old member of the White House Trio.’”

“Less than a month!” Blue exclaimed, popping the wine open. “You owe me, Gansey. Pay up.”

He ignored her, dropping the hand from his face. “You didn’t really…”

Neither Adam nor Blue responded. Gansey knew very well that their short-lived relationship on the campaign trail was due to die a quick death, but something - perhaps the lingering stares he seemed to throw Blue more and more often - was making him touchier to the subject of their former relationship. Of course, Adam and Blue did nothing of the sort, only watched the West Wing and made sex noises at young Rob Lowe with a bottle of champagne passed between them. Confusing the tabloids was an added bonus to their game. Blue took a swig directly from the bottle of red.

“You’d think they’d be talking more about your spat with Ronan than your possible sex life,” Gansey said, returning his focus to Adam. Adam finally looked away from the HRH fact sheet and towards Gansey’s squinting eyes. He really needed to put his glasses on, but far be it from Adam to mother Gansey. It had to be the other way around.

“No one cares about what happens over the pond.”

“Don’t they?” Blue said, scrunching her nose in a similar fashion to Gansey. “They seem to follow the royals pretty well. Tabloids were in a tizzy over the Prince’s lack of date.”

“In a tizzy,” Adam mocked. From where she sat on the floor, Blue stretched her short frame as far as possible to nudge Adam’s leg with the toe of her socked foot. “Why does anyone care? It’s not like he’s, you know, interesting.”

Blue and Gansey were staring again, he could tell. “Adam, honey,” Blue started, her southern accent heavy and thick. Gansey reached for the bottle and she relinquished it easily. “I know you hate him, but he’s probably the most interesting royal out there.”

“Wasn’t he caught in a club with his underage brother right after their father died?” Gansey asked, taking a prim sip from the bottle of wine.

“Apparently has a huge sucker of a tattoo on his back, too.”

“Isn’t that against royal etiquette or some shit?”

“Probably.”

Adam waved the fact sheet around, spinning himself so that his head hung off the edge of the couch. “Explain this, then. He’s more wonder-bread than Gansey, and that’s saying something.” Blue spluttered out a laugh, and Adam slung an upside-down apologetic glance at Gansey. “Sorry, man. No offense.”

“None taken,” Gansey said, reaching for the fact sheet and plucking it from Adam’s grasp. “What’s wrong with these? Charles Dickens as a favorite author? What do you have against Charles Dickens?”

Adam and Blue exchanged a glance. “Nothing in theory. It’s just a bunch of garbage I don’t need in my brain.”

Blue snorted. “No thoughts, brain full of GDP calculations.”

“You know I just finished my macroeconomics midterm.”

“That’s the point,” Blue said, snatching the bottle back from Gansey and peeking at the sheet. Her nose scrunched again, squinting her eyes as she always did when drinking. “Mutton pie? Who loves mutton pie?”

“It’s a very versatile meal,” Gansey defended.

“I mean, sure, these are boring as hell,” Blue conceded, ignoring Gansey’s scandalized look. “But this is clearly slapped together by his PR team to make him look like the perfect prince.”

“So?” Adam said, unimpressed.

“It’s not a reason to hate him.”

“Oh, I know. I hate him anyway. But I have better use for my brain space than facts about His Royal Dick.”

“That just sounds like you’re talking about Gansey.”

“To be fair, Adam,” Gansey said, “it’s your fault. You fought him.”

“What happened anyway?” Blue asked. He knew the question was coming, but all the same, he didn’t want to answer. “He was fine when I danced with him.”

“Fine,” Adam said curtly. “Cold and severe sounds more like it.”

Blue’s eyes scanned over him with an uncanny feeling she could see into his thoughts. “So you were...defending me? God, please don’t blame me for this.”

“That’s actually kind of nice, Parrish.”

“No,” Blue interrupted, a hard edge to her voice.. “Not if he does stupid shit because of it. I’m perfectly fine on my own.”

“I know!” Adam rushed to say. “Believe me, I know. It was…” he withered under her look. “...An excuse?”

“Look at me,” Blue said, voice firm. He did. Her lips were thinned with seriousness. “Don’t protect my honor again, please. It’s a weird-ass fishbowl world we live in, but if you do, I will leak to the press that your favorite song is Africa by Toto.”

“Please do,” Adam said, scoffing. “It’s a bop.”

“And do you want it dogging your every step?”

“Maybe I do.”

Blue shrugged. “Your funeral.”

“This is quite Shakespearean,” Gansey said, most likely in hopes of interrupting their budding argument. He gestured grandly to the gaudy tapestry-ridden walls and golden tassels on the furniture, although Adam imagined that Gansey thought it would look more impressive in his head. “Two sworn enemies forced into friendship for the sake of tension between their countries.”

“We’re not enemies,” Adam said. “That implies we’re...on the same level. Have actually spoken.”

“Exactly. Shakespearean.”

“Then let’s hope I get stabbed at the end of this. Blue, will you do the honors? I know you’ll do it mercifully.”

“Oh, cheer up now,” Blue said in a false British coo. “You’ll be the darling of England before Sunday even rolls around.”

“What does it matter?” Adam said, not lifting his gaze from the fact sheet. “They just think I’m another violent American over there.”

He could feel the weight of Blue and Gansey’s stares above his head. No one needed to say the words themselves to invoke the double-wide of Adam’s earliest years, where blood covered most of the carpet. “They don’t mean it like that, Adam,” Gansey said finally, breaking some of the tension with his reverberating voice. “They mean it like… UFC fighters, or rioting after the Patriots lose the Super bowl. Or win.” Gansey’s frown deepened. “I can never figure out how they’re doing.”

“Yeah, I know,” Adam said, lips twisted downwards. He regretted bringing it up. “I know.”

Blue nudged him again with her foot. “Want to watch Parks and Rec and make fun of the Prince’s fact cheat-sheet?”

“God, yes.”

She snatched the sheet from Gansey, reading it over again. “Drinking game: drink whenever Prince Ronan’s interests are laughably terrible.”

“Counter-offer: drink whenever Adam overreacts to his interests.” Gansey offered. Blue passed him the bottle to reach for her laptop instead.

“Either way, we’re getting alcohol poisoning.”

“Oh, definitely.”

“We’ll quiz you,” Gansey offered Adam, just as Blue pulled up an episode of Parks and Rec. “Not season seven, Sargent, what the hell are you thinking?”

“Season seven can be great!” Off of Gansey’s glare, Blue complied, clearly not wanting the fight. “Fine. Season three?”

“Now you’re talking.”

Blue balanced her laptop on an old piano bench and joined their huddle near the couch, beckoning the bottle back.

“Alright,” Gansey began, eyes settled on the top of the sheet. “You better be ready to learn something, Parrish.”

***

None of them succumbed to alcohol poisoning, but they did learn several facts about Prince Ronan.

There was the basic information, things Adam knew already: his mother, Queen Aurora, took the throne with a dreamy demeanor and high hopes at the age of 19 after her parent’s untimely death and her twin sister’s abdication. The year before, she married Niall Lynch, an Irish actor, and practically upset the whole place. Niall died in 2015, not too long before the Rio Olympics, and Aurora’s public appearances had dwindled ever since, leaving the press to have a field day with rumors of illness and mental breakdowns. Ronan had a raven (why, Adam could not fathom) named, of all things, Chainsaw. His best friend, Henry Cheng, was heir to Cheng Industries and managed their charity branch.

Gansey actually knew both Cheng and Ronan, having spent a year at Eton in high school, and Adam just rolled his eyes at Ganey’s relentless knowledge of every human person.

His music tastes were listed as baroque, death metal, and Irish jigs, a combination that left Blue wheezing. “His Royal Highness may be my new favorite person,” she insisted, leaving Adam scowling.

The week came and went, and Adam found himself on a private tarmac following a trans-Atlantic flight with a man in an impeccably pressed suit and a cup of tea nestled into his hands. Calla, one of Blue’s pseudo-aunts and a secret service agent accompanying him, pressed forward to shake his hand and exchange a few words under her breath with him. He almost pitied the man. Calla, with her high bun of perfectly-contained curls and steely gaze, oozed intimidation out of her very being. But to his surprise, Calla actually smiled at the mystery man. She wasn’t quite warm, but he received considerably kinder treatment than everyone else subject to Calla’s jurisdiction. When she stepped back, the man turned his gray eyes on Adam. He smiled without any mirth.

“Mr. Parrish,” the man said, reaching out his free hand. Adam shook it, trying to keep it short and firm as his mother taught him. “It’s a pleasure to have you with us in England. I’m Mr. Gray, Prince Ronan’s equerry.”

“It’s very nice to meet you. I apologize for the turn of events that led to this weekend.”

“Well,” Mr. Gray said, turning and beckoning Adam to an Aston Martin with blacked-out windows, “once you reach my age, Mr. Parrish, you’ll find that these matters are quite simple to see coming.” Adam barely had a chance to blink in response before he was sliding into the back seat of the car, the rumbling of the tarmac shut out succinctly with the door’s closure. A lull in conversation settled around them; Adam, after clicking his seatbelt in, favored looking out the window to London’s scenery over making conversation. The blur of grey and white passed for a few minutes before Mr. Gray finally informed him of his role.

“There are a few matters of paperwork to go over before entering Kensington Palace. They’re currently next to you, and signing them is of highest priority before we begin this weekend.” Adam was no stranger to non-disclosure agreements and confidentiality paperwork; he’d expected the practically novel-length stack. By the time he’d finished signing on all the correct lines, the car slowed to a crawl. “Prince Ronan has just finished his tennis practice, and we’re here to escort him to our first activity.”

“Splendid,” Adam whispered under his breath, unconsciously mimicking Mr. Gray's crisp voice.

The English countryside hit Adam full in the face as soon as he stepped from the car; fresh air, the kind you never find in DC, welcomed him like an old friend, and though the English air was nothing like the air he remembered growing up with in Virginia, it felt nostalgic all the same. He suddenly wanted to be back there, in the home he remembered so well. He wanted to be anywhere but England with the goddamn Prince of Wales loping his way towards him in an all-white outfit, a racket swinging in his hand.

Jesus, how pretentious could he be?

Annoyingly, Ronan was not sweating and not fatigued looking in the slightest. He actually looked incredibly refreshed, the harsh lines of his face softened and a flush under his cheeks, his blue eyes charged and alight. Looking into them, Adam felt startlingly as though he was staring out at the horizon on a cloudless day.

“Parrish,” Ronan called, jogging the remaining distance quickly and closing the gap between them. “You've found the directions, I can see.”

“It’s difficult to miss,” Adam replied tightly, holding out a hand for Ronan to shake. “Extensive wealth tends to smell for miles around.”

Ronan took his hand, and his smoothed palm slid uncomfortably against Adam’s calloused hand. An unpleasant jolt started in his stomach. Ronan affixed his same unkind but not terrifying smile to his face, looking ridiculously like Declan for a moment, before continuing their conversation. Both knew to disconnect their words from their faces, conscious of the photographer unsubtly circling them. “It’s a rather pleasant odor, yes? I prefer it to fried food and pollution.”

“London, known for its fresh air, right?” Adam laughed, the charming laugh that beguiled TV hosts and entranced his mother’s constituents. “Excited for the days ahead?”

“I’d rather lie on the NASCAR racetrack, or even concede an argument.”

Adam slipped his palm from Ronan’s, choosing instead to slap him jovially on the arm. “I never thought I’d see the day where we agree on something, Your Highness.”

“Fuck off,” Ronan said, the words slipping through his unkind but certainly camera-friendly smile with practiced ease, and oh, there was the difference between this weekend and all their other interactions: Adam couldn’t speak of their interactions at all, locked behind an NDA. Ronan could swear as much as he pleased and not face retribution from his family.

“Gladly,” he replied through gritted teeth.

“The car is ready if you’re ready, then,” Mr. Gray said from behind Adam.

“Perfect,” Ronan said, any hint of his bleached teeth disappearing. “The sooner this is over with, the better.”

And they set off, side by side, for the car.

[fandomdaydreamer]

The Lighthouse and The Ocean

Pt 3

Lumière

Pairing: (Pedro Pascal/OFC), Ewan McGregor/OFC

Warnings: some angst

Summary:

After the disastrous interview, Nini wakes up to a message from her ex, Ewan McGregor. Turns out she will have to face him again under these circumstances but confrontation can be awfully difficult for someone whose nature is to love too much.

Notes: Also find this fic on Ao3 -here- or the series' Masterlist -here-

Length: 5.1k

~

Lumière

Before I was really awake, I started to feel something rough and dry scratching at the tip of my nose. I opened my eyes to find a big black ball of fur sitting on my chest and blocking my view. I wiped at my nose and stared into the yellow orbs of a sheer enormous cat.

"Baby?" I choked out with a raspy voice after a night of restless sleep and felt her digging her claws onto my throat whilst purring like a vintage car. Poentje always managed to step right onto my windpipe to signal me that she would slowly kill me if I didn't get up and feed her.

"Alright, alright. Ik ben al wakker." I wished I was not awake. I was dreadfully jetlagged and on top of that, increasingly mortified at the images that kept rushing back into my memory.

Stifled echoes of laughter rang through my slowly rebooting consciousness. People were pointing their fingers at me and they were howling and cackling at my expense.

I rolled out of bed and down to my knees and felt like sinking right through the floor. My cheek rested against the soft carpet and I let out a sound of pure anguish as I knitted my eyes shut.

Poentje followed and joined me in my crisis on the floor.

How? How could I have been so stupid? How gladly I would have eaten ten of James's stupid turkey testicles right now for breakfast to make everything I had said undone. Scratch that. I never wanted to eat meat ever again.

I had made a fool out of myself in front of the whole world or at least, the considerably large part that was interested in celebrity gossip. The paparazzi had followed me to the airport, to my taxi and my house the day after the interview. Although I had ignored the rude questions from the reporters, I was not keen on reading the headlines anytime soon. What would they call me? Slut or sugar baby, seductress or mistress? A dirty secret? I had heard those before. How about a floozy or shameless flirt and tease?

I wasn't worried about what I had admitted about the graffiti or 'joked' about Pedro... he would forgive me. It was what had come after. I should have known that my answer wasn't good enough for James.

I had less of a problem with admitting my little crush on Pedro than my past involving Ewan. The world didn't necessarily need to know about the details we had kept private for so long.

My hand crawled up and reached for my phone on the nightstand. One missed call from my grandpa. Two missed calls from Tom and also three new text messages. Two from Tom, one from... Ewan.

Shit.

Dread began to sink into my stomach. Oh, I had absolutely, unmistakenly, royally fucked up now, hadn't I?

I felt my chest tighten and my fingers deliberately reached for the bracelet on my wrist.

Deep breaths... Damn. My brain began tricking me into experiencing the smell of chlorine and it made me sick before I could block out the sensation. There was a crippling numbness in my bones and much too soon, I felt the start of an anxiety attack rising in my chest. The beads dug into my skin as I slipped them off and closed the bracelet around my fist - It took minutes and a lot of purring right into my ear before my heart rate began to finally slow down and my body relaxed.

Many people had this one item they couldn't exist without and which they needed to provide them with comfort or some kind of safety.

I held onto my mother's bracelet as if my life depended on it.

I turned my head and fondled the simple wooden beads between my fingers and breathed like I hadn't for a long time. I was glad this silly little meltdown over a stupid text was over so quickly and the non-existent smell of chlorine dissolved into oblivion once more.

I opened my eyes. Carpets smelled like dust... at least mine did.

I put on the bracelet again and grabbed the large cat, stroked her silky coat and placed a soft kiss onto her head. "Sorry, Poen." I cuddled my dear feline friend and apologised to her for everything I couldn't say. She meowed at me with her soft voice. "Yes, I know, I know."

I didn't have much time for her these past few days and if it weren't for my lovely neighbour, we would both be screwed from time to time. The black ragdoll cat purred but shortly after decided she didn't need to be that close to me after all.

The phone with the unopened text messages was still there, waiting.

His name glowed out to me sans the emoji heart I had deleted months and months ago. I admired everyone who was resentful enough to just delete their ex's number altogether, but I was too forgiving, always too forgiving... really, such a Libra.

Now I had gone and not simply embarrassed myself but also someone who I had absolutely no business talking about in public. I opened the text message and forgot how to breathe as I read.

16:43 Are you free tomorrow? I'll be in NYC and I'd like to talk to you. - Ewan

Tomorrow? The text had been from yesterday- which meant he was asking if I was free today? I got up from the floor and went to the window. As I kept myself hidden behind the curtains, I noticed a man with a large camera standing around in the street behind my gate. Another one of his species was waiting on the opposite side and they were prying on me like vultures. It evidently looked like I needed to use the backdoor into the garden and ask a neighbour to smuggle me out to the street around the corner. It would not be the first time.

I could just call him and tell him I couldn't see him. I just knew Ewan wanted to have a talk about how I had no business meddling with his privacy and career.

Despite the sick feeling in my gut, I texted back and realised I sounded entirely too lighthearted. Though, I figured that suppressed feelings were safer.

Hi, I thought you were busy beating up Jawas. I'm at home but I think the paparazzi are lurking in front of my house. Would you like to meet somewhere else?

I deleted the last sentence; 'Are you mad at me?' before hitting send. A part of me must have created this apologetic behaviour from muscle memory.

Ewan had broken my heart once before by telling me our relationship had been a mistake. Maybe he wanted to talk to repeat this statement or sue me or... he'd see how sorry I was and tell me he was still in love with me and how much he wanted me back. No! Stop it!

Of course, I still loved him... in my peculiar, twisted way of being unable to forget what we used to have together. One year might be a short period for a relationship but brevity can be made up for in intensity when all doubt gets replaced by recklessness.

It was one year of passion and conflict and it felt like our love had been a slow dance in a burning room. In other words, we had created this little bubble we could only see ourselves, hide and retreat in.

Even though many years were between our movie and our relationship, it had been a huge scandal when words of our affair had gotten out. It was due to our age difference, his divorce and his new girlfriend whom he then temporarily broke up with because of me and... all that nonsense. It had all been feverishly chaotic and apparently, it was far from over.

But just like that, the bubble had burst and he left. I still wasn't sure who precisely had ended it. It just hadn't worked out.

A nagging voice reminded me that he did... he had ended it. I was just too proud to admit that. Ewan had dumped me and for weeks, I had dreamt of nothing until with time, the pain had finally dimmed and faded.

Ewan was typing. His reply appeared on the screen.

12:20 Why would I beat up Jawas? :) No, I don't think meeting at your house is a good idea either. I don't want anyone to bother you. I'm waiting for my flight to LA at the Ritz-Carlton. Ask for Lumière, if you want to see me.

I sighed and typed.

I'll come. CU there

I dragged my feet into my closet to get dressed before I went downstairs and I opened the drawer where I kept a soft, grey jumper.

Poentje blinked at me with her yellow eyes. "What an epic shit show, right?" I bent down to pet her and continued talking pet-friendly nonsense in my native language until I felt better.

My fingers hovered above the fabric which had long lost his scent.

How inappropriate and petty would it be to give him back the jumper he had left here many months ago? It was buried here next to my own clothes and I had kept it for unknown, yet definitely too sentimental reasons. I hadn't touched it for a long time, even though my cat seemed to like me better when I wore this particular item of clothing.

Eventually, I got dressed and tried not to question why I put effort into making myself look pretty or why I chose to wear my good knickers.

I opened Tom's text messages and read the words carrying a concerningly panicked undertone.

"My sweet Tom," I muttered. Not far? I thought he was in Atlanta. I sighed and typed a reply.

11:42 Are you okay? Saw what happened at James's. I'm not far from NY, I can come if you need me!

00:14 Nin? Talk to me

Only if you can easily afford to come. Otherwise, ice-cream coma at my place?

I added a crying emoji and a heart. The knowledge that Tom could soon be on his way was comfort enough to make me drop my worries for a bit but first, I had to get this over with and face Ewan.

~~~

Somebody tell me why I needed to see a newspaper stand with a stack of boulevard papers as I hasted down the street from the taxi to the hotel. It screamed out an aggressive headline written in bold red letters.

"ACTOR INVOLVED WITH A MINOR. Is there another predator in Hollywood?"

I silently pleaded for mercy to a being I wasn't sure existed. The spread of this misinformation was my fault and it gave me enough nausea to clutch my hand to my stomach.

I managed to direct my steps into the Ritz, wearing a hat and sunglasses and thus, I felt unrecognised by anyone I didn't want to meet under any circumstances.

"I'm here to speak to Lumière," I whispered to the conciërge, whose smile was the most perfected mix of fake and friendly. At least you could always count on their discretion.

"Certainly, madam." he dialled a number and I drummed my fingers onto the polished counter in an impatient manner. "Sir, a young lady is asking to see you... very well, sir." He spoke into the phone and blinked at me behind his glasses. He hung up. "Room 66, madam."

"Thank you."

I was a nervous wreck choking on an unknown force. I felt too restrained by the limited space inside the elevator and I removed my sunglasses and smiled at my reflection in the mirror. "Ewan, hi!" I practised my countenance and tried again when I thought that had been a bit too joyous. "Ewan, it's nice to see you. It's been a while... Hi, you look great, urgh, no-" I closed my eyes and breathed thoroughly, remembering that I was an actress. All I needed was to try and picture myself being untroubled and dignified.

I eventually walked down the corridor until I stopped right in front of Room 66 and I knocked before I could change my mind.

Nothing happened until a shadow appeared under the door. It swung open and for a moment, a man with a million-dollar smile and a woman with her words stuck in her throat were staring at each other.

"Nini." The lines around his eyes crinkled even more as he said my name. The expression on his face and the tone of his voice seemed genuinely happy and I couldn't deny the pull it caused at the corners of my heart. He could still make me weak. He provoked plenty of contrasting feelings inside of me but all the negative ones faltered and diminished compared to the warm feeling bubbling up inside of me.

He had grown back his Obi-Wan beard for the shoot and he was wearing a simple white t-shirt and jeans. He was as handsome as ever. Behind my poker face, I felt the urge to roll my eyes at him. Seriously, you couldn't convince me that Queen Padme Amidala of Naboo, Senator of the republic fell in love with a child-murdering, dictatorship sympathiser with anger issues when Obi-Wan Kenobi was right there the whole fucking time.

"Please, don't just stand there, come in." He said with that familiar Scottish lilt. Despite it all, it was good to hear his voice.

I stepped inside. "It's nice seeing you again, Ewan. How have you been?" He closed the door and politely invited me to go ahead.

Ewan cleared his throat. "Oh, you probably know how busy a shoot is but I've been really enjoying myself so far." He followed me into the tastefully decorated living room. "I called for tea if you'd like some?"

"Yes, thank you," I replied stiffly.

He looked at me, really looked at me. "How are you?" he asked.

"I'm very well." I lied. I wasn't in the mood for tea and I wasn't exactly 'well'. He raised one quizzical brow at me and I realised I still couldn't hide anything from him. "I- uhm, have been better if I'm being honest." I finally admitted.

I still stood there, not even removing my hat. Maybe it was better to get this small talk over and done with. I pondered in the space of the living room for a bit. Our proximity or simply the fact that I was in the same room with him again was too much and it caused my heart to ache from all these buried feelings. Still, I smiled.

The break-up had been sudden and I had suffered for months...in private. I hadn't let anyone notice my heartbreak in public and I was now trying to treat Ewan like my friend, even if I felt the echo of the way I used to love loving him. He must certainly have thought we were friends.

I looked up at him as he stepped closer to me and he sighed, showing his sympathy by gently squeezing my arms. "Is there anything I can do? Talk to Corden, maybe?" his angered tone wasn't directed at me.

He let go of me when I tried to shrug him off and step away. "Ewan, listen, you don't have to be so kind. I'm truly sorry for what I've said at the late-night show. I never meant to say these things and I didn't know-" I stammered. "I didn't know this would happen, I'm sorry."

His expression became soft, not at all what I had expected and his tongue darted out to wet his lips before speaking. "I know, darling. It wasn't your fault. Those were the rules of the game."

The confusion on my face must have been evident. "You're not angry with me?" I asked.

"No," he chuckled. "I am not angry with you. Is that what you think this was about?"

"It's not?" I frowned and he let out another breath of laughter. "Well, it wasn't a nice thing to wake up to being called a fucking predator and pervert, I've got to admit that, but no. I wanted to see you."

"Oh." I deflated into the soft cushions of the sofa. I should definitely at least tweet a statement. Maybe he had to do so as well.

Slowly, I removed my hat and let my face sink into my hand. "I'm so sorry," I repeated.

I never would have known back then that many years later, he would touch me in all kinds of ways.

Ewan crouched down next to me and his hand came to rest on my back. The gesture was meant to be comforting but a flashback carried me to a moment that passed many years ago.

I had been terribly young when I had fallen hard for him, my first real crush. You couldn't effortlessly shake off your first crush.

His hand had been on the small of my back, provoking goosebumps where naked skin, exposed by my costume, had come in contact with his hand. The most simple touch, the barest of all indications and entirely over-interpreted by me.

I let my gaze drift over towards the large bed I could see in the next room and quickly snapped my eyes back to him before he could catch up on my thoughts. I could barely keep myself from clawing my hands into my dress while he continued to gently rub my back. It had been so long. He had been the last to touch me that way. Until this day he remained to be the last person to please and take pleasure in my body. But this wasn't why I was here, I reminded and scolded myself.

Ewan sat down next to me and raised his hand as if he would have liked to push a strand of my hair behind my ear. He suppressed the old habit and let it sink back into his lap.

"I'm so sorry I made you think that I asked you to come because of that. No, the things people say at James Corden's are soon forgotten anyway. Eventually, they'll realise that it wasn't like that back then. God, I bloody hate that guy for upsetting you like this. He's got his headlines now but I think you handled the situation as best as you could." He said as a matter of fact.

I sneered and tried to somehow lighten up the mood. "I know you don't like him, but honestly, he was such a pain in the ass, I almost nearly lost it and threw the turkey testicles right back into his face."

Ewan acted shocked. "I thought you liked everyone." He argued and I laughed. "No, did I ever give that impression?"

"I don't know, you're always so..." He didn't say what I was. Instead, his breath hitched in his throat and he distracted himself with his hands. A smirk played on his lips. "So you're saying he's made himself a new enemy?"

I recalled the day I got the part in our movie back then and I had excitedly announced to my grandma that I was supposed to be in front of the camera with Ewan McGregor. I had acted like many silly teenagers and almost died every time my crush had even looked at me. And then I had gone home to cry over 'Moulin Rouge!' for hours. I used to be utterly and hopelessly in love with him and eventually, it had passed. In some ways, love unrequited hurt more than any suppressed childhood traumas or things you did during your adult life and you weren't particularly proud of.

"He certainly got himself written off the Christmas card list." I made him laugh and loved it the way I still managed to always make him laugh.

Some things didn't change. When Ewan slowly began to mute, he still had that same look in his eyes. I wasn't stupid or blinded enough to not be aware of the remaining spark left between us.

"Pray tell, is it a fault or a virtue to linger on only the good memories?" I asked.

After a while, reappearing images and this weirdly comfortable energy between us provoked Ewan to become more serious again. "I'm sorry too." He admitted and regret washed over his features. "About how we ended things. I'm not... I wasn't in a good place and for a while, you fixed everything. Like a bandaid. I was an idiot and a prick for treating you that way and I'm sorry."

Ewan gave me an amused look. "I know what you mean." he paused for a second. "Do you remember the daisy flower crowns you made for us?" he asked and I started grinning.

"How could I forget?" I replied.

It seemed like I had been waiting for this apology for a long time and I let out a shuddering breath. "I forgive you-" I began. "Of course, I do."

I thought about the night we had met again at a charity ball and all this buried attraction then reciprocated went from being in hibernation to something blooming hot and alive. With these burning flames reignited, we had come together like a wildfire or like two storms across a free ocean. We were inevitable and like many things you got too much of, it became toxic. He caused me to lose my balance and I grew into the drug that made him despondent. The drug with the power to take away his pain but could not harmonise with his life. In all earnestness, I had never wanted to be an overdose.

The public had been hard on us, his family had not agreed to our relationship and it had been just him and me, alone against the world. You couldn't take it forever and I had essentially been, just the other woman.

"I feel responsible too for making your life harder back then and also.. just now. I don't want anyone to think less of you because of me." I said and after a next thought, I scoffed. "I only hope I can make the world believe that I had just been a stupid, love-struck teenager."

Ewan smiled, eyes drifting away in a flash of what seemed to have a hint of nostalgia. "I remember." He chuckled. "I thought you were just a really friendly girl."

I frowned at him in disbelief. "Oh, come on. It was so obvious. You showed me how to fight with a lightsabre with plastic broomsticks. How could you think I wouldn't fall head over heels for that? You were so patient with me, even when I whacked you in the head and we had to stop shooting for the day."

"Well, you certainly are a wild card." He grinned endearingly. "And look how far you've come. I always knew you were meant to be where you are. Congratulations by the way, on your award."

I blushed a little. "Th-thank you. I didn't think you'd see my movie."

For a second, he seemed confused. "Of course I did and you were bloody fantastic. One moment you're this wonderful promising young talent and just this silly, funny girl and the next, you're a big award-winning movie star. You grew so much and I'm incredibly proud of you."

"I.. don't know what to say. Thank you, Ewan. That means a lot to me." I fumbled with my bracelet.

He stroked one hand through his soft beard, smiling into it. "Anyhow, if you still feel like you would like to whack me with a broomstick again, you're welcome but make it quick, I'm not a fan of pain."

"That was ten years ago!" I couldn't suppress a peal of laughter. No, I did not want to hit him. Revenge was not my style.

For a second, it felt like old times. "I remember bothering you all the time. Do you still recall the things I asked you?" "About what?" "The Star Wars movies, of course." "Oh, you asked which counsel chair was the most comfortable and wait... If I knew what Obi-Wan is doing on Tatooine for so long." I tilted my head up to him to spot a hint or any sign of information. "Do you know now?" I quizzed him.

He raised his eyebrows. "Well, yes but I'm not allowed to talk about it. Disney will kill me." "I'm looking forward to it-" I stopped myself, mortified as I realised how wrong that came out.

Ewan looked surprised and I laughed nervously. "No, I mean... looking forward to the Kenobi series, not-." I scrunched up my face.

"I didn't know I fucked up that badly!" "Nooo-" "Oh, I see how it is." He had understood, alright. He was just teasing me.

I pouted. The last bit of frosty feeling left between us had been completely replaced with familiarity. I knew I was going to watch that series and as a Star Wars fan, I was anticipating it with intensity.

"One teenie tiny little teaser?" I begged with huge doe eyes, which I hoped would still work on him. "Please?"

In old times, he would most likely have asked what he'd get in return. I would tease him and play hard to get until we did whatever we wanted to and with each other. We couldn't do that anymore, so he just let me beg a little while longer until he finally gave in.

"Okay... one." he accentuated it with a single risen finger. "An old friend is going to return."

"What's that supposed to mean, an old friend? That could be anyone." I wasn't satisfied with his answer, frustrated even, but it also didn't seem like he would clarify his statement, so I let it go.

A comfortable silence fell between us and while his blue eyes held mine, I was glad I couldn't find any remorse or guilt for the past anymore. Yet I caught myself wishing he would tell me he wanted me back and I asked myself how quickly I would come running back into his arms. He could tell me what to do, what to think and in a way, I was secretly yearning for this simplicity.

I took a deep breath, realising I needed to say what was on my mind. "I still think about you, Ewan." I shared and watched him tense up for a moment like he was trying to find the right words.

"I'm sorry if I ever made you feel like you were somehow less important to me. You weren't. I did love you." He spoke softly and I swallowed back a lump in my throat. Past tense.

"Yeah, me too." I choked on my words.

For a moment, he looked scared. "I wanted you to be the first to know something before I will make it public someday." he hesitated. "I'm going to-" Ewan was interrupted by a knock at the door and he sighed. "Excuse me, please."

"I'm... getting married."

He got up and opened the door. I didn't move to see him returning with our tea but he wordlessly poured me a delicate cup and I thanked him, voice sounding breathless. I avoided touching his hand when he offered me the cup. I could neither smell nor taste it.

"What did you want to tell me?" I inquired and he breathed out deeply as he sat back down.

My cup dropped a little too forcefully into the saucer and I might have looked like I had swallowed a broomstick. Tears stung my eyes. He was marrying the woman he cheated on... with me?

"Are you alright?" He asked, concerned.

The body language I could observe from the corner of my eye told me differently but it felt like a personal attack. His next words hit a nerve prominent with dull anger. "I cannot change the way things are but I would like us to be friends and maybe it won't take almost another year before we see each other again."

"Are you mocking me?" "No, I would never," Ewan argued. The tea lay abandoned on the tray next to us.

I couldn't even look at him but it slowly began to dawn on me. "I have always been just a possibility for you. Another option to choose from, that is... unkind." I spoke softly.

"What, will you invite me to your wedding?" I snapped, almost amused but a second later, I felt myself restrain my emotions again. I sat there and thought for a while before I could look into his eyes once more. I grasped the importance for him to receive complete closure and I hated the way he made me feel like he was somehow required to receive my blessing.

I wanted to move on as well and for that to happen, I needed to muster up the dignity to grand him absolution and release him of his obligation to me. I guess I could count myself lucky that he had chosen to tell me the happy news personally before announcing it to the public.

Ewan stayed silent but he slowly started to nod. Eventually, he told me the truth. "Yes. I am."

"I wish you all the luck in the world, I really do," I said and meant it with all my heart but my voice had broken off mid-sentence. A burning tear threatened to escape my eye and I realised, had he ever asked me if I would have wanted to marry him, I would have said yes. He had always said he never wanted to get remarried.

God, I felt so stupid asking but I had to know. "Are you happy? Because if you are happier with her than you were with me, you must do whatever you think is the right thing."

I silently took in his statement. This was maybe all the information I had needed to get up and leave.

"Nini, please," he called after me and I felt myself stop in my tracks as if roots had begun to grip my ankles. His words trapped me. "Don't let it end this way." He begged me. Ewan's voice was right behind me. I could almost feel his body warmth and slow, shallow breaths in my neck.

I closed my eyes as the tears started to fall. "I'll be alright," I told him and my back remained to be turned towards him as my scorn and love for him wept. I had loved him for so long it had become a habit and I was tired. Just tired.

He didn't love me and I knew that now. "Just let me let you go," I told Ewan and left him without turning back.

I walked out of the hotel and although my face was hidden beneath a hat and behind sunglasses, they couldn't provide an armour tough enough to bring me any comfort. It was as if people were staring and they knew I had been broken and I was constantly reminded... always reminded by the looks on their faces.

~

Part 4

Translation notes:

(dut): Ik ben al wakker - (eng): I am already awake

[ms-rampage]

Writing prompts

Sentences for 1, 17 and 18 for Kate and Wheaty.

If this helps: maybe something with the events of New Dawn where Wheaty survived the collpase, and is reunited with Kate after all these years she thought he was dead

Reunited

Wheaty x Kate Winchester (OC)

Takes place in the FC: New Dawn universe, if Wheaty and Pratt survived the Collapse.

Warnings: Angst but happy angst. 

This one is a little lengthy, I got carried away with it.

1 for "I never expected to meet you here"

17 for "I've gone through some real shit in my life, but you make my present and future seem so much more brighter"

18 for "I... I want to be happy with you. Now and in the future"

________

It’s been 17 years since the bombs dropped. Everyone is gone, dead, the majority of Hope County is gone because of the explosions. 

The Whitetail Mountains are completely obliterated, reduced to nothing but a land of radiation and ash. 

Every time Kate looks over to the North, she thinks of one person, and one person only. Her boyfriend at the time when the bombs fell. Wheaty, member of the Whitetail Militia, and helped stop the Cult and The Father. Ending Jacob Seed’s wrath of the Whitetails.

She still remembers that day like it was yesterday, they went on the last date, she still has the gift he gave her that day. She still has the photos they took from that day, even the photos from the day they met a few years before all this shit happened. 

She never forgave herself, she hates herself for not going back to Joseph’s compound and get her boyfriend. She didn’t even care for her safety at the time, she loved him. She didn’t care if she died trying to get him. He could’ve been the step-father to her daughter, and they could’ve had kids of their own. 

Lost in her own thoughts, thinking about him and all the fun times they had together. 

“Kate?!” Paige asks, patting her shoulder snapping her out of her trance. 

“Huh?! What?!” she mutters, looking at her older sister confused. “You okay?” she asks. 

Nodding her head, “Yeah, yeah I’m fine”. 

Knowing for a fact her little sister is thinking about her deceased boyfriend, “It’s him, isn’t it?” she asks. 

Nodding her head again, trying to hold back her tears “Yeah. Yeah it is”. Comforting her little sister, telling her everything will be fine and that Wheaty would’ve wanted her to move on. 

“I know. I know he would’ve wanted me to, but it’s very hard to move on” she tells her, trying to get back to crafting weapons. 

“Come on, let’s go scavenging. We need more supplies for crafting weapons” Paige tells her, trying to get her mind off of him. 

****

Wheaty along with Deputy Staci Pratt survived the Collapse. They were able to seek shelter in the Wolf’s Den but after several years they weren’t able to live there much longer because of the radiation. Not sure how they made it out of that toxic wasteland. They were able to steal a boat from the Highwaymen, and go ashore. 

“Where are we heading towards?” Wheaty asks Pratt. Looking at the map, he got from the Wolf’s Den. 

“Looks like Holland Valley” he responds, looking down at the map and around the colorful scenery. 

Wheaty never forgot about Kate, he thought about her nonstop since the bombs fell. Hoping she was still alive, and if she was, maybe they can pick up where they left off.

Like Kate he still remembered the day when the bombs fell. His date he had with her, him giving her one of his bracelets. Talking about their future together, he remembers everything they talked about that October day. The conversation of marriage and kids came up. 

If the painful, worse happened, and she wasn’t alive then he’s gonna have to try and move on from her. She was his first real girlfriend, he cared for her deeply. He loved her, he still loves her. His “Firefly” is what he called her. 

****

Scavenging for supplies, normally they would send their teenage kids to do this, Paige and Kate decided to do this solo just the two of them, like the good old times. 

Killing any Highwaymen they encountered, and looting them for their shit. Rummaging through some abandoned houses near where Dutch’s region was.

Scavenging didn’t help Kate keep her mind off of Wheaty, it made it worse. They used to do stuff like this as a date, they loved doing simple things as a date. Making out, sitting by a campfire. Pretty much anything that involved them being together was considered a date to them. 

Looting a dead Highwaymen, stealing his bullets, gun and all other supplies that he no longer needs. 

“Find anything?!” she asks Paige, while dragging her feet on the ground. Trying not to look bothered and depressed. 

“I found some things. Just the usual stuff” she replies, “Duct tape, titanium pipes, carbon fiber, circuit boards and some first aid kits”.

She nods in response, “Alright”. Looking off towards the Whitetail Mountains. Trying not to let her emotions get to her. Even after 17 years, her feelings for him would still be alive and very active. 

Being a single mother to her daughter, not being able to move on. 

*****

Wheaty and Pratt pass through Joseph’s island, exiting the region. 

“Now we’re in Holland Valley” Pratt tells him, looking down at the map. 

They cut through the grass area, going towards some houses. 

“There might be some supplies in those houses” Wheaty tells him. They walk towards the houses, luckily there are no Highwaymen lingering outside of it. 

Not knowing his girlfriend is alive, and is only 300 yards away from him and the former Deputy. 

They rummage through the house, finding some supplies that can be useful for them. Some metal springs, duct tape and copper wire. 

They were able to find some weapons, and use their supplies to craft them. Moving on the the other houses in the area. They see a car outside of one of the houses, for a split second Wheaty sees someone enter one of the houses. 

“I think someone went into the house” he tells Pratt. 

They quietly and quickly approach the collapsed house. 

*****

Paige and Kate continue scavenging for supplies inside one of the houses. Not knowing her boyfriend is alive and is only less than 200 yards away from her. 

They hear movement outside, they immediately stop what they’re doing and look at each other. 

“You hear that?!” Paige mouths to her sister. Kate nods in response, they head out the backway and sneak up on the stragglers. 

Hiding in the tall grass, can’t see much of them, not their faces but they know they’re two men. Paige looks over at Kate, and mouths while signaling her “Two men inside the house. Stragglers”. 

She nods, and they immediately change their plans, and go back to their car. Only to be interrupted and attacked by a pack of wild dogs. One of them jumps at Paige, trying to bite her. “You little shit!!!” she yells, hitting the crazed dog with her pistol. Kate swings her bat at them trying to scare off the little rabid bastards. 

Pratt and Wheaty hear the commotion, and rush out the house. Seeing the two women getting attacked by the pack of wild dogs.

The sisters were able to fight them off and kill the pack. Not noticing the two guys 10 feet behind them. 

Paige notices them after a few seconds, and immediately aims her gun at them, and vice versa. 

“Who the fuck are you?!” she asks. Kate turns around, sees them and does the same thing. Wheaty immediately lowers his gun. and stares at Kate, recognizing her. 

Feeling overcome with emotion seeing his girlfriend for the first time in 17 years. Seeing the beaded bracelet he gave her on her left wrist. Still in tacked, holding together after all these years. 

Being 19-20 years old when the Collapse happened and now they're both in their mid 30s. 

She doesn’t realize her old boyfriend, that she never broke up with, is in front of her. Alive and well. 

Staring at Kate, she doesn't recognize him until he calls her by her nickname he gave her.

“Firefly?” he mutters, slowly stepping forward, drawing his gun into its holster. Her facial expression softens, and lowers her gun. Her eyes widened in shock but also in concern. Her breath trembled. Feeling all the hairs on her body stand up. 

"Pratt?" Paige mutters in disbelief. Recognizing the former deputy who has the same burnt scars and rashes as Jacob Seed.

"Paige?" he responds, just as in shock as her. Recognizing the eldest Winchester sister.

Looking at him in disbelief, Kate slowly approaches him. Afraid that this is all a hallucination, or a dream. In arms reach of him, she looks up and down at him, not sure if he’s real, scared to even find out. 

“Wheaty?” she whispers, looking up at him, tears forming in her eyes. Voice breaking. 

“It’s me” he whispers back, trying to hold back tears, wanting to reach out and touch her. That’s all she needed for her to run into his arms, sobbing into his chest as he holds her tightly. Lifting her up off the ground a bit. 

“Holy shit” Paige mutters, “Wheaty? Pratt?. You’re both alive!!”. 

“Yeah, we barely survived the explosions” Pratt responds, “Living under the radiation”. 

Kate and Wheaty continue to embrace each other tightly. She pulls away to look up at him, he’s gotten slightly taller, his hair grew a little still in their usual braids. Looking like a chief to a Native American tribe. Looking a little bit muscular. Cupping his face, tears streaming down her cheeks and kisses him. His hands placed on her waist.

Paige smiles at the two, after all these years thinking her little sister’s boyfriend was dead only for him to survive the Collapse and surviving the radiation in the Whitetails. 

“I never expected to meet you here” he whispers to her. A tearful smile on his face. Leaving kisses on her face, wanting her close to him. 

They leave back to Prosperity, the rest of the day Kate and Wheaty spend time together, just the two of them. Introducing her daughter to him. 

Finally being able to be together again, they catch up. Picking up where their relationship started. Still looking the same after 17 years, she still looked beautiful to him, she always had. 

“I missed you so much” she mutters, pressing her head against his forehead, kissing him. 

“I missed you too” he responds, kissing her nose. Holding onto her tightly. 

"I thought you were dead" she mutters, tears streaming down her face. He holds her tighter, afraid that he'll lose her again. 

“I’ve gone through some real shit in my life, but you make my present and future seem so much more brighter” he tells her, holding her “I. I want to be happy with you. Now and in the future. I want us to be together. Like how we were supposed to”. 

She nods her head, tears streaming down her cheeks, smiling up at him, “I want that too. I want us to be happy. Doing everything we said we would do”. 

Marriage and kids were, and still are on both of their minds, yeah Kate has Daenerys but she planned on having more kids with Wheaty after she was born, if she knew he was alive and lived with her in the bunker. They could've had kids together.

[fvrxdrm]

City of the Living Dead

Chapter 1

“Y/N, wake up!”

Carlos yelled at you to wake you up and shook your still sleeping form violently. Your eyes abruptly shot open after hearing his full-throated voice, your E/C orbs immediately landing on the face of the man hovering above you. 

You scanned his face, still not fully aware of your surroundings due to your sleepiness but as time went on and your brain had sobered up a bit, you noticed that he didn’t look calm and balmy like how he usually was, he looked...agitated which mirrored the way he shouted at you.

“Carlos?” You muttered, your mouth barely opening as the rest of your body  was still putting itself together.

“Come on. We gotta get out of here”, Carlos said as he unlatched all of the metal straps holding you down onto your bed using the computer that was situated on a wooden desk a few feet away from you.

“What? Why? What’s going on?” You asked, confused as to why the soldier was jittery all of a sudden.

You forced yourself to sit up with both of your hands aiding you as you struggled to do the simple action. It had been a long time since you’ve done it anyway. Those stupid scientists would not let you.

“Would you believe me if I told you that a zombie apocalypse is happening?”

Now that woke you up.

“What?”

Zombie apocalypse? How’d that happen? Don’t those things happen in like movies or something?

“The city’s in total chaos. Don’t know how it happened but it is... Listen, we’re the only two left in here. The rest of our team members are looking for other survivors and something we could use to get out of here”, Carlos replied as he draped your arm around his shoulders and wrapped one of his own around your waist to help you stand up since your legs felt like jelly at that moment.

“What about my sister?” You questioned, remembering that your sister was taken with you.

“I haven’t seen your sister yet so I guess her bodyguard helped her out”

“Do you know who her bodyguard is?”

“No. Those information are also confidential for some unknown reason. Can you walk?” 

“I think so”, you slowly slid your arm off of Carlos’ shoulders as you carefully took a few steps to your right side, Carlos’ arm still not leaving your waist until he was sure that you got the hang of it.

“Alright, I’m ready”, you spoke after a few seconds of finding your balance.

“Not quite. You still need to change your clothes. Wouldn’t want to go out in the wild like that, would we?” Carlos uttered as he gestured his hand towards your skimpy hospital gown that had a deep v going dangerously down below your breasts, showing off your cleavage.

Why the fuck is my gown this revealing?

“Right. Where will I get some clothes?”

“I think we got some in the locker room”

“Okay, let’s go then”

“Come on, I’ll lead the way”, Carlos motioned for you to follow him as he opened the white door, looking back towards where you were to make sure that you were trailing right behind him.

*****

“We’re here”

Carlos swiped the key card that he had been holding onto since he entered your room into the key slot located on the right side of the locker room’s door and waited until the light beside the slot turned green before pushing the metal door open.

“Ladies first”, Carlos spoke with a smile as he raised his arm towards the room that was full of lockers (duh) and some benches, his free hand still placed on the door to keep it from slamming pancakes into your faces.

“It better not be to check out my ass”, you snickered as you strolled inside the room, immediately checking every locker in hopes of getting some new clothes to change into ‘cause the hospital gown you were wearing was a fashion no-no.

“Nah. I’m too manly to do that”, Carlos said back as he followed you inside, closing the door right behind him after doing so.

“What a gent”

“I tend to be”

Carlos helped in finding you new clothes, searching lockers after lockers until he finally found a plain black tank top, a (F/C) (sports/balconette/demi/whatever you like) bra, a pair of ripped black denim shorts, a denim jacket, and a pair of black combat boots.

Perfect.

“Hey, Y/N, I got something that might fit you”, Carlos mouthed aloud as he held the neatly folded clothes with both hands right in front of you.

“Thanks”

You quickly grabbed the clothes that were placed on top of his palms before entering the small area that was covered by a white curtain.

“So, what’s the plan, hero?” You asked the mop-headed soldier in order to break the slightly awkward silence that filled the room as you changed into the new clothes that Carlos found as quickly as possible. 

“Like I said, my teammates are looking for something we could use to get the hell out of here but they sure are taking their sweet time”, Carlos replied as he shook his head, his back turned to where you were as if he could see your naked body through the curtain even though he could literally only see your silhouette. What an actual gentleman.

“What’s it like up there?”

“A shit-hole. This place is full of zombies and shit. There’s also this giant-ass dude just roaming around. You wouldn’t wanna see it”

“But I have to if I want to get out of here”

“Yeah... Listen, once we get out of this facility, you stay right behind me. Wouldn’t want you to get lost”, you chuckled at his remark, your head shaking a bit as you did so.

He’s like an over-protective big brother or something.

“How would I get lost in this place? I mean, I grew up here in Illinois. I basically know every twists and turns in this place”, you said as you put the pair of shorts on, making sure that the bottom of your tank top was tucked inside your trousers. 

Unseen by you, though, Carlos’ face fell as he heard those words come out of your mouth.

Shit, she doesn’t know?

“Y/N...”

“Yeah?”

“You’re not in Illinois”

Your heart dropped.

Your hands stopped tugging on your jacket and your eyes widened by themselves as you stood still, frozen in place.

“What?” You finally spoke after a minute of silence as you practically yanked the curtain open and stepped out of the tiny space, your eyebrows furrowing together in confusion as you stomped towards the man.

“Y/N, you’re in Raccoon City. Did nobody tell you that”, Carlos said as he turned around to face you, his face mirroring the look you were giving him.

“No”, you shook your head from one side to another as you said that one word to emphasize what you were saying since you were not sure if he had heard you at all for the reason that your voice sounded barely above a whisper as you spoke.

You stayed silent, taking in the newfound information you got from the male right in front of you.

Your brain scrambled a million thoughts together as bewilderment flooded inside your head. But even so, one question kept nagging you every time you woke up on top of the leather-topped bed you were placed and strapped on.

“How long was I in here?” You asked.

You were nervous as hell for some unknown reason but you were itching to know the answer.

What if I was in here for like a month? Are my friends worried?

Slowly, your heart began to pound in your chest, the sound becoming louder and louder until you could hear its hammering ringing inside your ears. You were starting to think that Carlos could hear the anxiety you were feeling even though you didn’t let it out verbally.

Please don’t be too long, please don’t be too long...

“One year”, Carlos finally responded after a few seconds of heavy silence.

Your heart dropped into your stomach again and you sure as hell heard it shatter into a million pieces after hearing those words come right out of his mouth.

“One year?”

“Yeah... Hey, don’t cry. Your pretty face might get ruined”, Carlos said as he wiped the stray tear that you didn’t even notice away with his calloused thumb and attempted to comfort you but it was no use. Your heart broke at those two words.

One year? That’s how long I was gone? That’s even worst than a month! How the hell was I missing for that long!?

“Hey, don’t worry. I’ll make sure to bring you back to Illinois. If it makes you feel a bit more at ease, I snatched this bracelet and this necklace from Dr. Birkin’s office. Thought these might be really important to you”, Carlos spoke again as he took out a customized bracelet with your friend’s name on it and a silver necklace that had a(n) (birthstone) stone attached into a metal framing from one of his pockets.

You gently took the bracelet from his hand before reading the four letters that were written on each tiny cube bead. 

Leon

God, how is he feeling right now? 

You wondered. 

Out of all the friends you’ve had, Leon was the most over-protective of them all. You didn’t know why he was like that but you were kind of glad that someone genuinely cared about you even though most of the time it was the cause of your arguments.

You see, you and Leon have been best friends since birth and so were both of your mothers. For some reason, your mother and his decided that it would be a good idea to get pregnant at the same time and then BOOM! You and Leon were born.

I’m so sorry, Leon.

“Hey, I don’t know who this Leon kid is but don’t worry, I’ll bring you back to him, too”, Carlos uttered out loud as if he could read your own random thoughts. He circled around you to place your necklace around your neck, making sure that he wouldn’t snip even a tiny part of your skin as he clasped the hooks together. You smiled.

“Thanks, Carlos. I owe you one”

“No problem, kiddo. That’s what friends are for, right?”

Yeah, and you were glad that you had one in that hell-hole of a facility you were in.

---***---

Ayo! Chapter 1, wuz good?! I'm sorry this was kind of rushed. I was busy with dance and all that stuff🤣

Anyways, how was it? Did you like it? Did you not?