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imagining-in-the-margins · 4 years

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Petty Pair (Raymond/F!Reader)

Summary: Reader wants to fuck Raymond to spite his father. Raymond thinks that’s really hot, actually.

A/N: This idea came into my head and literally never left. It lives rent free in my head, and I hope you feel it now, too. Couple: Raymond/Fem!Reader Category: Smut (NSFW) Content Warning: Fingering, penetrative sex, protected sex, mild exhibitionism, getting caught Word Count: 5k

MASTERLIST

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There was a grand total of one functioning bar in this town at this hour of night. This drastic and unforgivable shortage of places for me to buy alcohol was also the only reason I found myself frequenting said bar.

After about an hour of swatting off a group of men that were objectively disgusting, I resigned myself to fate and the realization that the night would turn out no better than it would have if I hadn’t tried to get drunk on cheap liquor. I was ready to pack up, close out, and fuck off back home when it happened.

A familiar face walked through the door. Familiar, I suppose, was a stretch. I’d only seen his face in one picture – a picture I’m pretty sure was meant to be thrown away. It stuck out to me because it was the first indication that I got that Donald Wadsworth had a son. And a cute son, much less.

My brain scanned through buried memories to try and find the one where his recently divorced mother had told me his name. I knew the memory existed somewhere, surrounded under a mountain of bullshit, but it was so hard to focus when I was watching the poor kid shuffle over to the bar and plop himself down against the counter.

It had taken me that long to realize that he was wearing pajamas. Cute.

His fashion choices and bedhead paired nicely with the pout he wore when he shyly scanned the room. Altogether, everything about him assured me that he literally couldn’t have been less intimidating if he tried. That theory was further solidified by the way he shrunk against the counter when he saw me approach. By the time I sat down next to him, he’d all but disappeared under his jacket.

“Hey, you’re... Raymond, right?” The name came to me at the same time his eyes locked with mine. The dark hazel color shone almost gold in the orange hue of the bar.

“You’re Donald’s son?” I asked as warmly as possible while using his father’s name. Which is to say, not warm at all.

“Unfortunately,” Raymond droned with a similar disdain.

“I’ll say,” I chuckled as I leaned forward to match his slouch over the bar. “I work with your dad.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, me too.”

That alone seemed to cause a shift in his entire demeanor. It didn’t surprise me. Most of the women in this town were brainwashed into thinking that if a guy didn’t outright assault you at first glance, he was probably a solid dude.

And Donald Wadsworth was not a solid dude.

“He’s like, a giant fucking asshole,” I said.

Raymond’s eyes lit up.

“Right?!” he shouted back, practically falling from his seat in his enthusiasm as he continued to yell, “I know!”

There was no keeping it together with this caricature of a man, but I didn’t really want to, either. In the few seconds I’d interacted with him, everything about him changed from defensive to relaxed. Like all he needed was someone to tell him that it wasn’t all in his head.

Unfortunately, I was going to need to ask something of him. But I figured he wouldn’t mind what I was going to request.

“But hey, that’s actually why I wanted to talk to you. I have a favor to ask you.” I kept my tone even and nonchalant, trying to avoid coming off as parental.

He eyed me as warily as I expected, tugging his drink a little bit closer as he started to shrink in on himself again.

“I’m gonna be honest,” he mumbled, “there’s not really anything I can do to hurt him that I haven’t already tried.”

There was no need for self-degradation. Raymond might have thought he tried everything, but from his body language around a woman, it was safe to assume he’d never tried my plan.

“Wanna bet?”

Raymond sighed in surrender before he shrugged, “Sure. What’s the favor?”

“I want you to fuck me.”

It wasn’t my intention to wait until the drink was in his mouth before I spoke, but it was how it ended up happening. And almost instantaneously, he spat the drink out over the bar before calmly squeaking, “I’m sorry, what?”

“I want to have sex with you,” I repeated like it was the most normal thing in the world. Then I sought confirmation that was only a little important in the grand scheme of things. “You’re staying at his place, right?”

“Just for tonight, yeah—" he started, but all I heard was the ding of a checkmark on my mental list that meant we were cleared for the next step.

“Great. We should do it there, then. Tonight.”

Raymond’s tongue stuck out from between his teeth, the visual of restraint matching his narrowed, shifty eyes and fidgety legs.

“I feel like I’m missing something...” he muttered.

I heard him, but I didn’t really care. The clock was running, and I was ready to get something good out of this night. Possibly even two good things, if he ended up being as helpful as his cute, submissive demeanor implied.

“I’ll drive. You want to go now?”

“I— I mean, sure, yeah,” he stumbled over the words and his own feet as he left the bar. “We can… go have sex.”

I laughed at how cool he tried to sound because he definitely failed. I reached past him to drop cash on the bar and grabbed his hand on the way back. The amount of warmth stormed it in was shocking, considering all the blood seemed to be in his face, ears, and the tent in his pants. But the comfort of his fingers interlocking with mine on instinct did more for me than he knew.

“Great. Let’s go.”

Raymond was silent on the way out and into the car, which was about what I expected from him. Every glance his way would show the gears slowly turning in his head, like he was still trying to grasp whether my proposition was serious. Like I was trying to murder him or something.

When the car started, so did some sliver of confidence in him, although he still cleared his throat before he asked, “Do you need directions, or…?”

“No, I’ve been to his place before.”

That caution and suspicion returned and multiplied, and before I even pulled out of the parking lot he had shrugged down in the seat and buried his face in his hands.

“Please tell me you didn’t fuck my dad,” he whined in the most dramatic manner possible.

I couldn’t blame him for the theatrics, although the implication was not at all appreciated.

“Absolutely the fuck not,” I spat, my face curling into a pure expression of disgust. At least we both felt similarly on that note.

“Thank god.” The relief flowed through him, allowing him to sit back up to his previously half-straight position. I decided that it was probably best to cut him some slack for assuming I would ever fuck that devil of a man, because I got the sinking suspicion that he might have known a couple girls his age that had done exactly that.

That thought led me back to the very reason I was there at all, and a chill ran down my spine as I muttered without thinking, “Wasn’t for a lack of his trying, though.”

The whole tone in the car shifted in seconds. One glance over at Raymond confirmed the repressed rage and sadness rolling off of him in waves that were more accurately described as a tsunami.

It was just unsettling enough that I snapped my eyes back to the road, giving a nervous chuckle to tell him that it wasn’t that serious. I didn’t need him to defend my honor, or anything. It did enough to quell most of the rage, but that self-pitying sadness was still there when he let out a shy, quiet plea.

“I don’t want to pry but… Will you tell me what this is about?”

“You really want to know?”

It was one thing to know the vague generalities of how much his father sucked, but another thing entirely to paint him a vivid depiction of what he was willing to do.

“Yeah,” he said with fiddling hands, “I think.”

I think he was trying to do me a favor. I think listening to my story was meant to be a sign to me that there were people who would care — people who would believe me. He clearly didn’t actually want to hear the story, but I appreciated his willingness to experience some discomfort to make up just a small part of his father’s misdeeds.

“So, I’m new at the school, right? It’s awkward. It’s a small town and everyone knows everyone,” I started, trying to look over at Raymond whenever I could to show him that I was doing alright. The poor thing looked like he needed the reassurance more than I did.

“Your dad very quickly tried to take me under his wing, despite my very obvious discomfort.”

“Sounds like him,” he interrupted with a pissed-off murmur.

“Yeah. I just kind of accepted his help because I was too scared to say no, but then one day he…” My voice trailed off, the words getting clogged in my throat and muddled on my tongue. It wasn’t that bad of a story; it should have been easier to explain. But something about Raymond being there, him listening to me so intently and with such a strong desire to make it better, that made it hard to speak. Eventually, I managed to start again. “He cornered me in the damn teacher’s lounge and—“

“Please don’t give me a reason to kill him. I’ve been toeing that line my whole life, and I will definitely do it.”

That time when Raymond cut me off, it was very clear to me that he was not kidding. He enunciated the words so clearly, venom dripping from his tongue and his chest heaving with a determination coming through clear, despite his best efforts to hide it.

He was a sweet kid.

“He didn’t try to touch me or anything. It wasn’t like that,” I said with an awkward smile, reaching over to pat his thigh. The action alone seemed to calm him, almost like a dog that was being told to stand down.

He was a really cute kid.

But I had to finish this stupid story. I had to give him all the information so that he would know exactly why I’d invited myself into his bed. Sex is sort of a big deal, you know? I mean, not always, but the other party in spite sex should probably know who exactly the target is.

“He just made it very clear that he felt I owed him something, and I kindly told him to fuck off,” I concluded just as we pulled up the dirt drive. The bumps in the road seemed to shake some other memories in Raymond, and he just shook his head to rid himself of those, along with the story he’d just heard.

He looked over at me with a new understanding and something else.

“So that’s what this is about?”

“Yep,” I said with a pop of my lips to match the sound of my car door opening. He clambered out of the car much less gracefully, which was funny considering he’d had significantly less to drink.

But I figured I would have the decency not to laugh, instead just joining him on the passenger side of the car to finish our conversation before we went inside. I wanted to give him the chance to change his mind. I wouldn’t have blamed him. Although I was the one who would have to deal with the brunt of the downfall, Donald wasn’t my family. Like, I wouldn’t be at his holiday dinners. Then again, I’m not sure Raymond would be, either.

When I looked up from the thought, Raymond was staring at me. It wasn’t like before, though. There was nothing suspicious or any sign of concern in his eyes. No, they were filled with a very different feeling.

“You want to fuck me just to spite my dad?” he asked with a deadly seriousness.

I thought about it for exactly one second before I shrugged at the extremely accurate summary.

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“God,” Raymond practically groaned, throwing himself on me and pinning me against the car with his hips before he growled, “that’s so fucking hot.”

Those same lips that produced the words quickly covered mine with the same force he’d used to pin me against the metal. I didn’t fight him at first because, well, I didn’t want to. It was the first clear sign he’d given that he really wanted to do this, and who was I to argue with how he expressed his consent?

Also, he was like, a really, really good kisser. The desperation he felt came through in his tongue as it tangled with mine, drawing a quiet, muffled moan from me that alerted me to how quickly this would escalate if I didn’t shove the boy off me.

Which, I did.

“Raymond— inside,” I ordered with the little breath I had left.

He was confused for a second, almost like he’d blacked out in the meantime. But then his tongue swept over his lips, his hands digging through his pockets for his keys before he hastily answered, “Right. Let’s go.”

It made sense to be quiet then, as the two of us tip-toed through the much too large house. Our occasional giggles were louder than our feet, and the whole experience was seriously reminiscent of sneaking into your boyfriend’s house as a teenager. And when we walked through his bedroom door, the sight stirred up even older memories. From the UFO poster and alien sheets to the boxes filled with dinosaur toys and action figures, I felt like I’d walked straight through a time machine into Raymond’s childhood.

“Sorry about… all of this,” he said with an overly apologetic tone, like this scene didn’t perfectly suit what I was planning. Like it wouldn’t be salt in the wound for Donald to see me fucking his son in the most juvenile room I’ve ever seen in my life.

“Ugh, it’s perfect. You are literally a man-child.”

I didn’t mean it as an insult, but his nervous shifting told me he took it that way. But when I kicked off my shoes and started to disrobe my outer layers, it was becoming obvious to him again just how serious I was about this whole thing.

“Sorry, but—“

“Stop saying sorry, Raymond.”

“Sorry,” he squeaked back, doing the exact thing I’d just told him not to do. I shot him a warning glance and watched the way his Adam’s apple bobbed in return. Then, still worrying the hem of his pajama shirt between his fingers, he looked away as he asked, “Are you sure you actually want to have sex with me?”

I was a little too busy at first to answer him. I was already rustling through the bedside table to find a condom that I was absolutely positive would be there. When I finally found it, I turned my attention back to the blushing boy.

“Why are you asking? Do you want to have sex with me?”

“Yes!” he answered with a clear excitement, only to lose it immediately. “But I would have wanted to have sex with you even if my dad wasn’t a pervert.”

“Awww, thanks,” I cooed with feigned sincerity. Raymond was still just pouting, though. I was learning more each second just how starved of affirmation this boy had been. But it wasn’t like I could just start praising him; the poor thing would have whiplash if I wasn’t careful. There was no worse mood-killer than crying, either, so I settled for a joke.

“I’d probably have sex with you, too.”

“Probably?” he responded with a smile and a seat next to me.

“It’s pretty likely, depending on how much we talked first,” I explained as I helped him out of his coat. I even managed to start undoing his pajama top buttons before he realized it was happening.

He didn’t stop me when he did.

“I don’t know if that’s an insult or not,” he said, instead.

With a coquettish grin, I leaned in to whisper against his lips, “And you never will.”

There was absolutely no resistance from Raymond when I grabbed hold of his collar, tugging him on top of me as I laid down on the tiny twin bed. Despite all of his insecurity, he didn’t hesitate to kiss me again, either. This time it was somehow even more heated, like he was trying to pour all of his heart into it.

I almost warned him that he had better cool it if he didn’t want to risk getting me hooked, but I was too late. He was already busy undoing the buttons on my own top and gently kneading my chest through the fabric of my bra, and I was quickly losing track of which of us was more into what was happening.

It didn’t really matter, but just in case he was still worried that I might not want to be there, I snuck my hand down and under the waistband of his pajamas.

“Fuck!” he cursed in a hushed whisper, his body buckling forward far enough that he almost dropped all his weight on me. It was so damn cute that I couldn’t help but laugh.

“Don’t be too loud or we’ll never get to the fun part,” I warned, my voice barely a whisper in his ear.

His very eloquent response was a breathless, “Shit.” I couldn’t blame him, though. It was honestly more than I expected him to be able to enunciate when I grabbed hold of his dick and began making soft strokes.

It was obvious that he was trying very hard to stay quiet, but the whimpers and whines were falling from his mouth so quickly that I was forced to kiss him just to muffle the noise. Thankfully, Raymond took the hint that he needed to be quiet and decided to redirect the attention from himself back to me. He accomplished that task by pulling away from me just far enough that he could grab hold of my pants and underwear and roughly pull them down my thighs. The speed and force lit a fire deep in my gut, my whole body breaking out in goosebumps as I allowed myself to enjoy just how badly he wanted me. I’m sure the spite thing had a lot to do with it, too, but it had been a long time since a man was so clearly into me. It was an unavoidable conclusion in every touch from him.

A much-too-loud moan caught in my throat when he returned, slipping his fingers into my heat as he laid another feverish kiss against my lips. But it broke almost immediately with his own choked moan, followed by a low, breathy observation.

“You weren’t kidding about wanting this.”

“Nope,” I replied quickly, trying to control the noises coming out of my mouth by replacing them with words. It only sort of worked when I keened, “Fuck, you’re better at this than I thought.”

Raymond didn’t even stop, continuing to curl his fingers inside of me with each thrust. He did smile, though. A cheeky, borderline annoying smile that told me he knew what a bastard he was being.

“Again, I can’t tell if that is a compliment,” he said with an overwhelming amount of sarcasm as he watched me squirm under him.

I chose to ignore the taunt, opting to grab the condom from the bedside table and throw it directly at his face instead. “Put the fucking condom on, Raymond.”

There was less commentary from the peanut gallery from that point on. I did enjoy the show, though. As I removed my bra, I watched with rapt fascination as he stripped himself of his clothes. My desire grew at an exponential rate at the sight of him slipping the condom on. I’d gotten some idea of the size of him with my hand, but to see something so lewd in such an innocent room and on his shy little figure was something else.

Raymond shrunk a little under my gaze, only regaining his confidence when he saw the way my teeth dragged over my bottom lip. I ran my hands over my body that was still on display for him, thoroughly enjoying the way I could make his eyes go wherever I wanted with such a simple motion.

“Fuck me, Raymond.”

I heard his breath catch and watched the shiver flow through him at the order. Sure enough, he started to follow my instructions and lined himself up at my entrance with adorably shaky hands. But then, right before I got what I came for, he paused.

“Are you su—“

I was tired of waiting. Hooking my leg around his waist, I forced Raymond to thrust forward. My assistance didn’t take any of the pleasure out of it when he was finally, fully inside of me. I couldn’t stop the way my back arched, pressing my chest against his with a wanton cry.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he mumbled into my hair, burying his face in the crook of my neck as he adjusted to the new set of sensations.

I only gave him a few seconds to get used to it, fully ready to get the release that already felt so close.

“Fuck me,” I whined, already starting to roll my hips against the boy blubbering curses into my skin.

“O-Okay,” he muttered in the most adorable fashion.

That shyness was contrasted strongly by what followed. For all his whimpers and trembling, Raymond didn’t seem to mind the way the bed would creak under us. In fact, it seemed that he was playing his own game, trying to elicit as many noises from me as he could get from the bed.

On instinct, my hands rose to try to still the headboard. But to my surprise, they never made it. The man above me had grabbed hold of one wrist, pinning it against the pillow to stop me. That simple, thoughtful act was enough to almost send me over the edge right then, but I held on for what I knew would come.

My moans were another story. They seemed so inevitable, with Raymond slamming into me with a progressively rougher force until I rode that line between pain and pleasure. I could see it on his face, too, that we were barreling full speed to the inevitable.

So, it was as good a time as any for me to set the next step in motion. With full volume and a pitch nearly an octave higher than usual, I screamed, “Yes, Raymond!”

That cheeky little bastard laughed. That noise was such music to my ears, that I couldn’t just stop there.

“God, yes! Fuck me harder!” I cried dramatically while drawing out the words. In a way, I was over exaggerating for effect, but I was also actually having a great time. In fact, it was the best sex I’d had in a long time.

Raymond, catching on to the plan that I’d never explicitly explained, joined in with his own chant of my name, mixed with deep moans rumbling in his chest. I ran my nails down his back, seeking to elicit the higher pitched sounds I knew he was capable of when I realized just how much fun I was having with him.

It was also, of course, super fucking hot. But how often do you get to have this much fun with a random one night stand you found at the bar? Not often enough, I decided.

“Please, Raymond! Harder!” I begged, both in accordance with my previous moans and also because it was what I needed.

I couldn’t decide on a word to describe that wild look on his face, but Raymond had no problem following through with my request. Releasing my wrist, he sat up on his knees, grabbing hold of my hips and lifting them so that he could come down between them at a new angle.

That angle, it seemed, left him bottoming out inside of me with each brutal thrust. My legs were actually shaking around him, my back barely touching the bed as I threw my head back on that damn alien pillowcase.

The clacking of the headboard against the plaster shook the hung UFO picture, which ended up clattering behind it with about as much grace and subtlety as Raymond and I shared in that moment.

But that crashing also masked the sound of the door slamming open, just as I’d been waiting for. And for a long moment, neither of us even looked over to the light filtering in from the hallway. Instead, we locked eyes with each other as the two of us simultaneously reached our peak.

I was so, so glad that I didn’t look away. I kept my eyes firmly on Raymond as he threw his head back, forcing himself as deep in me as he could and holding me against him as I nursed him through his orgasm with my own. His mouth, though dropped open, was curved in a satisfied smile, one last moan tearing through the two of us before he promptly collapsed on top of me.

Then, it finally came. Donald’s voice bellowing, “What the fuck is going on in here?!”

—

As Raymond and I sat in my car that night, there was a much more relaxed atmosphere. Whether the catharsis was from the sex or the big fuck you to his father, the two of us were just basking in the afterglow of the overall experience.

Of course, he was also laughing at the fact I was currently wrapped up in his alien bedsheet.

“We could’ve gotten your clothes, you know.”

“There was no way in hell I was going to drop this sheet in front of that man,” I said through my laughter, my mind replaying the chaos of the last few minutes over again in my head.

“Probably a good call,” Raymond answered.

But then another thought occurred to me, which caused my face to contort into a disgusted grimace.

“You’d better go get my underwear and bra later, though. He cannot keep those.”

“Will do. Promise,” he said with a little nod that ended with him staring at me with an absolutely smitten look plastered on his face.

“You can keep them, though,” I offered, reaching over and pretending like I could actually fix the birds nest on his head.

“Thanks. I’m flattered,” he said while chasing after my hand that eventually settled on his cheek. His face was still flushed, his eyes still only half opened as he nearly fell asleep against my palm. I wondered if it was from the orgasm, or if it was just the first time in a while he’d felt safe enough to do it. He must’ve seen the worry in my eyes, because he interrupted the thought with another question.

“Did you accomplish your goal?”

I thought about it for a second, dragging my fingers down his face before I pulled back with a sigh. “I feel satisfied,” I decided. “What about you?”

Raymond also took the chance to think about it before he nodded with more enthusiasm than before.

“I feel pretty good,” he said proudly.

“That’s all? Just pretty good?” I replied with an annoyed click of my tongue. I mean, I was wrapped in his bedsheets after just helping him achieve one of the most satisfying catharses of his life, and all he had to say was ‘pretty good?’

But then I saw it, that little sparkle in his eyes that showed me he just wanted to rile me up before he gave his real answer.

“It was fucking glorious.”

It wasn’t even the words that filled my heart with pride, but the way his whole expression softened as he said it. He obviously meant it with every fiber of his being, and I couldn’t help but fall in love a little bit at the sight.

“Sorry I got you kicked out,” I said to distract myself from that dangerous line of thought.

“Not the first time. Hopefully the last,” he nonchalantly shrugged as I turned the key in the ignition. We hadn’t actually planned on what to do from this point, but I certainly had some ideas.

“You can stay at my place,” I slurred through my exhaustion, “I have a guest bedroom if you feel weird staying in mine.”

But Raymond didn’t answer. He just laughed, shaking his head and rubbing a heavy hand over his tired eyes.

“What?” I asked, a little worried I’d made a mistake.

“Nothing,” he reassured with that stupid fucking grin that was soon aimed straight at me, “it’s just… You’re asking me if I want to sleep with you. Again.”

“Yeah, what about it?” I laughed, turning to pull out of the driveway. The bumps didn’t bother Raymond that time.

“I’d love to,” he said as we turned onto the main road, his hand finding mine on the gear shift.

“Great.” Allowing the relief to flow through his hand and into me, I realized that the reason I’d had so much fun with this random one night stand was because a large part of me knew it was never going to be just that.

“You know, my bed’s not a twin, and it doesn’t creak, so…” I trailed off, hoping that he would be clever enough to put it together.

“So what?”

He was not. But that was okay, because I realized that was exactly what I loved about him.

“Never mind,” I sighed, “I’ll show you in the morning.”

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#raymond wadsworth #suburban gothic #suburban gothic fanfic #mgg fanfiction #mgg fanfic #matthew gray gubler fanfic #raymond wadsworth fanfic #raymond wadsworth fanfiction

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fanfiction-inc · 3 years

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“It Takes Two to Win a Race.” Chapter II

[Previous Chapter] / [Next Chapter]

Verse: Falcon And The Winter Soldier / Captain America And The Winter Soldier / Captain America: Civil War/ Marvel Alternate Universe

Characters/Pairings: Baron Zemo/ Reader, Baron Zemo/ Female Reader, John Walker

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 8971

Warnings/Tags: Drinking, smut, m/f, oral (female receiving), vaginal fingering, unprotected sex, drunk sex, Google translated translations, Walker is an asshole and just keeps getting worse.

Summary: Baron Helmut Zemo, world renowned racer and your sworn enemy on the track. You two have been going at it for years now, but now you two must join forces to fight back against John Walker, a new up and coming racer who is proving to beat both of you. Will you two survive the other or meet your demise on the track?

Ao3 Version: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32606833/chapters/81176392?view_adult=true

This is a mess. An absolute, blazing mess that sits before you in the middle of your workshop. The chassis was dented all to Hell, a new one having to be rebuilt and delivered to fix your custom car. The engine had parts missing that were left at the crash sight when it was towed away. One car to your name, and it was fucked up. Maybe you should have taken Stark’s sponsorship and invested in a backup. Sitting on the cement floor of the workshop, screwdriver in hand as you pry out bits and pieces of parts from the engine, taking note of the parts and working on the budget you had set out for this year's series of races, you dreaded the moment you’d see the total cost. This repair would take a nice chunk, but you still had money left over after to make sure your car was at its best. That was the thing about working with your car, it was just you and this beast of metal and speed, working as one to reach the end of the line. The screwdriver is set down at your side when you struggled too long on getting the broken interconnecting rod that links the turbine from the compressor, a sigh following as you sit back. A slow sense of dread fills you as you look at the broken parts scattering the ground, the missing parts on your list, and the purple paint that still streaks the busted carbon fiber chassis.

Working with Zemo was a dangerous game, which you recognized even before you shook on the arrangement he had proposed. He was wicked on the course, predictable at times but at others a ticking time bomb of what his next move may be. He was dangerous, but that is what made him damn good. He took far more risk than you usually would when it came to advancement in the race. Where you held back, he pushed forward. No wonder the man infuriated you. But this plan was the only thing you had to get things back to normal, back to the way they were where you hated Zemo with a passion and fought tooth and nail to stay better than him. You would never admit it, but without your rival, what fun was the race? See, it's not only the thrill of the chase between the driver and death, inching closer and closer with each hairpin turn and the risk of the other driver's moves. No, it’s also the thrill of having someone who wants to win just as bad as you, who is just as good and will do anything to try and progress further than you. It sets a standard, something to surpass, something to stay on level ground with when you catch yourself falling. Zemo was your equal, no matter how much you hated him. And equals like you two don’t have room for a third party to jump in and surpass. The game isn’t any fun when someone fucks with the rules. He had a point when it came to beating Walker down, especially since the man was already fighting you both with molotov cocktails and rocket fire in the form of playing dirty on the track. He was bringing a war to a battle just to see if he could come out on top. Despite everything telling you to stay away from Zemo and not get involved in this scheme, that it could end badly for one or both of you, you couldn’t stand the idea of having Walker walk all over you like some doormat. You couldn’t let him walk in as if he owned the place and could rule as he pleased.

He needed a reality check.

Your form pops and cracks as you stand, stiff from sitting on the solid ground and stretching to relieve your body of the tension. Everything felt so wrong, and you knew you had to make it right...But was this the right way to do it? “Jesus, you sound like that rice cereal with the little elves. You know, snap, crackle, and pop?” You laugh lightly when your friend comes into the workshop, food in hand and dressed down from the usual luxury attire he wore when visiting. No suit and tie in sight, just the oil stained wife beater you had seen him in when pursuing your education in the states as he worked tirelessly on his little toys as you liked to call them. He sets the bag down, the scent of the food causing your stomach to growl and pinch with a hint of pain. Have you really forgotten to eat today? You hadn’t noticed. “Got your favorite. Do you know how hard it is to find a restaurant that speaks English? I had to have Friday translate for me.”

“Maybe you should take a new hobby and learn the French language.” You retorted with a grin, the man shaking his head as he sets everything out. “Maybe I want you as my teacher, but you’re always busy with driving around in your fast little car and getting famous for fighting a Sokovian asshole.”

“And you’re too busy tinkering away with your toys in your little workshop in New York. Truly Tony, don’t tell me you actually want me as your teacher when your toys can teach you for me.” You pause as he rolled his eyes, watching the man for a brief moment as he turned to unwrap his burger. “Speaking of said Sokovian connard, he came to the bar I was at last night.” The man paused mid bite on the thick patty before speaking with his mouth full. “Okay, spill, what did he want?”

“Well originally I thought he was going to cuss me and try to blame me for the failure to complete the race yesterday, but he showed me something. You know the young man who won the race yesterday, corriger? John Walker?”

“Yeah, I know the guy. Races for the American McLaren team and came straight from F3 to F1. What’d he do?”

He raises a brow when you sigh, taking a seat beside him on the desk he had set the food down on and stealing the dish he had brought you. “Zemo showed me proof that Walker hit his car and sent him flying into mine. And I believe he did it on purpose.” You explain, taking a bite of the food your companion got for you. You pause for a moment to chew before returning to your theory. “On my way to the car bay, he smirked at me, and it wasn’t a “I won” smirk- well, it kinda was, but it was rather a “I did this to you” kind of smirk. Not necessarily an evil one but one that showed he knew exactly what he had done and was proud of it. Pride in an unfair act.”

“And no flags were thrown up?”

“Non, not a one. As our friend the Baron said,” you cringe at the term friend, “the ones watching the race possibly couldn’t tell if he had done such on purpose or by accident. I believe him about such. And I suppose that brings me to what I’m about to say next.” You take a breath, gaze conflicted and downcast to your food as you speak. “The Baron offered a temporary truce of our rivalry to take down this John Walker, thus allowing us to return to what we do best after Walker is taken down.” He listened intently before his nose scrunched at the idea of such. You two working together? Ha! That’d never work! “And you said yes to this crazy idea? What the Hell are you thinking, (first name)?” Your hands shoot up in defense, gaze rising to meet his own. “I know, I know! It’s a crazy idea, but you know as well as I do that if Zemo and I want things back to normal, back to the rivalry, we have to do this together so Walker is met with further resistance. If I could avoid it and deal with this American scum, no offense, then I would.”

“Some taken, but I get it. I just wonder if you two will go back to the way things are after all of this. Who knows, maybe you’ll become that dreaded word you hate to associate with him in any capacity-”

“Ne t'avise pas de le dire, Anthony.”

“Friendssss.” He draws it out, causing you to roll your eyes at his antics and slap his arm with the back of your grimey hand. He pretended to show a hurt expression before chuckling when another slap came, this time to his chest. “Oh hush, we will never be friends.”

“I guess time will tell.” A shrug followed as Stark finished the last bite of his burger, crumbling the wrapper and lining up the shot with the waste bin in the corner. “He shoots,” the paper lands in the bin, his arms going up in the air. “He scores!”

“Stop goofing around, ma amie. I asked for your help with this and now I need it.”

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Three weeks have passed, and the Germany race is upon you. The Nürburgring, a beast of a track that many racers to this day in Formula 1 fear like a plague sweeping the track. Your mind has been racing as you pieced your car back together and got it ready for racing. What happens if something wasn’t installed in the engine right? What if you didn’t get the intake vents lined up just right? You were a perfectionist with your car, and you know deep down that it was ready for race day but it made your head sing with pain as a migraine sets in. That wasn’t the only thing that made it throb and bring you to lean against the chassis of your car. Zemo’s deal, it worried you sick. But you didn’t have time to think about it much today. You couldn’t dwell on it. You had a race to win.

Your eyes flick up at the speakers, listening to the message. It was press conference time. You take your seat where your name tag and flag set, giving a nod of acknowledgement to the crowd of reporters sitting and waiting to open up questioning. To your left, Walker seats himself with a boyish, charming smile that didn’t quite meet those dark eyes. He looked your way, hand held out to you. “Hey, I hate that we didn’t get to meet earlier on. I’m John Walker.” You glance at his hand before looking back up at him. He played a good game, acting innocent like the boy scout he tried to be. You wouldn’t fall for his games, but you shook his hand briefly. “(First name) (Last name).” He grinned. “Oh, I know who you are. I’ve been watching you race for years now! I hate that you crashed a couple weeks ago, would have loved to have been standing on that podium with you.”

“Oui, such a shame that was. But today is a new day, Mr. Walker.” Your gaze flickered to your right, startled by your rival taking his seat and looking directly at the pair of you. The Baron never sat beside you, even going as far as to request a seat change from the press conference coordinators. Some learned to keep you two separate, others knew it would incur drama, and drama made money.

“Alright everyone, please take your seats and the conference will begin in one moment!”

“Say, did you get your car all fixed up? Must have cost a pretty penny since you don’t have any sponsors.” Walker continued on, this time his gaze looking at the reporters as he gave a brief wave to the ones he recognized from the states. “Oui.” He gave a huff of a laugh. “Not much of a talker, are you?” You wanted to bite back, to say something and throw hands with this man, but you would be escorted out and disqualified in a snap. “Non.” A leg bumped yours under the table and you glance at Zemo who met your gaze briefly. Those dark brown eyes questioned if you were okay, a silent question that only you understood. The slightest nod was sent his way before looking at the reporters who got things settled and ready.

“Questions are now open-” The announcer was startled with the amount of questions directed in the direction of you three, clearing his throat as he nodded to your little trio at the table. Mr. Walker!” He gestured to the reporter, watching him stand and adjust his microphone and camera. “Mr. Walker, this question is open to the three of you. Under allegations from the previous race at The Circuit Paul Ricard, many are wondering if you had caused the accident involving Zemo and (Last name). How do you feel about these accusations?” The man had the audacity to laugh and throw that boyish smile to the camera, rubbing at his face. “Look, that was not supposed to happen once so ever. As many of my fellow racers can attest, one wrong slip of the hand on your wheel and your car will eventually go off track. I got nervous, twitched, and just so happened to bump the Baron’s car into Ms. (Last name)’s car. I feel terrible, I truly do, but it could have happened to anyone with any driver. So I refute these accusations and continue to say this is an accident.”

“And you, Baron, Ms. (Last name). How do you feel about the accusations?” The reporter gestured his question to you two now. “I respect your opinion, Mr. Walker,” Zemo began, the man smiling and sending a nod his way. “But I call, as the Americans say, bullshit.” His smile fell, darkened gaze questioning the man on what the Hell he was going on about. The reporters erupted in questioning, trying to get the attention of the two racers who stare each other down around you. You lean back a bit for them to have a better view-line, One of the American reporters calling your name. You use this moment to break the tension. “Oui?”

“Do you believe you stand a chance as a woman against these two leading men now that John Walker is starting to gain points and nearing your total?” You blink at his question before taking a deep breath, holding it to calm your throbbing head, and releasing it slowly. “Oui, I do. I believe I can keep up just as well as any racer. Take my racing career with Zemo. I have kept up with his old extrémité arrière.” The French reporters in the room resound in a fit of chuckles, bringing a smile to your face. “And against Walker?” You meet his gaze as he stares at you expectantly for an answer, forcing that smile he tried to use on you earlier. “I believe I stand quite a good chance, but que le meilleur coureur gagne.” You shrug, listening as the smaller drivers get asked their questions. The whole time there are eyes burning into the left side of your head, waiting until the racers are dismissed. Walker watches you as you walk out, watching the way Zemo comes up in tow as you make your way to the car bay. Something was up, and he could feel that there were clearly doubts in your mind about the accident in France. He would just have to deal with you later. “(First name), wait!” Zemo followed you into the bay, slowing from his jog to keep up with you to a stop near the desk holding your notes about the race and your vehicle. “I haven’t had a chance to talk with you in person since the bar.” He paused, looking into those eyes of yours that gaze at him curiously. “Are you ready for this, fräulein?”

“Aussi prêt que possible, Baron.” You busy yourself with inspecting your car for any last minute changes, the man watching you as you inspect and work. “Good, good. And we are still a go, yes?”

“Oui, we are still, as you said, a go.” He grinned at you, gaze flickering down your back as he looked over your uniform. Of course he had noticed you in all aspects before, talent and skill being the top, but never had he been this close like the night at the bar and now to really see you. Maybe after all of this, even with the rivalry, you could be friends, dare he say anything more than such. “You’re staring.” You quip, breaking him from his trance to meet your gaze. The faintest hint of color lingered on your cheeks. He coughed, trying to clear away the embarrassment lingering in his form. Why was he getting embarrassed? “Just thinking about what will be left behind when I pass you on the track, mein liebe.” Your eye roll doesn’t go unnoticed, the man relaxing due to how calm you are around him. No biting his head off, no anger, just chill. You stand and give a playful shove to his shoulder, smiling at the Sokovian. “In your dreams, Sokovian. Now, get the fuck out of my car bay.” He smiled to himself as he walked away, mind now clouded by the smile that lingered on your lips. He liked when you smiled, and he had to make sure this plan worked.

The race was gearing up to start, the same process as before coming into play. Car, balaclava, wheel. You take your moment to breathe, today your speed has placed you in second, just as the plan entailed. Zemo took the first position. He glanced your way, sending a nod in your direction, only to smirk beneath the balaclava when you flip him off like usual. The rivalry was still on, no matter what he would still have that after dealing with Walker. Still have you in one sense or another. Your glance focused in on the man across the way in the pole position opposite of you, his eyes locked on the two of you before meeting your gaze. There he stares you down, even as his helmet slipped on. The visor was flipped down at the one minute warning, eliminating the final clarifying view of his gaze. It was clear he was cautious of you, maybe even lingering with hate.

“Fahrer! Starten...sie ihre....Motoren!

That familiar purr settles into your chest, spreading through your body like a dam breaking and flooding the valley below. It stirs up the motivation to win once more, removing any doubt from your mind as you rev your engine. Zemo was right, Walker had to be stopped. With this attitude about racing, playing his little mind games and wrecking racers, he’d get someone killed just for first place. You couldn’t allow that...but you also couldn’t allow the rivalry you have established with Zemo to be broken because of someone else. There was too much there to be lost. Your fingers tighten around the wheel, licking your lips beneath the helmet as you prepare yourself for takeoff. The lights start counting down the race. Five seconds away, one green and two red lights. You watch them count down until the bottom lines of red are fully lit, then they flash off. You’re off, following Zemo right on the tail of his car as you start into the track. This track was a beast, your mind racing as it remembers every nook and cranny of it. Seventy three corners, eleven danger points, hair pin turns, all on a 12.8 mile long course that was deadly in the onset of any weather and people who get careless with their moves. Lucky enough, the sky was only overcast. No rain, little wind to interfere with the aerodynamics and mobility of the chassis, just the perfect chill in the air to remind you where you were in this moment. You take your turns with ease, avoiding the group of cars that began to follow suit on the track behind your own. Your eyes remained locked in on every shift to your side, Walker keeping close by within each turn and danger point you went through.

As you drive, Walker gets up past you within one of the speed trap areas, the stretch of road allowing him to be up beside Zemo and leave you on the back of their tires. Zemo had a plan, you believed in this plan… but had he just been toying with you to get closer to Walker? Doubt clouded your mind, even as you sped up in an attempt to join the boys directly in the front. Perhaps you shouldn’t have followed this plan, even as you get through the first twenty five laps, then the next twenty five. Each turn brought your tyres closer to Walkers who eyed you cautiously from time to time, as if silently daring you to pull a move like he did. Maybe you’d be caught and black flagged. Hell, that would make his fucking day if that happened. As he watched you, he had failed to notice on the wider strip of the track how Zemo began to drift further and further ahead. Then he was side tracked, Zemo slowing abruptly and stealing the attention of the young American driver. “What the Hell!?” He yelled over the roar of multiple motors, watching your car join Zemo’s side and the original speed be resumed. Now you sat beside Zemo on the track, pedal to the floorboard as you two kept your lead and basically walled Walker in. Each time he tried to drift around, one of you would shift your car just enough to keep him locked in. A grin met your lips as you drove, the energy of the race taking a whole new shift as you got closer and closer to the last lap with your rival right at your side. Tips of the chassis lined up perfectly, rear aerodynamic fins aligned like a well oiled machine. You two were in perfect sync as you put Zemo’s plan into action. Create a wall of impenetrable magnitude. If Walker tried anything, all three of you would go down. If he tried to get around, he would be blocked. There was no getting out from behind you two.

The checkered flag waved in the quickly approaching distance, your gaze for a moment looking at your rival. The blur of purple was steady, lined with yours like that of an air jet's flight coordination. Perfectly straight, and running at full throttle like you are. As your cars pass the finish line, debate begins to rise. It was too close in the end to call, at least not right away. You slow, allowing the purple beast to pass by and enter the pit before you, a silent gesture of courtesy to the man you worked with. He sent a small nod your way when he watched you get out of your car, helmet removed along with his balaclava and revealing the joyful grin resting on his lips. Anyone else would mistaken it for cockiness, but the look in his eyes said it all. You two did it, you beat Walker in the race! He must be furious! A breath is held on your end, helmet and the fabric covering your face discarded as you turn your gaze away from the arriving racers and the man you drove along with. You were locked in on that score board, curiosity eating at you for who may have won the race. You were neck in neck with the man, the smallest push forward could earn either of you the points for the day. No names shown yet, and you anxiously leaned on the hot surface of the carbon fiber vehicle as you waited. Each noise around you from the slow dwindle of engines to low, fading purrs to the pit crews of your respective teams surrounding you, your rival, and the newcomer were drowned out by the pounding of your heart as it flooded your ear drums. It felt like hours passed as you kept your gaze locked on, ignoring the happy clamour of your crew, the clasp of hands on your shoulder and pats on your back, even down to the ruffling of your hair in glee. Then it flashed up.

1st: (First initial). (Last name)

1st: H. Zemo

2nd: J. Walker

The press goes crazy over the news, each respective country reporting their amazement over the finishing results.

“Ein fehlerfreier, aber überraschender Sieg für Baron Helmut Zemo, der mit (First name) (Last name) gleichauf den ersten Platz belegt!”

“Victoire pour la championne de France (First name) (Last name) alors qu'elle rejoint le Baron Helmut Zemo dans une rare égalité!”

“In a remarkable and truly unprecedented event in The Nürburgring F1 race! Baron Helmet Zemo and (First name) (Last name) tied in a photo finish for first place, a rare occurrence that has set back American racer John Walker from the potential for first place!”

Your breath comes out shaky, slowly slipping out as reality hits you like a wrecking ball to a brick wall. The air leaves your lungs as a happy noise rings out from your lips, joining your crew in the celebration as they hug and surround you. You placed first. Zemo placed first. Curiosity met you, your gaze looking to the man who celebrated with his own crew before allowing himself a chance to settle his gaze on you in turn. There he sent a wink, a silent congratulations that made you shake your head at his antics before refocusing on the celebration. You would be standing with the man in first place on that podium, both sharing the victory wreath and spraying champagne all over the crowd of fans and your respective pit crews who were basking in the glory just as much as you two were. You couldn’t help the glee bubbling up in your form, even as you make your way not too far from your rival. For a second, just a split second, you let the rivalry go and let your smile be seen in accompaniment with his gleeful grin, shoulders bumping when you’re positioned at the podium by the F1 management crew. Press swarm to the area like flies to a summer barbecue, wanting to catch a glimpse of the rivals standing together, being on the podium and sharing first place. “Not so bad working with my, as you put it earlier, old extrémité arrière, hm?” He questioned as you two stood together, the closeness you two were forced into for the photographers far more comfortable than it would have been under any other circumstances. He blamed the feelings he had at this moment on the victory over Walker, over the rest of the racers, not even thinking that perhaps this was beyond the fact that he won but that you, his favorite rival, won alongside him. “Non, not the worst.” You joked lightly, forcing a serious face for the cameras when they began to picture you two side by side on the first place stand. He accepted the bottle of champagne before you could, holding it out. “You may have the honor, (First name).” Your fingers brush his own as you grasp the bottle with him, popping the cork and sending the bubbly to decorate the crowd. Flash after flash met you as you stood alongside Zemo and basked in the glory of the win. “How about drinks to celebrate? Even as rivals, I believe a drink wouldn’t hurt.” He whispered the question, causing your gaze to lock on his own in brief surprise. Was he serious!? “I um..Oui, sure. Meet you in town?” He nods, gaze seeming to glimmer ever so brighter as he takes his leave. Even when you separate to get cleaned of the alcohol and switch to “civilian clothing”, your smile doesn’t falter. Maybe it would be good for you to drink the night away with company that didn’t seem as bad as you once had thought before.

As you begin to peel away the racing suit, the flame resistant material bunching at your waist and revealing the open expanses of your back, the simplistic bra strap over the back the only material seen, you fail to hear the seething man enter your car bay. “Do you know what you just did, Ms. (Last name)? Who you fucked with?” Walker puts his hands on your shoulders, spinning you around to face him, his face inches away from yours. “You went and fucked with the wrong man. You could have just accepted your loss, licked your wounds, and we would have been just fine. But oh no, you had to go and fuck with my winning streak with that Sokovian piece of shit.” He huffed when you shove him back, gaze narrowed and arms crossing over your bra covered chest out of annoyance. You could care less what he saw. “I don’t see why you’re so mad, Mr. Walker. You got a taste of your own medicine after that stunt you pulled back in France. You and I both know that was no accident.”

“You know what? Yeah, I did that. But I see you are working with Zemo now, which is also a big no-no in Formula 1. Seems we’re both sinners of the race. The greed of it.” His tone was a hushed, harsh whisper. There was no need to alert anyone that he was in your private quarters harassing you. “I’m nothing like you.” Your tone came out in a hiss, his downturned lips curving up into a grin at your response. “Oh sweetheart, I beg to differ.” He chuckled at the narrowed gaze he was met with. “You and your Sokovian boy toy need to back off. Let this happen like it should or you’ll not like what happens next.”

“And just what do you think you’ll do, John? Because all I’m hearing right now is a lot of talking with no proof of any big execution.” Your lazy grin and scoff of annoyance at his presence left him to raise his hands in mock defeat, hands coming to rest on your shoulders once more with a harsh grip that made your body tense and hold you there. He leaned in, even as you tried to lean away, his lips moving in close near your ear. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Frenchie. I will do anything to win. You best remember that.” His tone alone makes your body betray you, the calm, cool, and collected front slipping as a shiver ran up your spine at his warning. And with that, he leaves you to get dressed for the night.

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Zemo texts you an address for a bar off the beaten path in Cologne, Germany, further than you had anticipated in going from the track but a welcomed change of scenery. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Frenchie. I will do anything to win. You best remember that.” The words stick with you, even as you drive the main road into the big city, looking for the bar Zemo had invited you to. It was connected to a hotel, a fancy hotel at that, with old architecture and lavish exterior. You could only imagine the interior! A nervous breath is taken as you get out of the car, gaze meeting the man you had just won with. He smiled at you, clothing casual and the air around him feeling far more comforting now than ever. The incident with Walker had left you rattled, sending your nerve endings to buzz and let your body know that you aren’t okay. Even though you felt off, you force a smile to the man who wrapped a friendly arm around your shoulders and led you in to sit at the quiet bar. “So, did I not tell you the plan would work?”

“I just thought it was your cockiness talking, but I will admit, though it physically pains me to do so…” You pause, biting your lip. “Well?” You sigh. “You were right.” The words come out struggled and forced, the man's grin growing at such. “Ah~, I don’t believe I caught that.” “Oh va te faire foutre!” He chuckled at your words, hand raised towards the bartender to get you drinks. “What are you ordering?”

“Shots. We deserve something to toast our victory to, and I don’t believe champagne is your drink of choice.” He offered you one of the smaller glasses, his own raised before him as he locks those bright brown eyes with your own. “Ein Prost! To us, and our victory over John Walker. May that American schwein taste defeat again.” You raise your glass, hoping to drink away any thoughts about Walker's warning and leave it for the next day. Throwing caution to the wind, you decided right then and there that you would finally have fun and disregard the night that you sat across from your rival. Tonight you just wanted to drink. “À la vôtre!” The drink is bitter as it hits your throat and travels down your body, causing a warmth to spread soon after. Kuemmerling, a bitter concoction of herbaceous and bittersweet flavors. A drink of choice for Zemo it seemed because soon after the shots were downed, he ordered another round.

Shot after shot after shot is taken down until your body is leaning against his own and a joke that is shaky at best from his part sends you into a roar of laughter. He holds you close, laughing right along with you. “So... It’s Barenjar?” He snorts at your piss poor pronunciation of the new liquor joining the mix, shaking his head at you as he looks on with drunken vision. “Nien, nien, Bärenjäger. Say it with me. Bä-”

“Bä-”

“Ren-”

“Jäger!”

“Mick Jagger?”

He laughs in defeat, shaking his head as he watched you. So relaxed, so calm. He hasn’t seen you like this before in his life. He’s startled by your sudden movements after downing your last shot for the night, catching you as you try to stand and stumble as your feet betray you. Your body landing against his, his arms slotting themselves around your waist as your drunken gaze catches his own. Those brown eyes of his are hypnotizing, keeping your gaze locked on his own. “I have something to confess, (First name).” He paused to wet his lips, trying to piece the words together in his hazy mind. “I have liked you since the day I met you.” He finally blurts out, fingers moving up to brush away a stray strand of hair that had fallen into your eyes. “You’re infuriating, yet calming. Stubborn and determined. Your smile is lovely and those eyes…” He trails off, leaving your hazy mind questioning what was going to come after, but you hardly have time to think about it as he pressed in closer, face inches from your own. The smell of Bärenjäger and Kuemmerling lingered on his breath as it fanned over your face, those brown eyes searching for something in your own. “Can you feel it, the connection we have? Can you see that we are not just rivals now?” His tone was just barely above a whisper, questioning you with a hint of desperation to his tone.

“Oui.”

That was the only answer he needed. His lips are on yours with fever and desperation, hands clinging to your form for dear life after hearing the words that sent him to fully fall into the feeling of you. You were his comfort, the one constant thing in his life. His rival...but right now you were the woman he sloppily kissed at the hotel bar as the bartender tried to catch his attention to tell you that you both were cut off for the night. His hands moved to grip at your thigh and tangle in your hair, abandoning the idea of holding anything back, the liquor giving him courage to make a move on you. He has wanted to do this for years, touch you, feel you, have you there with him in any way he could. He separated only when the threat of security was offered by the bartender, lips kiss swollen and a faint pant falling from them. “Come.” His hand takes hold of yours, leading you along to the lift and up to his room for the night. This hotel that he called home for the time being would serve well for what he had in mind to do to you. He led you inside, not even waiting for the door to close as he captured your lips once more, hands taking your rear in his grasp and hoisting you up so your legs wrapped around him, back pressed up against the closest wall he could find. He held you there, lips separating to begin trailing hungry kisses down the column of your throat and allow his hands to trace along your sides. His fingers slipped beneath the fabric of your shirt to feel the bare skin there, wanting what he has longed for since the day he met you. A noise fell from your lips as he lazily suckled a mark over your pulse point, your fingers tangling into his dark hair and tugging the locks when his hips grounded against your own. He couldn’t help the fire blooming in his body, needy for the creature that has teased him for all these years, The one he thought he would never have a chance with because of their hate for each other on the track. He needed you, and in your current state, you were willing to accept any touch he offered. He was just Helmut Zemo tonight. Not your rival, not the Baron, just Helmut. And you were his (First name).

A groan left his lips when you pulled him by his hair away from your neck, hands working to take your shirt up and over your head. Throwing it aside, he looked at you with a gaze of admiration. It was similar to the gaze he gave when looking at the new modifications to his car, taking pride in the beauty of things that drove him to win. He dampens his lips, fingers lazily dragging up the expanses of your back from bottom to top, resting on the clasp of the garment covering your breast. “Darf ich?” Your nod was all he needed, the clasp undone with skilled fingers that knew precision, holding still on your back when your arms rose to take the garment and throw it in an unknown direction to be forgotten about for the time being. He wasted no time with taking one of your breasts in hand, fingers running over the sensitive bud of one while he took the other in his mouth, suckling and lavishing with his tongue. He took his time, drunken yet slowly sobering mind savoring each and every noise that fell from your lips as he toyed with your body. You’re barely into foreplay and he already has your panties soaked, the Baron being a creature that knows exactly what buttons to push to get you going without even knowing your body. He was skilled, that much was for sure in your mind as he switched to the other breast, paying equal attention to each. Those brown eyes of his don’t leave your face for a second, watching every reaction and trying to commit them to memory. If he could only have you tonight, he wanted to remember everything he possibly could. Every detail of your body, everything that drew a hitched breath or a low moan from your lips. Every shaky breath and the way your body would press closer to his greedy mouth and hand. He stored it all away. Maybe he’d wake up the next day and fancy this a pleasant dream...It wouldn’t be the first time he’s gotten worked up by thinking about you.

His hand traveled downward, cupping your sex through your pants as his own grinds up against your thigh, straining through the fabric of his pants. He ached for you, for your heated skin to be pressed against his own in a delicious rut of bodies. He traced along the seam, hearing the low whine that fell from your lips as he teased you through the material. “Helmut, stop for a moment.” The man paused all actions, his gaze shifted to a worried state as he met your eyes and spoke with concern. “Are you alright, mein liebling?”

“Oui.” Your fingers trace his jaw, the man's face briefly pressing in against your palm before delivering a soft kiss to the area. A tender gesture that sent butterflies to flutter in your stomach and heart to speed further than the foreplay had already caused. “I just...Take me to the bedroom. Please?” You preferred not being right beside the door where anyone could listen in, where anyone could hold a camera up to the peephole and record the sexual pleasures of the infamous Wildcard and Baron. That would make a top headline, wouldn’t it? He gave a chuckle at your demand, nodding as he kept his grip on you, your legs wrapping just a hint tighter around him as he moved you both to the bedroom. He’s gentle with setting you down, looking down at you when you unwrap your arms and legs from his form. “Scheiße, du bist perfekt.” He slowly worked on the buttons of his shirt, working each plastic piece through the loop with fingers that were known for precision on the course. A shift in his steering, taking hold of the semi-automatic paddle-shifters as he drove, it was all well calculated and that applied on and off the track. His shirt is shrugged off his shoulders, thrown aside before focusing on the belt on his pants. He gets it off with what can only be deemed a darkening gaze, knowing he’s getting closer and closer to having you. You rose to let your hands trail his chest, roaming over the lean muscle that rested there as feather light kisses met his collarbone. A shiver met his spine, shooting up in bliss as he allowed a moment to savor the feeling of you touching his skin. Your skin was so warm, so inviting. He was getting lost in everything.

Your fingers shift down his torso, trailing his abdomen before looping in the belt loops of his pants to pull him forward, a low growl falling from his lips when you place a kiss above the waistline of his pants. Your movements were confident, unzipping his trousers and tugging them down to reveal the tent hidden behind his underwear. He swallowed thickly as he kicked his pants off, watching your every move as you cup him through the thin fabric, thumb moving to brush over the leaking tip and cause a shaky breath to leave him. “Maus-” A groan leaves his lips when a jerk through the fabric is given, his head falling back briefly. He huffed when you repeated the motion, fingers anxious to wrap around his bare flesh and feel that hot skin in the palm of your hand. But he stops you, hand wrapping around your own and bringing it to his lips once more. “Tonight is not about me, maus.” You’re surprised when the man placed his hand on your chest, lightly pushing you back to lay on the bed as he slowly sank down onto his knees, ”Es geht nur um dich.’ His lips drag slowly across your skin, trailing light kisses and nips along your abdomen and resting at the waist of your pants. He glanced up, a silent question of courtesy offered your way as his fingers loop in the band, asking permission like a proper gentleman. “Go ahead.” Your voice is barely above a whisper, his presence making you feel like you’re floating higher and higher on this ride with him. He gave a tug, your rear lifting and back arching to aid the man as he pulled your pants down and let them fall to join the scattered articles around the room. You’d have to go on a damn scavenger hunt just to find your clothes! But none of that mattered now, not when his hot breath is fanning over your needy core and face nuzzling at your thighs. He placed a kiss to your inner thigh before another followed, then another as he began to trail inward towards your covered core. “Aufgeregt?” He purred in questioning, a low rumble of a chuckle coming from deep within his chest spilling out at the small nod he is met with, loving how he has left you damn near speechless just by being so close. Your hips jump back before he gets a grip on them, his tongue moving over the wet fabric and causing a light whine to spill from your lips. “Helmut, please.” Oh, hearing you speak his name only egged him on further, needing you. He needed to taste you, to feel you. He needed you in every way, and his drunken mind only pushed him on to pull the fabric away from your legs and stare at the glory that is you. So wet, so beautiful. He wasted no more time, bringing your legs to hook over his shoulders and delved into the intoxicating honey pot he had been offered. He started off slowly, a long lap from entrance to clit given before the motion was repeated just to hear the noise that left your lips with each swipe. Zemo was mapping you out, taking note of what areas made your thighs twitch and tense, what areas made your hips jump back at the sensitivity of his touch, and what made those oh so delicious noises spill from your mouth.

He allows his tongue to focus in on your clit, flicking the bundle of nerves in a rhythm that sends your head to spin and moan after moan to spill from your lips. “Merde!” He smirked against your core when your hand shot down to tangle in his locks, needing stability after he took your clit between his lips and suckled. He repeats the motion, gaze locked on your own and watching the sudden shock of the feeling run through your body. You were so reactive, and just for him. A lazy lick is given to the sensitive bundle of nerves, watching your hips jerk lightly and seeing the tremble that began to settle into your thighs. “Close?” He questioned as if he was questioning about an everyday thing, totally not giving the impression he was getting you close to orgasm just with that sinful tongue and lips of his. O-Oui.” Your tone was shaky, breathy, eyes half lidded and watching his every move on you. “Gut.” A gasp fell from your lips when he sank a digit into your hot, needy core, arching along the way and searching for the sweet spot deep within. He wasn’t like the inexperienced boys who would just jab their fingers into their partner and hope it hits something. No, his fingers curled, probed, dragged and felt for that spot in a way that showed his experience. A second digit is added not too long after the first, probing the flesh within until he hears your moan and finds that spot that drives you to clamp your thighs around his head. A groan left his lips at the rush of slick is met with each probe, massaging that spot within you and only adding to the tension building in your core. Each throb he was met with only spurred him on. He was on a mission to bring you over the edge, and he would do anything to get you off. When his mouth returned to your still sensitive clit, tongue flicking of the bundle and including the occasional suckle while his fingers moved deep within, you were done for. A rough tug is given to his hair as your body convulses, thighs clamping around him and grinding your hips down against his eager tongue. He helps you ride out your orgasm, lapping at your clit until you give a light shove to his head to make him stop. A wicked smile crosses his features as he gives one final suckle, a squeak leaving your lips at the motion and shoving him back as much as your trembling body allows. He can only chuckle at the attempt, fingers removing from your throbbing core. He watched your gaze land on him when you caught sight of the digits, watching the man move his glance to them as if he was inspecting them before a quiet whimper left your lips when they were taken one by one into his mouth. He made it a show, teasing you as he cleaned each digit of your juices in a slow motion. Sinking down to the knuckle before returning and licking at whatever was left. “Tease.” You huffed, chest rising and falling steadily with your hammering heart. “Oh you know you like it.” He retorted, lazily letting his body climb up and over yours on the plush mattress.

He pushed the final material separating you from him away, throwing the underwear away before letting himself settle in against your body. Zemo wasted no time in wrapping your legs around his waist, lips joining yours as he lined up with you, one hand taking hold of your hip while the other took hold of your hair, tugging it back enough to have access to your neck. As he begins to ease himself within you, his lips attach at a section of your neck, a harsh mark left in his wake as he sinks inch by inch within the lightly pulsing core that he toyed with before. A groan was left against your skin when he was fully settled, grip rough on your hip but movements gentle as he waited for you to adjust. He was no animal, not cruel! He knew that there was a possibility for pain if he moved too soon, and even in his drunken haze he recognized the look in your eyes, the slight twinge of pain from his size alone. The stretch wasn’t unpleasant, no, but it was an intrusion you weren’t quite used to when normally doing this. He lightly placed kisses to sooth you along the mark he left, trailing them up the underside of your chin, going along your jaw before soon connecting with your lips in a soft kiss. Something to distract you until you were ready for him to move. A shift of your hips was given when you tested the feeling of him in you, the moan that left your lips causing a low growl to fall from his own. He lifted his body to loom over yours, hand moving from your hair to cup a breast as he sets a slow, deep and even borderline sensual pace within your core. Slowly out until the tip stayed just barely in before plunging deeply into your warm, wet depths. He huffed with each push of his cock within your core, meeting your moans with a faint groan here or a soft growl there when your walls gripped him just right. He was losing composure with each faint twitch of your walls around him, pace beginning to pick up into a steady rhythm that developed the noise of slick skin hitting skin and the bed beneath to creak ever so slightly with each movement. “Verdammt!” He could tell how your walls began to tighten around him, how each noise leaving your lips grew louder and louder. His poor neighbors, hearing you both so vividly through the walls of the hotel. Yet he didn’t care who heard. As long as they knew that in this moment, you were his to take, that was all that mattered. Zemo moved his thumb to your clit, working the bundle along with the assault he laid on your sensitive spot deep within. Each clamp around him brought his own release to come closer and closer. “Cum for me, maus.” He demanded with a grunt, needing to feel you come undone to reach his own release. His words hit somewhere deep in you, the demand that was laced with a plea driving you to your second orgasm of the night. He groaned as he felt you clamp around him, the sensation alone causing him to remove himself from you and spill onto your stomach with a few quick pumps of his hand along his slick coated member. He pants, taking in the sight of you one final time for the time being. Messy, slickened by your own arousal and sweat. Your hair was messed up, your lips parted and panting. To add the cherry on top, you were coated in his release, a sight for sore eyes while you lay like this. He made you like this, and it swells his drunken ego.

Slowly he eased down to lay at your side, bringing you in against him with an almost delicate kiss delivered to your temple. Your breathing slowly evened out, head resting against his chest as his fingers trail along your back, drawing imaginary patterns as his mind begins to blank. The alcohol was taking effect, causing him to enter a lull and for his eyes to flutter shut. As you lay there, catching your breath, you watch as he drifts away, a single question beginning to enter your sobering mind.

“What have I done?”

Tag List: @darksxder | @mymagicsuitcase | @mischief-siriusly-managed | @alindeluce

#Baron zemo #baron helmut zemo #helmut zemo #racing au #daniel brühl #zemo x reader #zemo x y/n #zemo x you #baron zemo x reader #john walker #john walker is STILL an asshole #multichapter story #chapter 2 #“It Takes Two to Win a Race.” Chapter II

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citydreamgrls · 4 years

Text

the empty diary - part one

fred weasley x fem!reader

summary: it had appeared out of the blue, a diary that contained an odd power, one which would backfire and reveal her true feelings to the one she wished to hide it from most.

an: this is the first part in a new mini-series, i hope you all enjoy !!

words: 4,051

warnings: smut in later parts

The book had appeared on top of her cases when the girl had arrived in her dorm the previous day, its crimson red cover sticking out amongst the dark wood trunks. It had been a small surprise, the pages between all empty to her eyes as she scanned through it quickly. But something had drawn her to the mysterious object as she felt the leather slip between her fingers as if it was somewhat familiar.

Since it was empty, and there was no one who was asking after a lost diary, the girl decided to use it as just that. Spending most evenings of the first few weeks back at Hogwarts hiding herself away to spill out those nagging thoughts; thoughts that she’d never before had the idea to write down.

Most days she could time it so that Hermione was busy helping Ron with transfiguration work and not sitting around watching her write furiously, doing her best to not interrupt. As much as she trusted Hermione, she knew how curious her best friend could be at times and wanted to keep this one thing private for as long as she could manage.

It wasn’t long, however, as she’d imagined.

“y/n-” Hermione had burst into the room, catching the girl off guard, who had learnt to zone out all noises while she wrote. Which meant she hadn’t noticed the rushed footsteps pounding up the stone steps to their room before it was too late. “What’s that?”

The girl did her best to act casual, her little desk which she was sitting at normally gathering dust, and slid the book beneath some forgotten homework from last year.

“Oh… nothing.” She panicked, and blurted out, knowing full well that no excuse would satisfy Hermione’s interest more than the truth.

“Show me,” A hand reached past her, pushing papers away to reveal the red leather standing out amongst the white sheets.

“It’s really- Hermione!”

No amount of body blocking could have stopped the girl’s friend when she was determined, regardless of how much she tried; Hermione was a surprisingly strong girl.

“Stop it!” Y/n cried out, laughing when she felt the girl hovering over her reach down to tickle her. Grinning at the way she crumbled beneath the feeling, whining out about foul play.

Hermione’s hands had already grasped the book, frowning at its blank cover and holding it heavy in her hands. The other girl, now released from the temporary torture of tickling, stood beside her friend and tried one last time to reclaim her new diary.

It, in a clumsy turn of events, fell to the floor. The pages audibly flicking through themselves, as they watched it cascade to the ground as it was slower than time.

Y/n silently prayed, begged and wished that it would land with the covers closed over her intimate thoughts, fearful of how the girl beside her would react to something so personal. But as two pages laid out before them both, and the girl held her breath, it seemed as if fate heard her call as the pair stared down to see a blank response.

She let out a little breath, forgetting that she needed to reclaim the book before Hermione got a chance. The girl in question, however, seemed confused by the book before her.

“What?” Y/n scoffed, following her eyes to see what had made her speechless in the last ten seconds or so. Joining the silence as their jaws dropped agape at the sight before them both.

“Am I going mad?” Hermione asked, seeing the ink appear slowly on the once empty page, words coming into view in the form of sentences y/n had curated herself only moments before her friend had burst into the room. She just shook her head at the empty question, too amazed by what they were witnessing to bother talking.

Shaking hands reached for it, worried it may combust between her fingers as the girl held it tenderly. Hermione’s name was printed in bold amongst the rest of the words, something she herself hadn’t done.

“Did you write about me?”

“Only good things,” She smiled, trying to avoid her prying eyes, but it was no use.

“I think it’s been charmed… but by who.”

There was a silence between the two girls as their mind’s whirred for a moment, the faint echo of passing owls sounding amongst their breaths. Y/n was close to a scream when Hermione lunged towards her, taking the book from her and throwing it onto the bed with a panicked look, a thought having plagued her mind suddenly.

“We shouldn’t trust it, not after what happened to Ginny in second year.”

“Oh come on Mione, you-know-who isn’t going to try the same trick twice.”

“Well, where did you find it then?” She demanded to know, her hands resting all too comfortably on her hips like an angry mother.

“It was just… onmycases.” The girl mumbled, now understanding where the hesitance was coming from.

“Where y/n?” Her voice was stern.

“On my case, it was just laying there for me.”

“Well then we definitely can't trust it!”

“I’ve had it for weeks already, and still nothing bad has happened, I think I'm safe.” A laugh sounded from her mouth, more to reassure herself as she picked it up again, the leather still feeling natural between her skin.

Her friend didn’t seemed convinced and took it from her yet again, making y/n groan out in annoyance as Hermione paced the room, trying to study it for herself.

“Give it back Mione!”

“I just want to try something-” “It’s private!” “I’m not interested in your crushes y/n,” She scoffed, but noticed the entry she had dedicated to how good Oliver Wood had looked at the first quidditch practice.

“Oh come on it’s not a crush- what are you doing?”

Hermione held her wand out, muttering as many spells as she could think of to try and reveal the whole book to her, having noticed the stray empty pages between entries.

“I wrote on those, what’s it doing?” The girl asked, peering over her friend's shoulder as she refused to stop walking round their dorm.

“I think it’s charmed to the reader, here, you hold it.” “Well, it’s not like it’s mine or anything.” She huffed, finally taking it back and flicking between pages. Where Hermione had seen blanks, she watched the words reappear. “See, now it’s coming back.” “Not for me, that one’s still blank.” Her friend furrowed her brow, thinking intently as the girl placed the book back down on her pokey desk.

“I think it’s been charmed so that whoever reads it only sees entries in which they’re mentioned. You can see all of them because you wrote them, but I could only see the ones which you had written me into.” Her brain spilled out this theory so confidently that all y/n could do was nod in agreement, seeing no flaws to what she was stating.

“That seems, risky, right?” She offered up, unsure of what else to say.

“Very, but somewhat safer than muggle diaries at least.” Hermione giggled, laying back with a sigh. “I only came up for a textbook, but it seems like Ron’s troubles are nowhere near as interesting as this is.”

“I’m glad I can at least entertain,” The girl rolled her eyes, “Hey, maybe we should test this out a bit more.”

“That way we can know whether what I think is right, great idea!” Hermione seemed excited at the prospect of an experiment, regardless of how mundane or easy it was.

“We can use Ron and Harry!”

The two girls peered around a bookcase, spotting the redhead and four eyes struggling to think of an original thought between them as they waited for Hermione to return. She rolled her eyes, knowing they’d get nothing done without her.

“Give it here,” Y/n took the red book from her friend, spotting how possessive they’d both become of it.

“I was keeping it safe for you, this could be bad in the wrong hands y/n,” She hissed, not wanting to draw the boys’ attention until they were ready. “Now, write Ron’s name in here and Harry’s on another page. That way we can see which one they can see when holding the book.” The top student explained simply, the girl beside her just nodding as she scribbled quickly, their sneaky stances now garnering a bit of attention around them.

“Done. Let’s try it out.” She smiled, holding the book amongst others she’d brought down with her, hiding their plan behind the lie of another outstanding essay to complete.

“Finally!” Ron huffed, seeing the girls arrive after enough time waiting.

“Well, if you actually listened to Mcgonnagall during class then you wouldn’t need to wait for me to come and hold your hand.” Hermione snapped, taking her seat beside the boy as y/n joined Harry.

He seemed unfazed by the bright red leather slipped between her plain school books as she placed them down, he was too preoccupied by a girl making eyes at him from across the library.

“I just don’t get why I need to know all this, I don’t even want to take Transfiguration next year so it doesn’t matter, it’s a waste of time.” Ron was groaning as Hermione watched her pull out the diary subtly, sighing and flicking open the pages. She hushed the boy beside her as y/n began further writing next to his name, he watched her with a scowl before she held up the page to him.

Ron, Mcgonnagall’s in here you git! Be quiet.

“Is she, oh bloody hell.” He put his head down after reading the words she’d written out for him, Hermione nodding to her when she hadn’t been able to see it herself. It was a lie of course, the Professor’s very rarely spent time in the library, and Ron probably knew it deep down, but it was enough to prove that their theory was right. The girl’s friend stared at Harry, who was still distracted from the rest of them, signalling that she should still try it with him.

Harry, is she your new girlfriend? ;)

She wrote, sliding the message over to him, and nudging his side with a giggle. It made the dark haired boy blush but still he scoffed and denied that he’d been making eyes at anyone. Ron had seen the quiet exchange and frowned, seeing a blank page from his point of view.

“Was there anything on there?” He whispered to Hermione, who dismissed his question with a sigh and quickly changed the subject to keep their little secret.

The two girls sat awake on their beds that evening, having proven the true powers of y/n’s diary and agreed that something this simple was unlikely to be dark magic. They had tested as many spells on it to show if it was capable of more, but it seemed that hiding irrelevant entries was all it could do.

“You should keep a locking spell on it, and probably keep it safe, if someone managed to get it open that would be awful.”

“Who do you think would be the worst person.” Y/n inquired, her brain worn out from all the possibilities she’d run through.

“Oliver Wood.” Hermione teased.

“Shut up! I don’t like him.”

“There’s someone though, right? I saw some words about a boy.”

“Not really.”

“It seemed like you were interested in them.” She let out a small laugh in the dimly lit room at her friend’s blatant lie, knowing that when she liked someone she would deny it for the rest of her life until she too believed it not to be true. “It’s not a bad thing to like someone.”

Hermione did her best to reassure her friend, but the girl seemed caught in her thoughts as they welcomed the silence between them, her wand spinning between her fingers mindlessly. She decided to drop it, seeing how uncomfortable it had made her, but surprisingly it was y/n who spoke up.

“I don’t think they would feel the same way, that’s all.” Her voice was quiet, and reserved. A world apart from how she usually acted around her best friend.

“Who is it?” Hermione asked, seeing the hesitance on the girl’s face as she thought about how to answer.

“You really cannot tell a soul, I mean this.”

“I promise y/n, no one will know.” She placed her hands into the girl’s, squeezing tight to try and relax her as best as she could.

“Okay, well, it’s nothing big it’s just an interest that’s it. And really, I’m not too sure about it myself.”

“Okay, go on.”

A few days passed, with Hermione and y/n successfully keeping the diary a secret between them. Not that Ron and Harry would have ever been that bothered by it, or its powers, at all.

It was yet another night spent studying in the library when things went wrong. The girl had been there for a good few hours now, her diligent friend always one to motivate her whenever she needed it. The diary had been forgotten amongst her other books, its locking spell casted safely over it.

Still, that spell wasn’t completely safe and they had done all they could to strengthen it, but someone would most likely be able to crack it open after some research into counter spells.

They had chosen a small table by the windows, the beginnings of a storm crashing against the glass as hushed voices floated around the large room. It was private, and not many people seemed to pass by, so when Hermione went to find yet another book to help with her latest essay, the girl decided it would be a chance to write in the red bound book for a little while.

She held her wand and whispered the words to open it up to her, its pages flittering to the next empty piece of paper within. The quill in her hand danced around as she wrote all about her day, about the storm, about the people in her classes and about the boy she was learning to like with every second spent in his presence.

Beyond the castle walls the wind blustered against the stone, the howls tunneling through the hallways and creating a small breeze at her feet. She shivered, ignoring the cold as best she could and focused instead on the words she wrote.

“God that rain sounds awful!” A voice boomed nearby, dragging her away from her thoughts hurriedly.

“Do you think quidditch will be cancelled?” Another droned on, obviously annoyed at this prospect. She recognised the twins immediately as their footsteps reached her side.

“I hope not- oh y/n you’re still here?” George asked as they both stopped. She shut the book quickly, looking up from where she sat to smile politely. Both boys towered above her as they stood with hands in their pockets.

“We saw you earlier with Hermione, but you looked busy so we didn’t dare interrupt.” Fred laughed lightly, peering over at her work beside her. “You got much to do?”

“Uh not too much, Hermione is here somewhere but she’s-” “Off being a goody two shoes?” Fred teased.

“Hey, that’s mean.”

“Sorry, I should have included both of you in that statement.”

The girl had wondered how long it would take for the twins to start annoying her again, their greatest pleasure in life was seeing someone bothered by them and that never excluded herself.

“At least I don’t fly around like a maniac every other night,” She huffed.

“Hey, quidditch is very respected.” George snapped back.

“Yeah, for teenage boys that is.” She scoffed, ignoring their grimaces and pulling out her potions book.

“Yeah well-” Fred was cut off by the sound of glass smashing somewhere else in the library, the storm from outside flying in with no regard for the panicked students. Screams sounded out as more and more windows caved into the growing pressure, and the girl stood up to see if she could spot Hermione amongst them.

“We need to go!” George cried out to his brother, who grabbed the girl’s arm. She took it back, needing to find Hermione first before getting out.

“Y/n!” Her friend called out over the howls of wind, appearing from behind a stack of books and taking her friend’s hand. “Come on!” She dragged her away from the table.

“Wait, what about-” SHe started, remembering the red diary laying unprotected on the table. She hadn’t had time to cast the spell over it, and now as they ran through the small crowd of students she had no chance to turn back.

“Y/n come on!” Fred yanked on her arm again, giving her no option but to follow as he overpowered her protests easily.

They weren’t allowed back in until the next afternoon, once the room had been cleared of smashed glass, and the windows were repaired. It was quiet now, the storm having been and gone, and the sun shone in calmly as if nothing had happened.

“Over here, this was where we were yes?” Hermione asked, spotting her pile of textbooks stacked neatly on their table. A few pages had been ripped at the edges, and she could see obvious signs of water damage. But mostly, it was salvageable.

“I can’t find it!” Y/n said, rushing to shove everything out of the way. The diary was nowhere to be found.

“It’ll be here, just keep looking.”

The girl threw herself to the ground, crawling beneath the table where she’d had it last and looking in all the dark corners. But no matter where she looked, the red leather was missing.

“I’ll go ask Madame Pince, she may have picked it up if it looked important.” Hermione told her friend as she slumped into the chair, her head falling between her hands in despair.

It was open, unlocked for anyone to look inside. Whoever had it may not be able to read anything, but if it got passed around to someone mentioned then it was over. The girl collected the things that had been left in the midst of the storm and remembered how adamant the twins had been to get her out, especially Fred.

They could have easily taken it while she was distracted looking for Hermione, not to mention that they would revel in knowing her every secret. But that was the last thing she wanted to believe, as it would mean she would need to drown herself in the black lake out of embarrassment.

Since she learnt of the diary’s power, she had been careful not to mention him by name, knowing that it would immediately reveal itself to him if found. But, what about the ones before when his name was repeated over and over, when she wasn’t sure why she felt the need to write about him, or her feelings towards him. It just felt right.

Now, it was all wrong. What if there was more, what if the power stretched to intention too. If it knew that the person reading it was being written about, without blatantly stating their name, would that mean it would still reveal itself. She hated that her and Hermione hadn’t thought of this idea until now, when it was too late.

“It has to be the twins!” Y/n stated, when her friend returned from the librarian’s office empty handed, her eyes wide and determined.

“You really think so?” “Who else would want to have that kind of upper hand over someone?” “It would be their best prank this term, even if it’s a bit cruel.”

“We need to get it back! Remember what I said the other night, all of that could be unveiled if they are the ones who have it.” She urged, getting to her feet in an instant, forgetting all the things they needed to carry back to their dorms and storming out of the library.

Fred would have recognised the red cover from a mile away, it had been clutched between the girl’s hands for weeks now, obviously full of secrets since she felt the need to cast a locking spell on it. She thought she had been subtle about it, but he had seen her do it every time she closed it in the great hall or the common room.

But it wasn’t in her hands, it was poking out of a pile of books a random second year boy was carrying. He frowned, leaving George’s side to follow the Ravenclaw boy round the corner and down an empty hall.

“Hey!” He called out, making the younger boy jump in surprise. “Is that yours?” He pointed to the book in his arms, making his eyes widen in fear at the tall redhead. Everyone knew who they were, but they were always known for being easygoing. Now his stern tone instilled fear in the boy’s face as he got closer. He shook his head, the red book falling as he scrambled away in a panic, not wanting to stick around to find out what Fred would do if he found out it was stolen during the storm.

“Little bugger.” Fred mumbled, picking it up and seeing the page that it had fallen open onto. He could hear footsteps running after him and quickly shoved the book into his robes, turning just in time to see his brother turn the corner with a look of confusion on his face.

“What was that all about?” He asked.

“Oh, nothing. I just thought I saw something…” Fred trailed off, quickly losing George’s interest.

“God, anyone would think you’re going mental.”

Maybe he was. Racing after someone over a diary that wasn’t even his, but he had seen the unmistakable scrawling’s of y/n’s writing. Then his name, as clear as day.

Fred waited until everyone in his dorm fell asleep before taking out the diary, casting a quiet lumos spell and slipping beneath the covers to secretly read what was inside. He started with the first entry, his name appearing first before the other words faded into view.

Dear Diary,

Maybe I’m going mad, or someone has cursed me to think this way, but something feels different about Fred Weasley. For the first time in years I can definitively tell that it is him when he’s stood beside his brother, instead of having to guess like I used to. It’s like I can finally pick him out in a room, when before he just blended into everyone else, yet when I see him he’s just getting on with his life and doing nothing special.

He’s taller than he used to be, and he smiles more, and his voice is deeper than I realised. But maybe these are all things that I’m just noticing now, because I want to know more. Everything about him makes me want to know more, and I can’t explain why, it’s pure curiosity.

Now when he talks to me, the same way he has done for years, I feel excited and nervous and all these other emotions I wouldn’t have expected to relate to Fred. It’s as if I see him as a new person, like we’ve just met… properly.

Maybe I am going mad, or maybe this is all a prank to him to make me feel this way, but until I fix it I will just have to live with it. I’m hoping writing it down may help hide how I feel from him, for a little while.

Fred’s eyes read fast, each word dragging him in deeper and deeper into her mind, as if he could see every thought as it was produced. He read it over and over, slowly and carefully, to make sure what he had seen was true.

He could never show anyone this, that would crush her, but he enjoyed this little secret. The boy liked knowing that she saw him differently to all the other boys in her life, but what made him the happiest was that he was the only one to know what she was thinking.

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pan-fangirl-345 · 4 years

Text

He’s Just Recharging

Summary: Your boyfriend is a very cuddly person, and how others can’t see how much he loves you makes you mad.

TW: Mentions of abuse (nothing graphic, but just in case), bullying, mentions of bullying. I swear it’s fluffy.

A/N: I love this boy, and he deserves more love!

"Guess who?" Satori sang, covering your eyes as he stepped up behind you.

"Satori!" you giggled, prying his hands off, turning to smile at him.

"Hey pretty girl," he said, kissing your forehead in greeting.

"Where are the others?" you inquired. The rest of the third year volleyball boys tended to stick together when they could, and a lot of the first and second years trickled in as they willed.

"They're on their way, I just really wanted to see you," he informed you proudly.

You smiled at him again, walking over to the table they usually sat at during lunch.

After becoming manager, you and the boys volleyball club had become a tightknit group, even to the point where Satori had asked you out.

Satori rummaged through his bag looking for something, making you laugh as you sat down.

"I can't find my English notes and I have it next period!" he whined, flopping into the seat next to you.

He frowned for a moment, then latched his hands onto your hips and pulled you into his lap.

"Satori!" you squeaked, trying not to draw attention to the already embarrassing situation. "Hey, let me go. I can't be light!"

"But I like you here," Satori mumbled, burying his face in your neck, wrapping his arms around your waist, toying with your fingers.

"You aren't going to let me go, are you?" you inquired.

"Nope," he said, popping the 'p', and you could feel him smiling against your neck.

You sighed.

It wasn't that you didn't like this, you did, but you had never been the skinniest girl in your class, and it made you more than a little self-conscious at times.

Which, now that you thought about it, was probably why Satori did this in the first place.

He was a very touchy boyfriend in general, and half the time he didn't even realize he was doing it. It was like he was just drawn to you. He always managed to end up by your side, regardless of where he had started out in the room.

You had asked one time if he did it on purpose, but he had just said that sometimes his body just naturally headed to your voice.

It was sweet, and it made you blush, but it also made you worry. Did he think that he had to be by your side? Like some sort of boyfriend obligation? Or did he honestly want to be by you?

"Hey pretty girl, why the long face?" he asked, setting his chin on your shoulder.

"Oh, it's nothing, I was just lost in thought I guess," you muttered, but you could tell you were still frowning. "Hey, Satori?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you think I'm clingy?" you inquired. "Like . . . do you feel like you have to be with me at all times because you have to be? Like it's some sort of chore or something?"

"No," he said. "If anyone in this relationship is clingy, it's me. Why are you asking?"

"I'm just worried I guess," you admitted. "The last guy I was with . . . ."

You trailed off with a wince.

Satori's arms tightened around your waist, almost subconsciously.

"You know you don't have to tell me anything baby girl," he murmured, kissing your neck lightly.

"I know that. I want to. The last guy I was with said that I was too clingy, that he spent time with me because he had to."

"(Y/F/N)," Satori said, a serious tone to his voice that made you turn to look at him. "I'm clingy because you make the bad days better. I'm clingy because you let me be. You always smile so easily for me."

"I smile for you because you make it easy to smile for you."

"God, you two can't keep your hands off each other, can you?" Semi asked as he set his bag down.

"If she was your girlfriend you wouldn't be able to keep your hands off her either," Satori retorted.

"Yes I would, because I'm aware of the fact that the cafeteria is a public place."

"You have to admit though, we're better than them," you replied, gesturing with your thumb at a second year couple that looked like they were attempting to get into each other's pants.

"I hate couples like that," Semi hissed, picking at his lunch.

"If it makes you feel better, I tried to move," you told him.

"She did, she made a very valiant effort too," Satori agreed. "But, I'm a stubborn bastard, and I love my girlfriend."

"A simp is what you are," Semi said in unison with you.

"I can't appreciate my beautiful girlfriend?" Satori asked, giving a small pout.

"You can, but there are much less physical ways to do it," Semi insisted.

"You're just jealous she's my girlfriend Semi-Semi!" Satori sang, making you snort.

"Why do I hang out with either of you?"

"You love us and you know it," Satori said, fiddling with the fingers of your free hand as you ate with the other.

"Why is (Y/L/N)-san sitting on Satori-san's lap?" Goshiki asked when he sat down.

"Satori's recharging," you told him, ruffling his hair affectionately.

Goshiki was probably one of your favorite underclassmen, mostly because he always wanted advice on how to get better and he gave you the least amount of back talk out of all of them.

Satori hummed his agreement, picking at his own food thoughtfully.

"You really should eat something," you murmured, touching one of the hands he had around your waist.

"I will if you will," he countered, making you smile.

"Love, I already ate mine."

"How?" Satori and Goshiki asked at the same time.

"I have a big family, and in my family you learn to either eat fast or you get whatever everyone else doesn't want. Big family gatherings are the worst, especially in my family when one wrong comment could start WW3 in my grandmother's backyard."

Satori chuckled, and the sound vibrated against your back where it was pressed up against Satori's chest.

Satori stopped messing with your hands so he could eat, but one hand did start tapping beats on your thigh absentmindedly.

The others trickled in the way they normally did, and no one else mentioned that fact that Satori still had you trapped on his lap. Not even Ushijima, who was too busy reading a new book about plants to really listen to anyone.

You smiled and laughed along with the rest of your team until you glanced at the clock in the cafeteria.

"Oh no, I have to go," you said.

"Why?" Satori asked, his grip like steel bands around your waist.

"I have to talk to a teacher about a book I need to read for an AP Lit class!" you squeaked, shoving your stuff in your bag. "SatorI, let me go!" you whined when he refused to let you move.

"Fine, but you'll find me before practice, right?" he asked, moving his hands to his sides.

"Of course, I always do!" you chirped, sliding off his lap.

You kissed his cheek before you left, waving goodbye to the others as you wove in between people, heading for your classroom.

"I heard that she's dating the Guess Monster," someone whispered.

"I saw them sitting together during lunch, it was kind of disgusting."

"I heard the only reason she's with him is because he hits her."

"You know, if you're going to gossip, you might want to do it where the person can't hear you," you snapped, turning to a girl from the second year's class one. "And whatever idiot told you Satori abused me is a fucking moron because he's the best boyfriend I could've ever asked for. And he's not a monster.

"And I wouldn't be saying anything Hiko, if I were you, considering I saw your boyfriend sucking face with Mei from the first year's class five, and Amaya from the second year's class three. At least Satori is faithful to me. Can your boyfriend say that? I think not."

When they didn't say anything more to you, you headed back down the hallway.

It had been like this since the beginning of the your relationship with Satori. People didn't understand it, so they gossiped and they lied and they spread rumors.

Normally, it didn't bother you, but lately people had been coming up with worse and worse theories, and it was starting to get on your nerves.

If they bothered Satori, he hadn't said anything to you, but he had been treated like this his entire life, so he had a much thicker skin than you did.

"(Y/L/N), are you okay?" Shirabu asked when you stumbled into him.

"Uh? Oh, yeah, I'm fine, just a little distracted," you assured him, sending him on his way with a smile that was only a little forced.

The sight of a setter for your team somehow calmed you down. You knew that no matter what, the members of the Shiritorizwawa Boy's Volleyball Club would never say those things to you or to Satori. They knew what you were both like, and they knew that Satori was crazy about you, and had been since day one.

You took a deep breath before you stepped into your classroom, apologizing for being late.

After picking up your book and heading back towards the cafeteria you kept your head high and your shoulders back.

You were Satori's girlfriend, you were yourself, and you were proud about that. You were proud to be yourself, proud to be his girlfriend, and proud to be the manager for the team.

When you stepped back into the cafeteria, Semi pointed to you and Satori loped over, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, smiling down at you.

"Hey love," you said, getting on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"I'm perfect," you assured him.

You walked back to the table together, and when Satori pulled you into his lap again, you didn't argue. If people had a problem with you and your boyfriend, they could take it up with you.

#tendou satori #tendou x reader #tendou x reader fluff #fluff

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shawtygonemad · 4 years

Text

Here, With You.

Daryl Dixon x Reader

Requested by the amazing @lilythemadqueen! 💙

Daryl and I have known each other since high school. At least before he dropped out. Everyone saw him as a hot headed trouble maker like his brother. I saw different. I saw a boy who was quiet and reserved. Who actually enjoyed going to school just to get away from his home life.

We had been paired up for a project. No one wanted to work with him, so as the new girl I thought this would be a chance for me to introduce myself. He was very standoffish at first. His snippy attitude and grumpy appearance would have driven anyone away. However, I had a feeling it was an act. I was pretty good at reading people and this boy seemed hidden under a shadow of what everyone expects him to be.

It turned out my theory was correct. The project gave me the excuse to spend time with him. To pry past his steel walls and get to know the real him. I continued to insist on being friends even after the project was over. He claimed he didn't want anything to do with me. However, little did I know he actually enjoyed the time I spent with him, and appreciated the kindness. He always joked he couldn't get rid of me even after he dropped out.

Unfortunately, he decided to become a drifter like his brother. I hadn't seen him for a few years after that. Then the apocalypse happened and the dead started to walk the Earth. I ended up in some camp on the outskirts of Atlanta. By some way of fate, Daryl was at the camp as well.

It was a pretty emotional reunion, on my side at least. Daryl had to play it cool and nonchalant due to his brother. Although he did tell me in private how glad he was that I was alive and here.

From the day I stepped foot into camp Daryl has kept me on a tight leash. Sure he was protective of me in high school. Even beat some guy up from asking me out at a joke. However, now was different. I was hardly allowed to leave his sight, and when he left he always asked some other guy to "keep an eye on me".

I know he means well, but man does it piss me off! Im a fully grown adult woman! I can handle myself! I know how to use my knife and kind of take down a walker with some help. He always treated me like I was completely defenseless.

I wanted to prove to him that I could help. That I could handle myself! That I was strong and brave enough to possibly become his girlfriend. Yes, I still had a stupid childish crush on him. Even more so now that he was a man. Puberty was VERY kind to him. I'd find myself unconsciously staring at him while licking my lips. Studying his broad shoulders, and muscular arms. Imagining how those arms would feel to wrap around me and bring me close. To imagine those large calloused hands trailing under my shirt and playfully pinching at my nipples.

I had to do this. I had to prove to him that I could handle myself. That I could handle HIM. Which is how I ended up in the middle of the woods trying to be as quiet as possible.

Daryl went hunting alone, which he knows I hate. If I could catch an animal or maybe take down a walker by myself then maybe he wouldn't think I'd be useless. I was following behind him at a decent distance. I tried to be as quiet as possible, but the leaves and twigs were too loud.

Daryl stopped and his shoulders went ridged. Within a second he spun around with his crossbow raised. He was ready to shoot his stalker.

"Come out," he gruffly yelled.

I stayed frozen behind the tree. My heart pumped and palms became sweaty. I was suddenly nervous and lost all confidence. What was I going to tell him? This was all so stupid thinking on it now.

My plan was to stay quiet and hopefully he'd continue on. However, the squirrel the jumped onto the tree beside me started me. With a small gasp and quiet yell I fell backwards into sight.

Daryl growled and lowered his crossbow at the sight of me.

"What tha hell is wrong with ya!? I coulda shotcha," he yelled.

"Sorry," I quietly said as to got to my feet. "It's just... you were out here alone and it's not safe..."

"Not safe for you maybe. A damn squirrel made you jump outta yer damn skin," he scoffed. "I can handle myself."

"So can I," I practically pouted.

"No ya can't," he yelled as he stormed over to me. I instinctively took a step back. "Yer too trustin'! Ya try ta befriend anything that comes into yer direction. It's gonna get ya killed!"

"Befriending things isn't always a bad thing," I argued. "That's how I become friends with you."

That made him scoff. That infuriated me more. I hated when he thought down on himself.

"Get yer ass back ta camp. I can't hunt and keep an eye on ya at the same time," he grunted.

"Excuse me," I questioned harshly. "I am a big girl who can take care of myself, Dixon. I can do whatever I want! And I'm choosing to be here, with you."

"No ya can't," he challenged while backing me up into the tree. "I've been savin' yer ass since we first met. That ain't gonna change now."

My heart picked up the pace, and I couldn't help but breathe heavier. I was trapped between an angry Daryl and a tree. He was intensely staring down at me with those gorgeous blue eyes. Why did he care so much?

"Why?" I blurted out.

"What?" He asked.

"Why do you want to protect me so much," I asked.

"Cause ya can't take care of yerself," he said simply.

"You could just let me die like everyone else back at camp probably would."

"Don't say stupid shit like that," he growled as he got closer, practically pushing his body against mine. "I won't let that happen."

"Why," I pried again.

"Wouldja stop sayin' that," he said, annoyed.

"I need to know why, Daryl," I informed him.

A light blush dusted his face and he suddenly couldn't meet my eyes.

"Cause I lo...." he mumbled as his face turned a darker red.

"Cause of what," I asked as I furrowed my brows, unable to hear him.

"Cause I love ya! Okay, Y/N! Fuck..." he blurted out.

He loved me. He just admitted it, so there was no denying it. Daryl Dixon love me. The butterflies in my stomach fluttered with excitement. I wasn't sure what type of love he meant, but it was worth finding out.

Still red in the face, Daryl went to step away. He was embarrassed by my lack of response. He was afraid he just ruined everything with you. All because he let his stupid feelings get the best of him.

Before he could step away I grabbed his face and brought it down to me. Our lips met with such sweet bliss. Both of us reacted instantly by dancing our lips together. Daryl’s arms instinctively wrapped around me and pulled me close. His tongue flicked at my bottom lip asking for entrance. I gladly granted it to him.

He swirled our tongues together as we made out. I could taste the tobacco from the last cigarette he had.

Unfortunately, we needed to breathe. As we parted I laid my forehead against his. We were both breathing heavy. Our gazes met.

"I love you too, D."

#romance #adventure #daryl dixion imagine #daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon fic #daryl fanfiction #the walking dead #the walking dead daryl #daryl x y/n #daryl x reader #daryl x you #daryl imagine #twd daryl #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x y/n

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the-sympathetic-villain · 4 years

Text

The Stowaway’s Heart: Chapter 7

AO3 | First | Previous | Next | Masterpost

Description: Virgil is rescued by selkies after being abandoned at sea and brought back to their pod to recover. Virgil’s poor, gay heart may just explode from how attractive they all are.

Word Count: 8012

Chapter Warnings: Mentions of past abuse/neglect, Mentions of past control, Mentions of blood, Brief mention of spiders w/o detail, mentions of past abandonment, false accusations, mentions of blood, hypnosis-like trance, anxiety/panic, sexual innuendo, cuddling (Let me know if I missed anything!)

“I didn’t do what they say I did.” Virgil murmured softly, not looking up from the desk. “I'd never hurt anyone.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Janus eyes darting from side to side, watching the air above him. “I know, Virgil. Why don't you tell me what happened?”

Virgil crossed his arms, going limp in his chair. A familiar wetness fell down his cheeks and raised his wrist to wipe the tears away. “Is this part of the reading?”

“No,” Janus leaned forward off the edge of the bed. “and even if it was, you don't have to tell me anything you don't wish to share. I'm asking you to tell me because I think it would benefit you to tell someone the truth.”

Virgil looked up at him, eyes glistening as the lamplight flickered chaotically in them. Janus returned his ice-cold gaze with a smooth smile and tilted his head so his golden scar glistened in the amber light.

“Perhaps, you would feel more comfortable if I shared my sob story first,” Janus opened his mouth with a dramatic pause, before looking to Virgil with a devilish grin. “Oh, that’s right. You already know my tragic, origin story.”

Chewing his lip, Virgil crossed his arms as he petulantly looked away. “I said I was sorry that they told me—”

“—and I told you it wasn’t your fault.” Janus grinned, standing up off the bed to cross behind Virgil. “In all seriousness, I do not intend to hold the action of your lovers against you.”

Virgil tensed. The feeling of being watched crawled up his neck as Janus circled around him. “Why bring it up then?”

“Because I believe people find it easier to open up when they’re not the only one being vulnerable.” Virgil winced as Janus appeared on his far side. With a subtle flourish of his white pelt, he leaned against the edge of the desk to face Virgil.

Virgil eyed him suspiciously. “You mean it's easier to pry into people’s minds when your being relatable.”

Janus turned his nose up at the thought. “I'm not simply trying to manipulate your emotions so you’ll spill your secrets to me, Virgil.”

“Then why am I here?” Virgil growled, crossing his arms tighter across his chest.

Janus’ smooth expression faltered. He softened his voice, leaning closer. “Because you clearly need help, Virgil.”

Virgil’s eyes flitted up to him cautiously, but he remained silent.

“I don't expect you to give trust I haven't earned. So, let's build some rapport, Virgil.” Janus continued, nonchalantly tipping his head toward Virgil. “You've heard my tragedy. Would you like to hear my love story?”

Virgil’s eyes narrowed in on him in confusion. “Why?”

“My reasons for sharing will become apparent at the end of the story.” Janus grinned, letting the temptation hang over Virgil’s head for a moment before continuing. “I'm not exactly the touchy-feely sharing type like your lovers, so this may be your only opportunity to hear the story of how Roman and I met.”

“Roman?”

Janus' grin widened and Virgil clamped his mouth shut, realizing he'd taken Janus' bait.

“Are you surprised?”

Virgil furrowed his brow, casting his gaze toward the ground as he feigned disinterest. “I don’t know either of you particularly well. Why would I be surprised?”

Janus smiled deviously down at Virgil as lifted his head. He stroked the white fur on shoulder, drawing out the moment as Virgil’s curiosity grew. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you wondered about Roman’s judgment. After all, even if he is my soulmate, he didn't have to settle for someone like me. Even if their pod had abandoned them, any other pod would have taken him in a heartbeat. He could have had his pick of anyone and h

“He came after you?” Virgil leaned forward curiously as he looked up at Janus. “Like how?”

“Yes, he, um—” Janus bit his lip with a fond smile. “You see, there places in the world where selkies meet during certain parts of the year. They meet on the beach and eat, drink—” Janus paused with a subtle smile. “—and mate.”

Virgil grimaced, barely resisting the urge to stick his tongue out in disgust. “And you met Roman at one of these things?”

“No.” Janus stared at the ground bitterly. “I would never have been allowed to participate in such events. I was barely allowed to see members of my own pod, let alone the member of others.”

“Well, that's bullshit.” Virgil watched as Janus tilted his head up with surprise.

Janus stared at him for a long moment and Virgil’s skin started to prickle as Janus' eyes danced over his body. Virgil shrank back into his chair, feeling vulnerable as Janus gaze lifted from his chest to his eyes.

“You actually believe that."

Virgil tightened his arms across his chest as he watched Janus wide-eyed look as he stared over Virgil’s shoulder. He shifted in his seat uncomfortably. “Of course, I do.”

Silence hung over them as Janus' movements stilled. He seemed to ponder Virgil’s words for a moment before returning to his story. He looked to the ground and his voice fell to a whisper. “Roman was at one of these gatherings when he overheard my podmates—my brothers—talking about leaving me behind. They were relieved—” Janus sighed. “—They were relieved to be rid of me.”

“I'm sorry—”

“Roman wasn't sorry. He was furious.” Janus smiled as he spoke. “I'm sure you've noticed he is particularly attached to his family.”

Virgil scoffed. “I think that's an understatement.”

“Well, apparently seeing mine treat me so poorly was quite the trigger for him.” Janus smiled. “He caused quite the scene he realized what my pod had done to me. If it weren't for Remus interceding, he may have actually torn them to shreds.”

Virgil eyed him suspiciously. “I thought you said he wasn't the violent type.”

“Well, to be fair, he didn't actually kill them,” Janus shrugged as a fond smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “and he really isn't prone to violence under normal circumstances.”

Virgil raised an eyebrow at him and shook his head in a show of disbelief, but he was finding it difficult to ignore the sweet smile growing on Janus' face as he talked about Roman.

“Roman dragged Remus miles out of their way to find me,” Janus sighed. “They could have done anything, but those fools chose to go after me.”

“What about Logan?” Virgil leaned forward curiously.

Janus glanced up at him with a shrug. “The four of them were only recently forced out on their own without their pod at that point. Patton was only a baby. Someone needed to stay with him and he was still only really used to Logan back then.”

Virgil stared at him curiously. “So that's it? Roman and Remus went and fetched you. You realized you were soulmates and here you are?”

A soft breath from Janus drew Virgil’s attention upward and he blinked, confused. Janus’ eyes were distant and his shoulders slumped as he continued to breath slowly. “It’s never really that simple, is it?”

Virgil watched as Janus drew a deep breath and looked up at him. “I didn’t know Roman was my soulmate until months after they rescued me.”

“What?”

“I was in a bad place, Virgil.” Janus stared down at him seriously. “Years of isolation and neglect had left me raw with emotion and the barest touch nearly caused me to collapse on multiple occasions.”

“I'm sorry.”

Janus didn't look up at Virgil’s attempt to reassure them. “I never questioned that fate wasn’t real until I met Roman. Despite my ability to see the forces of the universe at work around us, it always seemed too cruel to be planned.” Janus paused, looking up at Virgil. “Yet, truly what are the chances that my soulmate happened to be in just the right place at just the right time to save me at a time when I was certain I was going to see the end of my life.”

Virgil looked up at him and the knowing look in Janus' eyes gave him pause.

“I have a theory, Virgil,” Janus mused as he crossed behind Virgil once more. “I don't think that soulmates' psychic connection begins at the first touch. I believe it merely becomes stronger. Whether it is by fate's design or not, I think our soulmate’s can tell when we are in danger of destroying ourselves.”

Virgil tilted his head up to meet Janus' serious gaze. “I didn't exactly lock myself in that cell.”

“Perhaps not,” Janus stopped just behind Virgil’s shoulder. “but you were ready to give up. Even now, you’re struggling to believe that's not what you deserved.”

“Get out of my head.” Virgil muttered bitterly.

“I don’t have to be in your head to see that's true, Virgil.” Janus sighed as he lowered himself on the bed to watch Virgil chewing anxiously on his lip at the desk. “Tell me what's going on, Virgil.”

“I wasn’t even around when it happened.” Virgil dropped his gaze to the ground. “Everyone believed them, but I didn’t touch him.

“It’s okay, Virgil.” Janus watched him carefully. “I believe you.”

“The people I worked for—They were bad. I found out what they were doing and I think they—I think they hurt someone—"

Janus leaned forward, watching as Virgil curled forward in his chair. “Why don't you started from the beginning, Virgil?”

Virgil glanced up at him. He could feel tears welling in his eyes and he frowned as he forced his voice to remain steady. “I grew up in a home for kids who didn’t have any other place to go. It was a miserable place, but I survived. I'd been so close to just aging out when they sold me off. Gods, if only they let me go. I would have been better off on the streets—”

Janus tensed, slowly reaching to pull Virgil’s hands away from where he was tugging anxiously at his own hair. When he spoke his voice had a edge to it that felt sharp enough to cut glass. “The home sold you?”

“They placed me with a family of nobles for a price.” Virgil shrugged. “It worked out for both of them. The home didn't have to pay to take care of me anymore and the family that took me got cheap labor. At the time, even I thought it sounded like a good deal.”

Janus frowned. “You were a child.”

“Barely, and I needed the money to—” Virgil paused, glancing up at Janus suspiciously. “Whatever, I just needed the money and it seemed like a good deal so I agreed to it.”

“But they were awful?”

Virgil nodded slowly.

“Why didn’t you leave, Virgil?”

“I couldn’t. No one else in the city would risk their wrath to hire me. They barely paid me enough to get by, let alone save enough to leave the city,” Virgil paused. “I was trapped. Even when I finally became an adult, I was too indebted to them to ever be allowed to leave.”

Janus sighed. “How are you here then?”

“I stole from them.” Virgil’s voice was numb as he continued to stare down at the ground. “Nothing serious. Just medicine for a friend. I didn’t think they'd even notice.”

Janus glanced down at Virgil trembling at the desk and looked up at him. “You’re safe here, Virgil.”

Virgil ignored him, unable to stop himself from speaking. A weight seemed to lift off his shoulders as the words he'd been holding back fell from his lips. “Honestly, they may not have even noticed. They may have just decided I had outlived my usefulness.” Virgil sighed, looking up at Janus. “Either way, I tried to go back through the servant's quarters that night and there were soldiers waiting at the ready to arrest me.”

Janus raised an eyebrow at him, casually leaning back against the wall with a guarded expression. “For stealing medicine?”

“No. Something else happened that night. There was blood in the hallway.” Virgil bit his lip. “I—I think they killed someone and framed me.”

A long pause hung between them before Janus cautiously broke the silence. “You don’t even know what you’re accused of?”

Virgil stared into the distance, leaning his chair back as he balanced precariously. “Wanted posters were already going up when I hopped on the first ship out of there. I couldn’t afford to wait around and find out.”

Janus stared at them in disbelief. “And then you ended up on that ship?”

Virgil nodded stiffly, crossing his arms and leaning his head down onto the desk. “It's all a blur from there. One of the crew caught me stealing food and they threw me in the brig. The ship was boarded that night—pirates probably. They killed the crew and they clearly didn’t know there was a bounty on my head or they probably would have taken me. As it was, they didn't even bother to kill me before fleeing the ship with their loot. They just left me to rot away.”

“You know I've never gotten to say this without feeling hypocritical but you’ve got some pretty shit luck.” Janus stood up, absently pulling a small, black pouch out of his pocket.

“Janus, I have to know.” Virgil exhaled sharply. “What are you going to tell them?”

“Tell who?”

“Don't play dumb, Janus. What are you going to tell Logan and Remus?” Virgil growled into his arms on the desk. “And Roman, for that matter, since he's made it clear that he’ll rip out my throat for even one false move.”

Virgil glared at him, but Janus merely stared at him, dumbfounded. “Those lovers of yours truly don't share a single brain cell between them—”

“Hey—” Virgil snapped, spinning around. He jolted in shock as he turned and Janus was inches from his face.

“Relax,” Janus’ smooth expression didn’t falter as Virgil bared his teeth at him. “I only mean that, while they were freely divulging unnecessary personal information about my life, they clearly neglected to convey to you the very relevant fact that everything you say here is private, Virgil.”

Virgil blinked. “What?”

“I'm not here to interrogate you and report back to Roman, Virgil.” Janus let out a stiff chuckle. “If posed an actual threat, perhaps —

“I have a bounty on my head—” Virgil snarled at Janus.

“For a crime you didn’t commit,” Janus commented lazily, moving away from Virgil and dropping the black pouch on the desk in front of him. Virgil glanced up at the pouch before looking up at Virgil cautiously. “We’re selkies. Every one of us is worth a fortune, if we were found and captured. Your presence here is not any more of a threat than anyone else’s.”

Virgil’s mouth hung agape with disbelief. “You really aren’t going to tell them?”

“No,” Janus smiled patiently. “though you may consider telling them yourself.”

“I will,” Virgil ran his fingers through his hair anxiously. “I want to tell Logan and Remus—”

“—but you don't trust Roman.” Janus supplied dryly, looking up at him.

Virgil hesitated, hunching down nervously in his chair as Janus walked behind him. “I-I’m sorry, Janus. I know he's your soulmate, but he doesn’t like me—”

“Well dear,” Virgil shivered as Janus finger dragged along his shoulder and his long fingers came to rest at the base of his neck. “That is simply not true.”

“What—” Virgil froze as Janus’ grip tightened on the back of his neck. He shuddered, feeling the strength in Janus’ wrists. Virgil bared his teeth and hissed his next words compliantly in Janus grip. “I'm pretty sure Roman has considered murdering me every time he's seen me.”

Janus leaned over his shoulder with a smirk. “You probably should have considered that before deciding to shove your tongue down his brother’s throat.”

Virgil turned his head up to Janus cautiously. “How do you know—wait, brother?”

Chuckling as Virgil swallowed nervously, Janus nodded. “Now, if you thought he was protective of Logan, you can only imagine how intense he gets regarding his own flesh and blood—”

“Wait, I—I didn't know—" Stiffening, Virgil stared at Janus with wide eyes, feeling his heart speed up in his chest.

Janus chuckled. His demeanor softened as his grip on Virgil loosened. “Relax, Virgil. I'm only teasing you. You’re not in any trouble. In fact, I daresay Roman might actually quite like you.”

Virgil stared blankly at Janus. “What?”

“Don’t get me wrong. There was no lost love for you at first. He would have been glad to leave you to your own devices on that ship, but—” Janus held up a finger as Virgil bit his lip nervously. “—since your incident with our smallest podmate, his opinions of you are no longer so black and white.”

“You mean Patton?” Virgil straightened upright, suddenly curious.

“Roman has a sweet spot for the kid,” Janus nodded slowly. “and you made quite the impression on Patton. He won't stop talking about you.”

Virgil smiled warmly at the thought and shrugged. “Kids tend to like me.”

“You have experience with them?” Janus asked nonchalantly, staring into the space above his head.

Virgil tensed, eyeing Janus suspiciously. “That’s none of your business.”

A tense silence hung between them as Virgil remained silent, but Janus merely smiled, staring into the space around him. “Clearing your mind doesn't change what I see, Virgil. If anything, it makes it eas—”

“Stop.” Virgil hissed. “Logan said you wouldn’t pry into anything I didn’t want you to and this is off limits. Otherwise, I’m ending this conversation.”

Glancing up one last time, Janus forced his gaze down to meet Virgil, ignoring what he was seeing above his head. “Very well. The point of this experience is not for me to make you uncomfortable.”

Virgil watched suspiciously as Janus leaned on the desk.

“Selkie children are often more intuitive than adults,” Janus mused absently as he crossed his arms, staring at the ground. “Personally, I believe it is because their magic is not fully concentrated into their pelt until it changes. They sense danger far quicker than adults. Human children are often similar. Are they not?”

“Sometimes." Virgil cautiously stared at Janus, who seemed suddenly lost in thought.

“Patton had no reservations about you, Virgil. In fact, he would have made more attempts to see more of you, but fortunately the child seems to respect my authority even when he disregards the others.” Janus lifted his head to Virgil with a curious look in his eyes. “Now, what do you think that says about you?”

Virgil hesitated. He looked down, considering Janus words. “It says nothing about me.”

Janus frowned, staring at him intently. “Roman believed you were a threat when Logan brought you here, but Patton’s reaction to you has given him pause. I think, given everything he’s seen of you, he’s beginning to doubt that you are actually a bad person.”

Virgil sighed. “Well, he's wrong.”

“I don't think he is, Virgil.”

Virgil tensed, chin tucked into his chest as he muttered breathlessly. Guilt welled in his chest as his voice trembled. “A good person wouldn’t have hid the fact that there’s a hefty price on my head from the one person who seemed to care if I lived or died on that ship—”

“Oh, please.”

Virgil blinked, looking up at Janus as he interrupted him. “What?”

Janus stared down at him seriously. “Any person with a shred of self-preservation would have recognized that sharing that information could have gotten you killed. You were only trying to survive, so spare me the pitiful display of self-indulgent self-deprecation.”

Virgil stared blankly back at him for a moment, before his eyes darkened once more. “I healed to a point where dying wasn’t an immediate threat days ago. I had no excuse to continue to hide it from them.”

“Oh really?” Janus replied dryly. “If you had been asked to leave, how long do you think you would have survived once we put you on a boat and shipped you off?”

Virgil stared at him quietly.

“Thought so. Your negativity towards yourself will not fly by me unchecked, Virgil.” A compassionate smile spread across Janus’ face as he paused. “You did the best you could, given the situation. No one was significantly at risk for your lies and you are alive.”

“Whatever—” Virgil gritted his teeth and muttered before Janus interrupted him.

“—and you shouldn’t be afraid to tell the people that are supposed to care about you that you’re in trouble—”

“Well, I'm not afraid of them. I'm afraid of Ro—” Virgil spat defensively.

“I will handle Roman.”

“What?” Virgil looked up at him in shock.

Janus stared intently at Virgil. “Roman will not bother you. You have my word that you can tell your lovers without retaliation from him.”

Virgil watched Janus blankly for a moment as he absently picked up the black pouch he set on the desk earlier. He opened his mouth, nearly speechless as he spurted out the only word that came to mind.

“Why?”

Janus glanced up at him, raising an eyebrow at him. “I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific.”

“Why are you being so nice to me?”

A guarded expression stretched across Janus' face as tumbled the bag in his hands. The light sounds of stones tapping each other filled the silence as Janus stared at the ground. “I know what it's like to be a stranger here, Virgil. The other have known each other for years, and if I hadn't had Roman on my side, I don't think I would have ever gotten comfortable. You deserve that chance as we.” Janus paused with a subtle smirk. “Besides, I rarely meet people with as shit luck as myself, so I’m feeling the need to be generous.”

Virgil couldn't help to small smile that curled on his lip as he stared at the ground. “Well, I appreciate the buffer. If it keeps him from killing me for a few more weeks, I suppose it's worth it.”

“You might also begin considering you may live longer than the next few weeks.” Janus remarked dryly. “It would probably do your heart some good to start believing you’re safe.”

“I'll consider it,” Virgil smirked, eyeing the pouch in Janus’ hand. “if we move this process along.”

“Very well." Janus pulled his pelt off his shoulders, smiling as Virgil eyed the bag suspiciously. “Relax. It doesn't bite. Only I do that.”

Virgil glared at him as Janus playfully bared his sharp teeth at him. “Forgive me for not being a fan of the idea of spilling even more of my secrets to someone I barely know.”

“Oh, don't worry. The time for my questions is over.” Janus smiled coyly. “Now, it's time to see what the universe has planned for you."

Virgil tapped his fingers, anxiously tracking Janus' movements in the corner of his eyes as the selkie pulled his bright, white pelt off his shoulders. “What if I'm not interested in what the universe has to say?”

“Even if you aren’t, I am.” Janus stated dryly. “If something is coming our way, at least one of us should be on the lookout. So, I'm going to ask you to pull the stones anyway.”

“Fine.” Virgil snarled, watching Janus carefully.

“Are you ready?”

“As ready as I'll ever be.” Virgil tensely turned forward.

Virgil listened carefully as Janus stepped forward behind him. The familiar feel of the soft fur being placed on his shoulders sent shivers down his body. A strange tingling trickled down his shoulder as his energy seemed to drain from his body. He felt his eyes begin to close as his body relaxed.

“Wait—” Virgil mumbled tiredly, barely managing to lift his hand in protest. Janus hushed him and he felt a hand rest on his own, stopping his mild resistance.

“You’re safe with me, Virgil.”

Janus' soft whisper faded, one last sound as his vision darkened.

“Alright, my new friend.” Janus whispered, watching Virgil sway as his eyes glazed over. “Let's see what the universe has to say about you.”

Janus dropped the small black pouch on the desk in front of Virgil and stepped back, crossing his arms. “Virgil, please reach into the bag and pull the stones that speak to you out of the bag. Spread them out on the desk however you see fit.”

The disoriented man slowly reached out and dipped his hand into the pouch. Janus absently looked away, staring into the gaslight as he waited for Virgil to stop moving.

A sharp crack sent Janus' head spinning back to Virgil. Janus rushed back to him, frantically looking for injuries. He could see no apparent injury as he swayed back and forth, stones spread on the desk in front of him. Curiously, he turned down to view the spread as waves of energy radiated off then sending shudders down his body.

Spread out on the table were four jet-black stones. Symbols etched in gold on each piece glimmered in the firelight as it flickered chaotically in the gas lamp. His mouth hung open as he found himself staring at the final stone.

“Virgil, what happened?”

The small piece of obsidian was cracked down the center, splitting the gilded symbol down its center.

“The Elder Futhark has spoken,” Janus whispered, tipping his head in reverence to the stones before returning his gaze nervously to Virgil sitting mesmerized in his chair.

A soft, purple haze shifted slowly around the man's body. The gently moving aura was beautiful, but the dark streaks of black radiating from the man's chest unsettled Janus, stark indicators of the battle raging in the man's heart. He glanced down, running a finger along the edge of the broken stone.

“Wunjo, the rune of kinship.” Janus ran his finger over the broken symbol. “You’ve lost someone—or given the situation, perhaps you believe by staying here, you’re giving them up.”

Janus tilted his head up as Virgil groaned. An uncomfortable expression crossed the man's face as he began to shift, resisting the pelt. Janus patiently rested his hand on Virgil’s, whispering quietly. “Relax, my friend. I am not going to pry any further, but I am—I am sorry for your loss.”

Virgil seemed to relax, dipping his head to his chest. Janus’ heart clenched at the sight of wet streaks tracing down Virgil’s face. He gently rubbed his thumb along Virgil’s wrist as he turned back to the stones. “Let's finish this quickly, Virgil. I don't think it's best to leave you in this headspace for too long.”

He turned his eyes to the stones. The first stone in the series caught his eye. “The Dagaz, the rune of awakening.” Janus sighed, staring at the black streaks radiating from Virgil’s chest. “Light and dark struggle for balance within you. You are on the precipice of great change, but only if you choose to let the darkness go. If, not, the guilt you’re feeling may well eat you alive."

Virgil winced, subconsciously recoiling as the black streaks swirled menacingly around his heart. Janus squeezed his hand, smiling at Virgil “It won't be easy, but we'll help you quiet the storm inside your heart.”

“The Dagaz is paired with the Uruz, the rune of survival and endurance.” Janus stared intently at the rune’s stark shape as he ran his fingers over the engraving. “There’s no surprise that Uruz appeared. Surviving is all you've been able to do for the past few weeks.”

“And finally, the Nauthiz,” Janus stared absently at the final rune. The room darkened for a moment as a breeze drifted through the room, nearly blowing out the gas lamp in front of them. “The rune of friction.” He sighed, heart aching as he stared at the dark circles around Virgil’s eyes as his arms hung wearily at his sides. “This conflict isn't over. Your past is going to find you one last time."

A soft squeeze of Virgil’s hand sent shivers down his body. He looked up to see Virgil’s eyes cracked open. Fear flickered in his eyes as he leaned forward. Janus gasped as Virgil collapsed forward. He lunged forward, catching Virgil’s chest with his hand.

“Breathe, Virgil. I've got you."

He quickly slipped an arm under Virgil’s legs and behind his neck. Janus lifted his light frame out of the chair, carrying him to the bed.

“You do not need to fear, Virgil. We’re going to help you survive whatever is coming.” Janus whispered, setting Virgil on the bed next to him. “I'm going to save you some stress and let you forget this, Virgil. Please, let me bear this for you.”

A choked sound escaped Virgil as he leaned into Janus' shoulder, hands tightening on Janus’ shirt. Janus arms curled around him and his eyes glowed a fierce amber as he hovered protectively over Virgil.

“You are safe here.” Janus whispered, a deep magic flowing through his body. “If you trust me, leave these memories with me so you may continue to heal unhindered.”

A sharp gasp escaped him as Virgil relaxed in his arms. “Thank you for your confidence, Virgil. I'm going to take back my pelt now, and waking may be rough, but I'm here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Janus clutched him protectively as he pulled the pelt from Virgil’s shoulders, heart aching as Virgil grasped at his shirt.

“I'm so sorry, Virgil.”

I'm drowning.

Virgil gasped for air, clutching absently at the space around him as he struggled, unable to move. Through his fighting, he could feel air slowly filling his lungs as he squirmed uncomfortably, pulling at the soft fabric in his hands. Slowly, the fear abated as he was able to draw a long breath and started to become aware of his surroundings. He sucked in a sharp breath, looking up.

“Janus?”

The grip around his shoulders loosed as Janus looked down at him with a soft smile. His gilded scar glimmered beautifully as Virgil found himself staring.

“Virg—”

Loud footsteps from the corridor abruptly stopped Janus’ statement in his tracks. They both turned their heads up at the sound of metal creaking to see Remus burst through the door with Logan shortly on his heels. They rushed forward anxiously and their anxious expressions seemed to settle as Virgil looked up at them from where he was curled in Janus' arms. Remus relaxed slightly, locking eyes with Janus.

“Jannie, what happened?”

A shadow of movement at the door caught Virgil’s eye as Roman stepped through the doorway with a sleeping Patton hanging off his shoulder. Roman’s eyes flitted carefully over Janus before turning to stare at Virgil. Feeling the burn of Roman’s eyes, Virgil instinctively pulled back from Janus’ shoulder, swaying as he sat upright.

“The—” Janus looked down as Virgil pulled away from him before tracing his gaze to Roman. Virgil watched Roman’s expression soften as Janus turned to him and a gentle smile spread across his face. Janus paused, hesitating before turning up to Remus to continue. “The reading hit a nerve and waking was a bit uncomfortable for our new friend.”

“I-I’m fine.” Virgil frowned as his voice cracked. He straightened upright, trying to force his breathing to slow as he tried to force the attention off of himself.

“Love, you've been crying.”

Virgil turned to Logan's concerned expression. He flushed red as he reached a hand to his face, feeling wetness on his cheeks. He dipped his head, muttering to Janus as he wiped the tears from his face. “It’s nothing. I told you the universe never has anything good in store for me.”

“Well, perhaps never is rather strong assertion, my dear.”

Virgil tilted his head up to see Remus and Logan watching him sheepishly for a response. Adrenaline jolted through his body as he realized what Logan was implying. “That’s not—No! I’m sorry. You guys are good—so good—”

Remus raised and eyebrow at him with a devious smirk. “Do you hear that, Lolo?”

Virgil turned to Remus as he stumbled over his words. His mustache twitched playfully as he stepped toward Virgil.

“We’re good."

Virgil shivered as he traced Remus' gaze to over to Logan. Logan blinked for a moment before straightening slowly, flashing a sultry grin at Virgil. “Oh, Re. That is simply unacceptable.”

“I know, right?” Virgil tensed with anticipation as Remus abruptly stepped forward, wiggling his eyebrows. “We're a god damn delight.”

“Wait, I didn’t—” Virgil held his hands up in surrender as Remus seductively punctuated his words with steps toward him, barely containing his giggling as he crept forward.

“We're an absolute treat, Re.” Logan smiled coyly as he stalked toward Virgil, his piercing eyes locked onto him. “I think perhaps Virgil needs a reminder of how lucky he is to have both of us.”

“—and I'm out.”

Casting nervous glances at his soulmates as they closed in on him, Virgil reached a hand out as Janus casually pushed himself up off the bed. “Wait, Jan—”

Virgil’s plea was abruptly cut short as Remus’s shoulder connected with his back and his face unceremoniously landed on the soft blanket in front of him. His grunt was muffled as Remus wrapped his hands around his waist. Remus let Virgil roll to his side as he curled around Virgil’s back. Virgil grimaced, letting his hair fall over his hair as he tried to hide his smile. The gentle pressure of Remus' chest pressed against his back was comforting and his breath caught in his throat.

Remus pulled him closer tipping Virgil back until he was almost laying on top of Remus. His gentle breaths on his neck sent pleasant shudders down Virgil’s body. A soft gasp escaped him as Remus cradled his chin into the nook of his shoulder.

Fuck.

Virgil closed his eyes, flushing with embarrassment at his reaction. He groaned, muttering into the blankets as Remus squeezed him. “What are you trying to prove?”

“Oh, gloomy boy.” Remus purred into his ear, giggling as Virgil sucked in a sharp breath as Remus breathed on his neck. Virgil nodded stiffly could almost hear Remus smile as he whispered in his ear. “I'm just the distraction."

Fingertips brushed his cheek and Virgil jolted, his eyes shooting open. Virgil’s heart pounded in his chest as he stared into Logan’s eyes, inches from Virgil’s face. Logan paused, resting his hand on Virgil’s cheek. He waited for Virgil to relax before resting his knee on the edge of the bed as he leaned over Virgil.

Fuck.

“Lo—” Virgil whispered breathlessly closing his eyes as Logan’s lips brushed his own.

“Oh, Lolo.” Remus giggled. “You stole his breath away.”

Logan chuckled as Virgil shivered. He reached his hand around Virgil’s next “Tell me, love. Do you still feel unlucky?”

Virgil swallowed, tasting Logan’s breath. Emotions welled in his chest at his soulmates’ efforts to distract him. He relaxed into Remus, feeling grateful for their gentle attention as he whispered. “No.”

“Good, love.” Logan smiled, leaning back as Virgil leaned into his hand.

“Thank you.” Virgil smiled at Logan as the man stared adoringly down at him. He sighed with relief as he relaxed into his soulmates’ touch.

Remus giggled and Virgil smiled as Remus squeezed tightly around his waist. “If you needed for us to get you all hot and bothered, all you needed to do was ask—”

Virgil tensed at the sound of Roman clearing his throat across the room.

“Do remember there is a child in the room, Remus.” Janus' familiar drawl filled the air. “The last thing any of us need is to have Patton parroting your filthy mouth.”

“Kid's knocked the fuck out—”

“Remus—”

Virgil tensed as Roman's growl filled the air. Logan slowly straightened upright, giving him a clear view of Roman across the chest. Remus pushed himself up allowing Virgil to sit up timidly. He shrank behind Logan as he stared at Patton curled into Roman’s chest. Janus hooked an arm around Roman' waist from behind him, resting his head on Roman’s shoulder as his chest pressed to Roman's back. Virgil could almost smile as the intimidating selkie’s expression softened as he looked over at Janus with adoration.

“Patton’s heard worse coming from you two than me—” Remus pressed, jumping up off the bed.

Janus rolled his eyes as Remus approached. “All of Roman and I's displays of affection in front of Patton have been perfectly tasteful.”

“Yeah,” Remus giggled, leaning close to Janus. “If by tasteful, you mean tasting the inside of Roman's mouth—”

Remus abruptly stopped his mocking as Patton shifted subtly in Roman’s arms. Patton’s soft murmur stopped all movement in the room as he lifted his head. Remus smiled at Roman before leaning close to brush Patton’s hair out of his face. “Hey, Pattoncake. Did you have a good nap?”

Patton nodded tiredly as he absently reached up to grab Roman’s collar.

Roman smiled. “Are you ready to go to bed, my little hero?”

“No, I'm ‘kay.” Patton protested weakly, pushing his head off Roman’s chest as he looked around, blinking wearily.

“I think it's probably best we get you—”

Virgil looked up as Roman gasped loudly.

“Vee!”

Virgil couldn’t help but smirk at Roman’s shocked expression as Patton hung halfway out of his arms, squirming to get down. Roman kneeled, trying to lessen the fall as Patton slipped from his hands. Patton started to bolt forward, only making it a few steps forward before Janus' voice stopped him in his tracks.

“Patton, that wasn't very nice.”

Virgil watched as Patton hesitated, clearly aching to run towards him, but surprisingly he turned and hung his head. “I'm sorry, Jannie."

“Don't apologize to me. Apologize to Roman. He's the one you scared halfway to death when you decided to jump off his chest.” Janus smirked at Roman, who rolled his eyes with a soft smile.

“Sorry, Roro.” Patton kicked his feet at the ground impatiently before looking up at Janus. “Can I go see Vee now?”

Janus raised an eyebrow at him.

“Please?” Patton pleaded, fidgeting with anticipation.

Virgil couldn’t help but shrink back as Roman looked up at him. The expression on his face was unreadable as he stared at Virgil.

“Ask permission before you smother him, Patton. "

Janus smiled as Patton turned, beaming as he bolted over to Virgil. Virgil smiled as Patton approached. He was excited to see the kid again, though he couldn’t seem to keep from nervously glancing up at Roman's intense stare as Patton stopped at the edge of the bed.

“May I come up there?”

Virgil smiled, heart warm at the obvious excitement in his eyes. “You want to sit with me?”

Patton nodded vehemently, leaning his arms over the edge of the bed.

Glancing up at Roman staring at him, he hesitated. He looked to Roman's gaze for permission, but his face remained unreadable. A slight frown formed on Virgil’s face as he turned back to Patton. “Listen, kiddo, maybe not this time, but—”

“It's okay, Virgil.” Janus’ voice drew Virgil’s gaze up. He watched as Roman’s eyes slowly turn to Janus before returning to him, his face unreadable.

“I—”

“If you’re okay with Patton joining you on the bed, I promise you it's fine.” Janus smiled encouragingly at him and Virgil looked to Roman. The man's intense stare continued, but he nodded stiffly at Virgil.

“Okay, kiddo.” Virgil turned to Patton with a nervous smile. “Come on up then.”

He watched as Patton scrambled up the edge of the bed. Excitedly, he slid in next to Virgil, curling underneath his arm as he yawned. “Guess what, Vee?”

Virgil’s skin prickled with awareness as all eyes in the room turned toward him, but he smiled watching Patton cuddle comfortably against his chest. “What?”

“I scared all the spiders away.” Patton muttered quietly.

Virgil smirked. “Oh yeah? How did you do that?”

“I yelled real loud.” Patton yawned again, snuggling into Virgil’s shoulder.

“And that worked?”

“I was smart. I did it at their bed time so they were extra scared,” Patton mumbled, eye drooping. “I made sure to run through the whole tunnel so I got ‘em all.”

“If you’re the spookiest thing in the room, nothing can touch you,” Virgil chuckled. “and it sounds like you've got that mastered, kiddo.”

Patton nodded into his chest, reaching an arm across and mumbled. “I even scared Roro.”

“Running down the halls screaming like a banshee in the middle of the night would chill anyone to the bone, Pat."

Virgil looked up, relaxing at the soft smile on Roman's face as he crossed his arms, watching Patton drifting off on Virgil’s shoulder. He'd almost relaxed when Roman's eyes flicked to him, noticing him staring. Immediately, Virgil dropped his gaze from Roman, feeling his heart beat in his chest.

“I think it's time we take him to bed.” Glancing down at the child snoring lightly under his arm, he nodded, feeling reluctant to let the child go so soon.

“Good. Take him,” Remus cooed. Virgil looked up to see Remus jostle Roman with his shoulder as he grinned wildly down at Virgil. “because we’ve got places to take our boy too.”

Virgil looked up at Remus. “What?”

“Well yeah,” Remus smirked at him. “Lolo and I have something planned for your first night of freedom. You didn't think we were just going to leave you in here again tonight, did you?”

“I mean, I didn’t—” Virgil started before wincing as Roman’s deep growl interrupted him.

“Remus—”

“What, Ro? That was the deal, wasn’t it?” Remus instinctively stepped between him and Virgil. “He jumped through all your hoops. Is he free to go or not?”

Roman held his ground as Remus leered at him, staring Remus down. “Me allowing him to be free to roam the island does not mean you get to ignore the rest of the rules. Where are you planning on going, Remus?”

“We're not going to the beach, Roman.” Logan’s voice was almost timid as he interrupt. “Remus and I are not intending on taking any risks.”

Virgil stared at him in disbelief. His demeanor was uncharacteristically solemn, almost apologetic as he looked up at Roman. Virgil watched as Roman hesitated, looking down at Logan with concern in his eyes.

“Let them go, Roman.”

Roman turned to Janus, staring for a moment before returning his gaze to Remus. “Promise me you’ll stay off the beaches and out of sight.”

“I'm not an idiot—” Remus protested with a snarl.

“Promise me now, Remus, or I'm not allowing it.”

“Chill out.” Remus sighed dramatically, though Virgil couldn't help noticing Remus take a step backwards respectably as he conceded to Roman’s authority. “We're only going to the rocks. We will not leave the tunnels.”

Virgil felt a chill travel up his spine as Roman continued to stare at Remus without blinking.

“I promise, Ro.” Remus grinned reassuringly, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “I'm not going to take any chances tonight.”

“Very well. You may go.” Roman’s stern gaze softened and a smile twitched at the corner of his lips. He turned his head, barely concealing his smile with a stern look. “Virgil?”

Virgil jumped at the sound of his name, looking up at Roman. He shivered as Roman turned to him. “Yes?”

“You are free to explore the island.” He paused as Virgil nodded nervously. “However, I expect either Remus or Logan to accompany you—”

Roman paused, holding up a finger as Remus and Logan began to protest. He flashed a stern look at both of them and waited until they settled uneasily before turning back to Virgil. The hair on Virgil’s arms raised as Roman's stern expression landed on him.

“This is for your safety as much as everyone else. There are rules I expect you to follow, if you are to stay here, and Remus and Logan will be responsible for showing you the ropes. Is that agreeable?” He waited for Virgil to nod stiffly before looking to Logan and Remus. “And I will hold both of you responsible, if he breaks them under your watch. Got it?”

Remus growled petulantly but nodded in agreement.

“We accept your terms, Roman.” Logan nodded, compliantly, watching Virgil’s nervous demeanor as he gave Roman his affirmation.

“Once you are on your own, you will be responsible for your own mistakes.” Roman paused as Virgil dropped his gaze to the ground and nodded. “I will not treat you differently than anyone else here, but know that these rules are in place to keep everyone here safe and I do not take transgressions of them lightly.”

Virgil bit his lip and nodded, submissively dropping his gaze.

“And Virgil?”

He lift his head slowly, surprised to see an encouraging smile spread across Roman's face. Virgil blinked in disbelief, looking to Logan and Remus uncertainly before turning back to Roman.

“Please, allow yourself to relax. I'm not your enemy.” Roman smiled as Virgil stared at him blankly. “I know we had a rough start, and I apologize. My personal biases nearly cost you your life and I intend to begin to rectify my mistake by making this transition as easy for you as I can.”

Virgil blinked, nearly speechless with shock. “What?”

Roman paused and started to step forward. He approached slowly, giving Virgil a chance to object as he moved towards him. Smiling gently, he leaned over the bed. Virgil watched him as he slipped his hands under Patton’s arms and lifted the child up to his shoulder. Patton’s hand grasped around Virgil’s shirt for a moment before relaxing as Remus pulled him away. Roman stilled above him for a moment as Patton murmured sleepily into his chest. Virgil found himself staring at the soft look in Roman's eyes as he waited for him to continue.

“I only wanted to keep everyone safe. I'm sorry.” Roman paused, looking up from Patton. “You have a place here, Virgil, if you choose to stay.”

Virgil’s eyes flicked to Janus, but the look of surprise on his face immediately ruled out the possibility of psychic intervention as a result of the spiritually sensitive selkie. He looked back to Roman’s earnest smile, blinking in disbelief that Roman had just apologized to him of his own free will.

“T-thank you.” He managed to mutter, still blinking in shock.

“You’re welcome. Enjoy your night, Virgil.” Roman smiled before glancing at Logan and Remus. “and stay safe. All of you.”

Virgil stared blankly at Roman as he indicated him with the others.

What the fuck just happened?

He shivered and watched as Roman turned away from him, carrying Patton towards the door. Roman nodded for Janus to follow him and the scarred man smirked, rolling his eyes as Roman passed him by. The subtle gold on Janus face glimmered as he gave Virgil a quick nod before taking his cue to follow Roman, leaving Virgil alone with his soulmates.

“Love?”

Virgil took a deep breath, trying to abate the shock in his chest as he looked up to see Logan looking over his shoulder at him at the end of the bed. He watched as Logan held his hand out to Virgil with a cocky smirk.

“Are you ready to see the island, dearest?”

His eyes drifted up to the eager look in Remus' eyes as he stood by the door before turning back to Logan’s confident smile. Virgil smiled, heart light as he nodded and took Logan’s hand. An excited breath caught in his throat as he allowed himself to be pulled off the bed and dragged to the door as they stumbled out into the tunnels.

General Taglist:

@somehow-i-got-an-account @justanotherhumanstuff @im-an-anxious-wreck

The Stowaway’s Heart Taglist

@alias290 @lonelyanxiousbean @kieraelieson @evoodo123 @dndnerd1609 @lovesupernova25 @minninugget @ace-in-a-shopping-cart @trainwreckwithlimbs @i-apparently-exist @rachetssearch @twilight-trix @evelyn-nova @sluggerbot-2-5 @chronicallynervouschild @arsenicdragon @so-what-if-im-crazy @slutty-cinammon-roll @inferiorfilth @eeveeelair246 @bluerosesbleedred @maybedefinitely404 @dwbh888

#sanders sides #sanders sides fic #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides fanfic #ts #ts virgil #ts janus #ts remus #ts logan #ts roman #ts patton #intruanalogical #Analogical #intrulogical #dukexiety #rociet #The Stowaway's Heart #villain writes

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bonniebelleklyde · 4 years

Text

The Small Hours

Note: This fic takes place within what I believe we’re now calling the Mistletoe Universe. Chronologically, it takes place after A Storm to Weather and before Mistletoe. I would highly recommend reading both first to have a full context for this! Thanks to the lovely anon who sent in the prompt for this-- Logan returning the favor from A Storm to Weather and comforting Janus regarding an irrational fear.

Word Count: 2651

Pairing: Loceit (romantic)

Warnings: The warning is a spoiler! Check the tags if concerned.

Summary: In the small hours of the morning, Logan finds Janus in a rather unusual position.

When Logan rose before the sun—not an entirely uncommon occurrence—and made his way to the kitchen to brew a very strong pot of coffee, he was not particularly alarmed at the sight of a figure, obscured by the darkness of the room, sitting atop the refrigerator. He simply nodded in its direction.

“Good morning, Virgil,” he said before stifling a yawn. “It’s a bit early for you, yes?”

There was nothing but silence in response. That was...odd. Concerned that something was troubling Virgil beyond his normal levels of anxiety, Logan flipped the light switch and jumped a bit when the light revealed that it was not Virgil at all sitting on top of the refrigerator, but Janus.

“Oh! I’m sorry, I—what are you doing up there?”

Logan was hardly an expert in these things, but something was definitely off about Janus, even absent the fact that Logan had never seen anyone other than Virgil choose this particular seating arrangement. Janus was fidgeting with his gloves, a habit that Logan had come to realize as indicative of nervousness in the deceitful side. He was also noticeably avoiding eye contact and worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. Unsure how to proceed, Logan followed Janus’s lead and averted his eyes, waiting for some sort of response. When he received none, he furrowed his brows in confusion. Janus was not exactly known for holding his tongue.

“Is something wrong?” he tried again, endeavoring to communicate through his tone that he was not prying for curiosity’s sake, but rather attempting to offer whatever assistance might be required. Logan doubted he was successful in this endeavor—he was rarely successful in conveying any tone to speak of, his words always seeming to come out dry and hollow.

“No, no, don’t mind me. Nothing’s wrong,” Janus said in a voice so quiet that Logan suspected it would have been drowned out by the sound of the coffee maker had the logical side turned it on.

Logan cocked his head to one side, turning over Janus’s words in his mind for a moment before gently shrugging his shoulders.

“You know, one would think—given who you are—that you would be better at that.”

It was Janus’s turn to furrow his brows.

“Better at what?”

“Lying.”

Janus blinked hard, his mouth falling open in an expression that Logan couldn’t be sure indicated offense or shock.

“I am literal deceit.”

Logan nodded, a small smirk crossing his face. “My point exactly— literal deceit should be more…adept at deception, no?”

Janus scratched at the back of his neck and did not speak for several long moments. Logan cursed himself inwardly— he hadn’t meant to offend, but he almost certainly had. He had essentially just told Janus (to his face, no less) that the other was bad at his job.

“I’m sorry,” he said after it became clear Janus was not planning on providing any sort of response. “I did not mean to imply that you are always—”

Janus cut Logan off by gently holding up his gloved hand, a tentative smile on his face.

“I know,” he said simply. “And you’re right. It was a lie. But I don’t…”

It was Logan’s turn to interrupt. “Janus. I don’t intend to pry.”

Logan was reminded of the night when Janus had first become privy to the logical side’s irrational fear of thunder. He certainly hadn’t pried—had not mocked Logan or passed judgment in any way. He had not forced Logan to talk about his fear—a fact that Logan was exceedingly grateful for. No, Janus had simply…stayed. He’d borne out the storm beside him, with a steadying arm around Logan’s shoulders, for no other discernible reason than the simple fact that Logan had been afraid. Janus…Janus had been lovely. And he’d gone on to be equally lovely during the handful of thunderstorms that had occurred since that night. Almost immediately after the first crash of thunder sounded from each storm, Janus would materialize wherever Logan happened to be at the time. He wouldn’t say a word about the storm itself or about Logan’s silly fear. He’d beckon for Logan to sit beside them, and together they’d make their way through one novel or another, taking turns reading aloud to each other until either the storm had passed or they had drifted into sleep. Though his fear of thunder had never subsided, Logan became strangely fond of thunderstorms. Increasingly, he’d found himself wanting to…well. It didn’t matter what he wanted.

What did matter was that, through every embarrassing moment of it all, Janus was lovely. And while lovely was not a word Logan would ever attribute to himself, the very least he could do was—in the face of Janus’s obvious discomfort—afford the other his privacy.

There was a subtle change in Janus’s expression at Logan’s words. It seemed…softer, somehow. Logan quickly averted his eyes once again when he caught himself starting to stare. The last thing he wanted to do was make Janus any more uncomfortable than he apparently already was. He wondered briefly if Janus, too, was reminded of the storms. He became suddenly aware of how long the silence between them had stretched on for, and he coughed to dispel the strange tension hanging in the air. Remembering his motivation for entering the kitchen in the first place, Logan crossed the room to the coffee maker.

“Coffee?” he offered before chuckling softly when Janus wrinkled his nose. “Not a fellow caffeine enthusiast, then?”

“Oh, I drink plenty of tea,” Janus responded, his tone finally sounding a bit lighter now. “But I’ll never understand how you can drink that stuff—coffee is disgusting.”

Logan snorted in amusement as he began spooning out coffee grounds from his hidden stockpile. “Are you sure? You might find that you like mine— I keep the quality grounds well hidden from the others. You’ll find that the taste of coffee can vary quite widely depending on the type and origin of beans used to prepare it.”

“Is that so?” Janus returned, one eyebrow raised in skepticism. “Very well, I’ll try it if you like, but I make no promises regarding my reaction.”

Logan hummed in amusement, grinning as he got the brew started. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Janus nervously scanning the kitchen floor. Was there some sort of rodent about? Logan wondered idly but did not ask. Instead, he summoned a book—The Mystery of Edwin Drood—from its place on his nightstand, brandishing it for Janus to see before taking a seat at the kitchen table.

“I believe we left off on Chapter Three?” Logan asked quietly, turning to the appropriate page and looking to Janus’s face to determine whether this was the right course of action.

Janus’s shoulders visibly relaxed, and his grin widened just a bit. He shifted his position so that his back rested against the wall behind the refrigerator and closed his eyes.

“Yes, that sounds about right.”

Logan sported his own small grin as he lay the book out on the table in front of him.

“Excellent. Though I still don’t understand why you chose a book that is only half finished,” he remarked, his tone only slightly teasing.

Janus’s grin faltered at that, his eyes snapping open, and Logan worried that he may have inadvertently insulted the deceitful side once again. But Janus spoke before Logan could make his hurried apologies, his tone not offended but hesitant, perhaps even a bit nervous.

“I had thought…er, well…I thought that perhaps it might be interesting to trade theories about how it might have ended once we’ve finished. If you’d like to, that is.”

Logan was taken aback for a moment at the knowledge that Janus had selected this title because he was interested in discussing theories with him. That was…unusual. Logan was far more accustomed to his own academic musings being tolerated at best. The idea that someone valued them enough to actively seek them out…well, that was…that was quite pleasant. Logan felt something he couldn’t name—a warmth of some sort—bubble up in his chest, and he beamed up at Janus, not having the slightest clue why the other seemed so very nervous to reveal this incredible information to him.

“I think I would enjoy that immensely,” he said genuinely. “There are few things I find more satisfying than parsing out a good mystery, as you well know.”

Janus must have read Logan’s sincerity in his face, because the deceitful side’s apprehension melted away to be replaced by a brilliant smile to match Logan’s own. The corners of Logan’s lips were still tipped up as he watched Janus’s eyes fall closed again and as Logan began to read from the book.

Before long, he was interrupted by a buzzing sound signaling that the pot of coffee had finished brewing. Logan paused his reading and strode over to the cupboard to retrieve two mugs. When he’d poured both drinks, he looked to Janus with questioning eyes.

“Will you be joining me at the table, or should I hand this to you up there?”

He asked the question gently, kindly in a way that he hoped invited Janus to reveal whether there was some way that Logan could help him with his current predicament without pushing too forcefully. Janus averted his eyes and chewed at his lip.

“I…don’t normally make a habit of sitting up here,” he said slowly after several moments.

“No, you don’t,” Logan confirmed simply with a nod, leaning against the counter as he waited for the other to continue.

“It’s ridiculous,” Janus said through gritted teeth, clearly frustrated. “I don’t…I am being ridiculous.”

Janus’s face was bright red, and he seemed as if he was endeavoring to look anywhere but Logan’s face, and Logan turned his own gaze downward in an effort to minimize the other’s discomfort.

“More ridiculous than shaking like a leaf during every thunderstorm?” Logan asked softly, a small self-deprecating smile on his face.

At that, Janus’s eyes snapped up immediately to meet Logan’s.

“You are not ridiculous,” and something about the amount of sheer conviction in Janus’s voice stole every bit of Logan’s breath from him. “You are…”

Janus trailed off, either unable to come up with a word for what Logan was or unwilling to voice whatever word he may have had in mind.

“Well. Regardless,” the deceitful side continued, glancing away from Logan’s face once again. “I am being ridiculous. It really is so trivial, I…I should just come down…”

When Janus made no move to come down off of the refrigerator despite his words, Logan thought for a moment before offering, “Might there be anything I could do that would make coming down at all easier for you?”

It was clear from the hesitant look on Janus’s face that there was. In that moment, Logan wished he could be someone else—Roman or Patton perhaps, who were so much better at assuaging fears and dealing in emotions than Logan was. Janus deserved someone who was more practiced at this—who knew how to help Janus in the extraordinary way that Janus had helped Logan. Still, it was far too early for anyone else to be awake, so he supposed he would have to do.

“For what it is worth,” he said quietly, not having the slightest idea of what to say other than the simple truth, “I could never think you are ridiculous. You could tell me that you are up there to hide from the coffee pot, and I would think no less of you. You could tell me anything at all. I would never reveal the information to anyone else, and I would certainly never judge you.”

The words were inadequate, he was sure of it, but they were all Logan had. He watched with concern as Janus’s brow furrowed and his face contorted into an expression that Logan was not able to read. At the very least, Logan knew that Janus could be certain he was not lying. At long last, the deceitful side met his eyes once more with that same, unreadable expression.

“I’m afraid of spiders,” Janus finally confessed, his tone strained. “Virgil’s stupid pet must have escaped, because I woke up with the damned thing on my pillow, and it followed me into the kitchen.”

“Oh!” Logan responded, somewhat relieved that the situation was one that he could help with after all—and likely very easily at that. “I’ve actually assisted in retrieving it for Virgil several times. It should be no trouble doing so again. Do you have any idea where it might be now?”

Janus was hiding his face behind his hands now.

“I think it crawled under the oven, the last I saw.”

Roughly ten minutes later and with the practiced use of paper and string, Logan had successfully located the spider under the stove and seen it returned to its cage in Virgil’s room. Janus choked out a strained but sincere thank you, his face now an alarming shade of red.

“Thank me by coming down here and trying my coffee. I’ll make a convert out of you yet,” Logan teased, hoping the change in subject would lessen Janus’s embarrassment.

Logan lifted his hand in an offer to help Janus down from the refrigerator. Janus stared at the hand stretched out to him for just a moment before taking it and climbing down onto the counter and then finally to the floor. Logan found himself wishing—however irrationally—that Janus would forget to let go of his hand when his feet were once again on the ground, that Logan could remove Janus’s glove and interlace their fingers together, that they could—

Logan shook his head as if to physically shake that particular line of thought from his mind. He wondered briefly what it meant that he was thinking about such things with increasing frequency and resolved to consult Roman or Patton about the matter later. For now, he focused on keeping away the frown that threatened to form when Janus inevitably did let go of his hand.

“Alright,” Janus said with a small sigh as he took a seat at the table and looked toward Logan expectantly. “let’s get this over with.”

Logan smirked and handed a mug to Janus before taking the seat across from him. He nearly snorted his own coffee through his nose at the look of pure disgust on Janus’s face the moment the liquid had reached his tongue.

“I take it you’re not convinced?” he asked, not entirely successful in his effort to ward off a bout of laughter.

“This is revolting,” Janus said, glaring at his mug as though it had insulted him. “This is worse than what the others drink. I don’t know how you can stand it.”

Logan snickered and downed his own coffee in three gulps, more to prove a point than anything.

“Mark my words, I’ll sway you one day,” he promised, though not entirely serious.

“Can’t imagine how,” Janus said with a roll of his eyes before stretching out his hand. “Here, give me the book; I’ll pick up where you left off.”

Logan couldn’t help but grin as he handed the volume over. They had never before engaged in this strange practice of reading aloud to one another outside the context of a distraction from fear. Janus caught the grin and shot one back as he flipped to the correct page.

“May as well keep going. I’m eager to hear your thoughts on the identity of the murderer.”

There was that peculiar warmth in Logan’s chest again. This time, he simply allowed himself to bask in it. He would find clarity and answers regarding these strange and pleasant feelings Janus seemed to provoke in him later. For now, it was more than enough that they were there.

#fanfic #loceit #mistletoe #mistletoeverse #logan sanders #janus sanders #tw arachnophobia #romantic loceit

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destiniesfic · 4 years

Photo

132 Hours, Chapter 5:

If I die out here alone, for nothing, I will feel so incredibly stupid.

Note: There is a content warning this chapter for a brief mention of past attempted sexual assault. The mention comes near the end of the chapter.

Read chapter 5 on AO3, or read below:

Despite the damp cool of the basement, I am warm when I finally blink my eyes open to the dim morning light. Cardan has curled up at my back.

Alpha blood tends to run hot, they say. It plays into the general myth that we are opposites in every way: alphas hot, omegas cold; alphas strong, omegas weak; alphas dominant, omegas submissive, and so on. Scientifically the hot-cold theory has a little backing, though we’re talking an average temperature difference of 0.2 to 0.5 degrees max. But with Cardan so close to me, practically radiating heat, I am almost inclined to believe it.

We’re not touching too much. He has sort of nestled his face into the juncture of my neck and shoulder, and if I hadn’t slept in my sweatshirt I could probably feel his eyelashes tickle my skin. His hand found the curve of my waist in the night. But that’s it. The rest of him is a few inches away, like even in sleep he finds it difficult to overcome his revulsion to me.

It’s almost comfortable, if I forget who I am and who he is. Not even what I am and what he is, because Madoc’s position means that if any handsome, eligible alpha bachelors deigned to outright marry an omega, as he had once married our mother, Taryn and I would be the best of the bunch—best-connected, best-educated, best-groomed. No, it’s that he is Cardan and I am Jude, and I have hated him ever since my body put itself at war with my brain, and he has hated me too, just because I was afforded some small amount of privilege without being born into it.

And still, I stay there for a minute, soaking up his warmth. Because I didn’t think I’d have this anytime soon. I didn’t think I’d get to wake up next to a boy cuddling me, not after what happened with Valerian and definitely not after what happened with Locke. And even though these are the worst circumstances, and this is the worst boy, there’s something perversely nice about it.

Or maybe I just like things that are bad for me.

I was thinking of seeing if girls were better when I got to college, but they don’t really explain how alpha-omega girl sex works in school and I am not about to ask Vivi. And now I don’t know if I’ll even make it to college, so maybe it’s not so bad if I steal a moment of peace.

But then the stink of mildew cuts through Cardan’s rich sweet-musky-boy scent and I am forcibly reminded of where we are and why, especially now of all times, I can’t afford to be soft. So I jam my elbow back into his side, and if I do it with maybe a little less force than I normally would, well, it’s not like he knows that.

Cardan awakens with a start. “Ow!” he says, rolling over onto his back and pressing a hand to his side. “What the hell!”

“You’re fine.” I sit up, take down my now grody ponytail, run my fingers through it and begin to put it up again, watching him out of the corner of my eye. “Today’s the day.”

Cardan scowls at me, rubbing his side.

“Do or die day,” I clarify, looping my elastic around another time. “In case you forgot.”

“I remember,” he huffs. “That mattress is terrible.”

“Well, maybe tonight you’ll get to sleep in your own bed. Or maybe we’ll be dead. Or we’ll be locked in this room again and you can sleep on the floor.”

“Such tempting options. However will I choose?”

I roll my shoulders, trying to work the kinks out of my muscles. “My guess is we’re going to be held up with the police for questioning for a long time. You might not have to. Maybe the choice will be made for you.”

“As always, Duarte, I do so admire your rosy outlook.” Cardan finger-combs his hair and sits up all the way, blinking at me. “I’m still worried about the third guy.”

I don’t tell him that I’d been thinking the same thing. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” I say quietly. “We have two other bridges to cross first.”

Only a minute or so after I say it, there’s that knock on the door. I glance at Cardan, who needs to play the role of alpha today, and wait for him to speak, even though it sucks to defer to him. He takes his time about it, too, stretching his long legs, running his fingers through his hair once more, like he has all the time in the world, like the person on the other end of the door should be so lucky as to strangle him.

Just as I’m about to strangle him, he calls, “Yes?”

The door opens. The scarred man and his gun are there, along with, absurdly, a little paper Starbucks bag in his other hand. An upgrade. He looks at me and Cardan—we’re now both sitting on the mattress, even though we are a few feet apart—but if he has any comments he keeps them to himself. He shakes the bag like he’s trying to call in a wayward dog. “Breakfast.”

“Thanks,” I say, because it is my place to be deferential.

“No coffee?” Cardan asks.

I whip my head around to glare at him. The man grunts, “Didn’t know how you took it.” Disconcertingly, I can’t tell if he has a sense of humor or if he’s serious.

Airily, Cardan says, “Fine. Put it down wherever.”

The scarred man raises both his eyebrows, but he half-sets, half-drops the bag on the floor and backtracks through the door, closing it and leaving us alone. Cardan goes over to retrieve it and peers inside. “Okay, looks like sausage, egg, and cheddar and… turkey bacon?”

I hold out my hand. “Give me the turkey bacon.”

“Oh, thank god,” Cardan says, and this time he doesn’t take a bite out of it before he hands it to me.

“Not a fan of turkey bacon?”

He scowls. “It’s all healthy. Plus, it’s not like turkeys actually have a belly to cut bacon from. You have to grind it up and make it yourself.”

I snort, but am happy for his judgment if it means my breakfast escapes unscathed. It doesn’t surprise me that Cardan couldn’t care less about eating healthily. From what I know, he has a mostly liquid diet, and the liquid is mainly alcohol. Not that it matters much. He probably won’t be able to keep getting away with it after a few more years, but right now his body takes pretty much everything he consumes and uses it to build him more muscle.

I think of how hard I have to strength train for a fraction of what Cardan gains just by existing, and how some of the training shows, especially in my arms and back, but the rest is buried under a cozy layer of body fat, and I kind of want to strangle him again. Just one of the many downsides of being an omega.

Since I don’t have any fun facts about turkey bacon to contribute, we eat breakfast without speaking. We had agreed that it was important to get our strength up for whatever lies ahead, but I find it hard to chew and swallow, even though the sandwich is lukewarm. I end up offering the last half to Cardan, who takes it despite his complaints.

Then, once enough time has passed, he gives me a look, and I nod and stand, shaking my legs out. Instead of staying in my usual corner, I stand next to the door, tense, waiting. With one last glance at me, Cardan strides over and knocks.

We have a system with our captors now. They know that the knocking means we want out for one reason or another. They either call through the door to find out why or just open it right away. This time, the door simply opens. Cardan stays where he is and does not move to the back of the room.

“Hey,” he says. “It’s that time again.”

It’s the woman’s voice I hear, and I am privately thankful. “Okay, back up.”

“But I was hoping I could go first.”

“Back up.”

Cardan takes one step back. It’s now that she realizes that I’m not in my corner. Just a little further, I think. And she gives me the half-step I need.

“What’d you do with your friend?” she asks.

To answer that question, I grab her by her shirt and drag her into the cell.

Surprise is a legitimate advantage, but a fleeting one. Since she’s armed and I’m not, I need to move fast. I don’t have to think much about it. I jam my knee into her stomach; all of the air leaves her lungs in a startled gasp, and her grip loosens on the gun. I pry it from her hand with one of mine and use the other, still fisted into her shirt, to pull her further into the room—and let go.

It only takes a few seconds. I dart out. Cardan has already gone ahead, as I told him to, and I pull the door to behind me, quickly twisting the lock on the knob. That was phase one.

“Um, Jude,” says Cardan.

I turn, raising my stolen pistol in front of me before I do anything else, finger resting dangerously near the trigger. The scarred man stands on the other side of the table, his gun also raised. But instead of aiming it at Cardan, as we thought he would, he is pointing that barrel at me.

“This is a surprise,” he says.

Behind me, the doorknob rattles as the woman realizes I’ve locked her in.

“Let her out,” the man tells us, voice steady and slow.

“Or what?” I ask. Somehow, my voice doesn’t shake. “We’re both armed. Let us go and I won’t shoot you.”

“Do you even know how to use that thing?” he asks.

“What do you think?”

He cocks his head to look me over, evaluate my posture, my steady grip. “Huh,” he says, and then he moves to point his gun at Cardan instead. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Cardan’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. “I’ll only ask nicely one more time.”

I snort. “Sure. Do me the favor.”

The scarred man raises an eyebrow. Cardan whispers, “Jude?” like he isn’t sure whether or not I am playing a game. I am not sure either. I am intoxicated by the adrenaline pulsing through me.

“We’re not friends,” I clarify. “Shoot him if you want.”

Cardan gives me a panicked look.

“Of course, if you’ve promised to give him back alive, that’s going to cause some trouble.” My palm is sweaty. I shift my grip on the gun. The knob rattles again at my back, and I hear a soft curse, a hand slamming on the door. “It’s your call.”

The man’s lip curls into a kind of terrible smile. “All right, girl,” he says. “You go free. He stays. Leave the gun on the top step.”

I blink. “Really?”

“Final offer.”

I should go right away. Instead, I glance at Cardan, who has gone pale. But he looks at me again, and then, defying all my understanding of him, he whispers, “Go, Jude.”

So I do. Slowly, my entire body quivering with tension, I walk backwards up the stairs, keeping my pistol trained on the scarred man until the last possible moment. I try the knob at the top, and find it unlocked. It seems too easy, but with one last, stomach-churning glimpse of Cardan’s white face, I flee. But I don’t do everything. I do not give up the gun.

The house I step into has obviously long been abandoned—it was probably never even finished. Some of the walls have gaping holes in the plaster, the support beams visible; some were never plastered at all. There is no furniture to speak of. I don’t linger to take it in. I start running, through a hallway, in the direction of what might be the front door. When I find it, I tumble out into bright morning sunlight, and I keep going.

Immediately I know I am well and truly in the middle of nowhere. All around me is a field of overgrown grass. If there is a road, I cannot see or hear it. Still, I have to assume there was once a driveway that led somewhere, so I take off as fast as I can toward a distant line of trees. I do not wonder about Cardan. I do not wonder about anything.

For a minute it is just me, my feet flattening the dew-damp grass, my lungs straining with every breath. I am alone in a way that I haven’t been in days. Then there is a crack from behind me, and then I feel something rush past my face, just missing me. Startled, I drop the stolen pistol, which lands harmlessly in the grass and thankfully does not fire. I don’t stop running for it. Stopping is the last thing I should do, not when I am so close.

Still, my stomach drops. Without slowing too much, I glance over my shoulder back at the house. The second floor is half-intact, and I can kind of see through the wall—there might be a dark shape perched there. A man. The third man.

He’s a sniper.

I swear under my breath, and my panicked heart skips a beat. They chose this place on purpose. There’s no cover out here, giving them a clear view of whoever might be coming or going. Giving them time to move us in case the cavalry arrived. My only choices are to keep running until I am out of range, or stop, and go back. And I am not doing that.

If I die out here alone, for nothing, I will feel so incredibly stupid.

There’s another crack, now unmistakably the sound of a rifle being fired, and this time I feel when it hits—really more of a graze, but it still skims through my flesh about midway up my calf, leaving a tear in its wake. The strange thing is that, at first, being shot doesn’t hurt at all. It doesn’t feel like much of anything. It shouldn’t be enough to make me miss my step. I falter anyway, and when I bring my foot down I land on it wrong and roll my ankle. I drop with a cry into the grass, tears stinging the corner of my eyes.

But even then I keep going, crawling on my hands and knees through the long summer grass, blinking back my tears because I refuse to let myself cry. I don’t look at my ankle or my wound. It is only when I hear the grass crunching underfoot behind me, and a shadow falls over me, that I finally, finally stop moving forward.

I don’t stop fighting, though. The man—Cardan had described him as tall, and he was right—picks me up with some effort and, without a word, throws me over his shoulder like a sack of garbage. After adjusting me a little so my weight is more evenly distributed, he turns to carry me back to the house. All the time I am squirming, trying to kick, pounding at his back with my fists, screaming with the faint hope that someone might hear me. It isn’t enough to get the sniper to loosen his grip on my waist, but I do feel him wince in pain a couple of times, giving me some small, bitter satisfaction.

All I think is, I shouldn’t have dropped the gun.

Despair begins to set in as we reenter the unfinished house, as the sniper shoulders his way through the door to the basement and carries me down the stairs. Cardan is seated in a chair, rumpled but seemingly unharmed, his hands behind his back. Apparently, someone has bothered to tie him up or handcuff him this time. He sits forward when he sees me carried in. “Jude?”

“Are you sure he’s the alpha?” the sniper asks his companions. “He seems to have gone easy on you.” He deposits me into another chair, and the woman is there immediately to cuff my hands, threading the handcuff chain through the chair back so I am well and truly stuck. I see that some of my blood has soaked into the sniper’s black shirt and think, Good. My leg is starting to hurt now, in throbs, like a bad burn.

“You shot her?” Cardan asks, straining against his bonds.

“I’m fine,” I say, avoiding his gaze. I cannot believe he would do something as stupid as give himself up so I could go free. I look at my wounded calf, streaked red. There is an angry-looking tear there, but it could have been much worse. He didn’t hit bone. “It’s a graze.”

“Because he’s good at his job,” says the scarred man.

The sniper shakes his head and disappears into the room beyond the bathroom. He returns with a first aid kit and begins to stoop down next to me so he can clean my calf, but I raise my foot, threatening to kick him again.

“That’s enough,” the scarred man says. “Believe it or not, we don’t want to hurt you kids.”

“Not,” I mutter under my breath.

“Hurting you wasn’t part of the remit unless you misbehaved,” says the sniper. “Is that more believable?”

I scowl and hold out my leg so that he can clean the wound. Cardan’s eyes narrow. “We can’t just trust you,” he says, as a stinging antiseptic pad is applied to the torn skin and I flinch. “We don’t even know who you are. Give us something. Names. Something to call you.”

The scarred man and the woman look at each other. The woman says, “You can call me the Bomb. This is the Roach. That—” She points to the sniper. “Is the Ghost. You can figure out why for yourself.”

“You call yourself the Roach?” Cardan asks. “Wow. I mean, love yourself a little.”

To my surprise, the man grins. “Not my choice, but we don’t get to choose. How’s her leg?”

“The twisted ankle is going to give her the most trouble,” the Ghost replies. He presses a clean cotton pad to the wound and binds it in gauze. Then he starts on wrapping my ankle. He’s efficient; he’s done this before. “Although I’m guessing we don’t want her mobile anyway.”

“I wouldn’t mind if she taught me a couple of moves,” the Bomb says, rubbing her stomach. I wonder if I bruised her. “What was that, karate?”

“Krav maga,” I admit, glaring at the Ghost as he props my foot up on the nearest empty chair. Ignoring me, he stands and leaves to wash his hands. “I’ve been training since I was nine.”

The Roach lets out a low whistle. “Someone didn’t want you getting jumped.”

I turn my glare on him. “For all the good it did me.”

For reasons I don’t understand, the Roach grins and holds up his hands. “This? This is just a paperwork dispute. Once everything’s signed and sealed, we’ll turn you loose.”

“Lot of hassle for some paperwork,” Cardan remarks. “You could have just let Jude go if it isn’t that big of a deal.”

“I’m starting to see it,” the Bomb says to the Ghost. “Although, yeah, I could have sworn the girl was the alpha too for a second there.”

And if that isn’t absurd enough, Cardan leans toward me across the table and asks, “Did they teach you how to slip handcuffs in krav maga school?”

“Do you want to dislocate your thumbs?” the Ghost asks abruptly, reemerging from the bathroom.

I give Cardan a shrug and a nod—that is how to do it—and he shudders.

“Look, we know just about everything there is to know about this guy,” says the Roach, pulling out the last empty chair and sitting across from me. “But now I’m curious about you.”

I blink. “There’s not much to say.”

“He has quite a file on him,” says the Bomb, jerking her head to indicate Cardan, who pulls an innocent face. “But you were nowhere in it. We thought you were a bystander, a fling, or maybe his new girlfriend—”

“His what?” I squawk.

“But you’re way more interesting than that,” the Roach concludes. “Cardan told us this whole little escape plan was yours.”

The Ghost, for his part, leans against the wall, folds his arms over his chest, and says nothing. I decide I would like him best except for the part where he shot me.

“Why don’t you just let Cardan tell my life story, then?” I snap, angry at everything and everyone.

“Gladly,” Cardan says, looking a little too gleeful. “Jude Duarte was born with a chip on her shoulder. She’s glaring about ninety percent of the time and never lets her guard down, ever. As far as I know, she’s only gotten drunk once. She and her sister were the first omegas to graduate from our school, and Jude staged a coup by being named valedictorian, too, as if being first at just one thing wasn’t good enough. Our last semester, she gave a kid a black eye and got him expelled.”

“Why?” The Bomb asks. “What did he do?”

Cardan lapses into an embarrassed silence that I don’t really understand. Valerian had been his friend, once. Maybe still is. I say casually, “He tried to do what alphas always do,” like I don’t still feel the awful weight on top of me, the cheekbone cracking under my knuckles. “So I did what I had to.”

“They expel kids for that now?” asks the Roach. “Huh. Good on them.”

“Jude’s dad made a persuasive case,” Cardan says.

They exchange bemused glances. The Ghost asks, “Who’s her dad?”

Cardan and I look at each other across the table. They really don’t know.

“My adoptive father,” I clarify, because it matters. “He’s a lawyer. Uh, his last name’s Madoc?”

“Oh,” says the Roach. “Shit.”

#jurdan #judecardan #jude x cardan #jude duarte #cardan greenbriar #tfota #the cruel prince #the wicked king #the queen of nothing #the folk of the air #jurdan fanfic #mine: fic #fic: 132 hours

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daydreamed-snippets · 4 years

Text

Lost Penal Colony Records

Warning: Mature themes. Not graphic, so I’m not categorizing it as NSFW, but does have mature situations.

On the Account of Prisoner 36842

“Alright! Line up! Let’s go!”

The voice barked out the orders throughout the barracks, jolting the protagonist out of a weary and restless sleep. A single lantern hanging from the ceiling blinked on, roused like the prisoners, illuminating rows and rows of cots.

This structure housed fifty souls, and there were twelve in this particular part of the compound, and the protagonist could hear each of them—feel each of them moaning, cursing, begrudging life, desperately clutching onto memories of once pleasant dreams, wondering when this nightmare was going to end. The protagonist wondered too.

“Come on, strip! Take off your blues, take off your underwear! Everything off for the inspection!” the voice cracked again.

Obediently the protagonist rose, joining the others who wordlessly unzipped their jumpsuit before shimmying it out of it, shedding their only protection from the cold and prying eyes, letting it pool around their ankles. In almost one accord, the group gathered their clothing, folded them, and placed them on their respective cots before queuing up.

The protagonist followed, knowing the routine, having it inscribed into them from day one—a bleary eleven years ago. The humiliation didn’t get any better eleven years later. Neither did the beatings. The previous night was particularly painful, and the protagonist was mindful of the discolored bruises that were scattered around their body, doing their best not to aggravate them further while undressing. It didn’t stop the rush of their heart, the rise of their blood pressure as if something was creeping up on them and they were frozen with fear to the spot. Dread had its deft claws wrapped around their heart, squeezing it with every life-sustaining beat. They willed themselves to take a deep breath, to allow their mind to recall a memory that made them happy, that granted them that tiny escape.

“Proceed outside, single file! If you’re caught dawdling the punishment will be severe.”

Everyone moved, lurching forward, the protagonist bringing up the rear, the last to exit the barracks. They did it on purpose, ushering those who were fresh off the transport and who had spent their first nights there to comply. Grabbing an arm or elbow, they would gently yet firmly drag them to the queue usually receiving looks of terror or hatred for their actions. The new ones always wanted to question them, wanted to talk, find out what was happening, but the protagonist would shake their head, urging them to refrain from speaking. A smooth, quiet process ensured fewer beatings, for the individual, and the group roped in for an example to be made.

Never give the administration any excuse, was the saying amongst the prisoners, they were more than capable of finding one themselves.

Outside the sun dawned over Relictus City, light permeating around the skyscrapers built upon the sister mountains, lighting the city up like some inane beacon of hope and salvation. A reminder that they were all so close and yet so far away. That the penal colony was somehow would always lay in the city’s shadow. A sign that they were all but forgotten.

Breath frosting in the morning air, the group came to a stop out in the open yard. It was desperately cold. The wind’s icy fingers pricked at the protagonist's skin, giving relief to the swelling, and yet in turn cutting their body to the bone. Others wrapped skinny arms around themselves in a vain attempt to stay warm or cover their exposed parts, or both. Their teeth chattered as they waited. They would always wait during an inspection

The antagonist made a display of exiting the makeshift tent, flanked by a dozen guards with electric truncheon strapped to their waist, all too ready to use them to quell violent criminals. The protagonist’s breathing quickened, teeth-rattling when they saw them. Their heart raced trying to catch up with their thoughts. Thoughts on what could happen next. Will this be business as usual or painful humiliation?

Coming down the line, the antagonist considered each inmate’s naked form as they went, showing some appreciation for what they saw before stopping directly in front of the protagonist with a cruel smile.

“It always sets me in a good mood when I can view my handiwork in broad daylight,” their words were honeyed, and the protagonist could feel their gaze roam over them from the top of their head to the tips of their toes. Eyes hungry, fervent for the smallest sign of shame, or of fear, or defiance they could beat out of them. It was too bad. The protagonist’s cheeks were already flushed from the cold.

The antagonist always did spend the longest time inspecting them, especially after a night of “rehabilitation”, as they called it, in the antagonist’s quarters. The sessions always left the protagonist broken, voice horse and knees buckling when they were dragged back to their cot.

“The incandescent lighting just isn’t the same,” they continued, petting the fresh vertical lines they’d made with the electric truncheon. Their touch was delicate, reverent, and desperately warm. The protagonist couldn’t help but relish the contact. “It just doesn’t do it justice, don’t you agree, hero?”

They remained silent and docile, training their gaze to a spot on the antagonist’s lapel, glaring at it wishing it would burst into flame and burn the son of a bitch before them.

Hero.

They hadn’t been called that in a long time. At least not by anyone that mattered. The antagonist was the only one who made sure to remind them of it every time they came for a prisoner inspection which has been once a month for the past three years.

“I don’t get a rise out of you anymore,” the antagonist pouted. The expression looked grotesque, out of place on their face. It quickly melted into a sneer, as they addressed the rest of the criminals. “Do you hear that?” The antagonist turned away from them, leering at the rest of the line. “I'm not pleased, and the hero seems unconcerned by your present condition.” They tsked, and whistled short and shrilly to the guards. Three stepped out of their positions at parade rest and latched onto three people, grabbing at hair, arms, dragging bodies. Battering them so they would shriek and cry in pain.

Closing their eyes briefly, the protagonist let the screams wash over them, taking in a shaky breath. They opened their eyes to find the antagonist looking at them, not a breath away.

“You know what I want,” they said quietly, for only the protagonist to hear. “Why must this be so difficult?”

The protagonist kept their voice even and monotone, even while adrenaline made their limbs heavy, repeating the lines they gave last night as they lay slumped over the antagonist's divan. Words that they recited to themselves every night. The oath they took a little over eleven years ago when they stood next to the Golden Hero and the Gods’ Hero in the Hero's Covenant’s induction ceremony.

“I vow to be one who lives correctly, following the ideals of honor, courage, and justice. I am to be one of action rather than theory; of order rather than chaos. Enduring in this world until—”

Backhanded across the face, the protagonist fell to the ground, blood spewing out of their mouth over the granular pavement.

“No, hero,” the antagonist chided, licking their lips. “Let’s try again.” Another whistle, four more guards fell out of line and dragged four inmates with them. The protagonist's eyes unwillingly followed a girl with messy burgundy hair, heterochromia eyes: one hazel one blue, and a ready smile that they showed only to them. They were one of the few people in there that could still smile.

The antagonist crouched down, boots kicking up pebbles and dirt, as the protagonist attempted to rise. A hand interlaced in their hair shoved them back down, scraping their cheek.

Not her, the protagonist thought. If the gods are listening, not her!

“I hear that mind of yours working,” the antagonist said, giving a nod towards the guard holding her by the arm. Complying they dragged her forward, ignoring her sharp breath. Insensed by her refusal to cry. The guard presented the girl before the antagonist.

With a savage tug on their hair, the antagonist forced them to look up, to stare into the girl’s fearful eyes. To try and convey reassurance when they were at everyone’s mercy. The guards forced her to kneel before them. “Was this the one that caught your eye?” he asked, running a hand along her thigh, the guard holding her still as she bucked, cheeks ablaze. The hand wandered, near her hips, across her stomach, and—

“No, stop it!” the protagonist screamed, voice burning from the cold. “That’s enough! Just—don’t…”

The antagonist rammed their face back into the pavement. “Then say it! It’s just four little words.”

The protagonist let out a breath, coughing as the bitter air filled their lungs. The truth was ever since they’d been convicted of aiding and abetting a known criminal, and sentenced here they never truly thought of themselves as a hero. It was all just an act really. A grounding philosophy to hold on to while they wasted away here in hell. Looking out for other inmates wasn’t that heroic. Making sure everyone got fed and had a chance at the showers after a long day in the refinery wasn’t that heroic. Taking on more responsibility when another prisoner couldn’t fulfill the quota in the mines wasn’t heroic. No, that was damn idiotic.

They were no hero. It was just a nice mantra to hear. They liked to pretend that it meant something.

The morning was still again. Everyone was quiet, ears straining in anticipation. “I am no hero,” the protagonist said, faintly, letting the wind carry their words away.

“I'm sorry I didn't catch that.”

“I am nothing!” They yelled, eyes burning now, gritting their teeth. “I am no hero!”

“That’s right,” the antagonist murmured, raucous laughter erupting in the background. They combed their hand through the protagonist’s hair, a deranged reward. The warmth of their hand left the protagonist, but they didn’t dare move yet. They watched the boots move over to the girl, and saw her hiss as they tipped her head up.

“Maybe we should have company during our next session, hmm?” the antagonist said, turning her head this way and that. “You seem to respond positively with this one around.” They chuckled, putting her on the cheek condescendingly before the guard whisked her away, pressing her back in line. The protagonist rose as well, cringing in pain, but diligently falling back in position.

“I like her too,” the antagonist called out, finishing their inspection and pulling their thick coat collar further around their neck. “I guess great minds think alike.”

They left with the understood promise of tonight's session lingering in the morning air.

#writing #snippet #short story #writblur #my writing #whump #kinda whump #protagonist #antagonist #protagonist x antagonist #hero #superhero #Relictus City #penal colony #Prisoner 36842

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midnightartemis · 4 years

Text

~ Chapter 43 ~

"There now, steady love, so few come and don't go Will you, won't you be the one I always know? When I'm losing my control, the city spins around You're the only one who knows, you slow it down…

It's always have and never hold You've begun to feel like home yeah What's mine is yours to leave or take What's mine is yours to make your own...”

-Look After You, The Fray

Find Me and My Warnings on A03

*nsfw*

He woke early in the morning with more than enough time to hop in the shower and head downstairs to start on breakfast and coffee. It was the least he could do for Maz letting him stay and there was something about caring for Rey that made his heart race. The house was quiet, the sky outside still dark, though there was a grey haze starting to seep into the world with the sunrise. It was the darkest time of the year, so there would only be a few hours of sunlight.

Ben stopped to peer into Rey’s room and found her sprawled across her bed over the comforter. She was using one of the old books from the forest as a pillow with a mirror laying haphazardly on the bed beside her. Though it looked like she hadn’t been able to sleep in the night, Rey was in deep sleep. Ben gently pulled the book out from under her head and Rey groaned as she shifted to a different position. Ben hid the book away and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead before returning the mirror to the bathroom.

What he would give to wake up with her again. To hold her close and wake her with gentle kisses. Her skin was so soft in the morning and she was so sleepy and relaxed. From there it’s a downward spiral till his thoughts are filled with nothing but her and the little noises she made under him in the cabin.

Unable to keep his thoughts at bay, Ben jumped in the shower and took himself in hand. The freshest memories were of her in his bed keening under him as he made her come. The walls of her fluttering tightly around him.

Ben groaned under the hot streams of water as the memory took him over the edge once again. He wanted to be near her, in her, beside her always. But that had become impossible with everything around them.

He knew he shouldn't complain. He knew that they were better off under the watchful protection of his parents and Maz and Chewie. Still, he misses the little home they carved out in the cabin, protected from the rest of the world. His daydreams lately had been filled with nothing but thoughts of pulling Rey into the Falcon and getting as far away from Republic as they possibly could.

That wouldn’t happen though. It had been so hard for Rey to open her heart to Maz and his parents and her friends. She had looked so surprised and happy when she told him Maz wanted to adopt her. She belonged there. Rey deserved a family and love and Ben would never take that away from her.

He knew if he even barely pushed the idea of running away together, Rey would agree.

So, as much as he hated to agree, his parents and Maz were right. The wagons were circled and Rey was at the center of it all. He had to be the one to hold her steady. He would do whatever was necessary to keep her safe, even if it killed him.

But there were so many unanswered questions. So many unknowns. Ben struggled to wrap his head around it. The visions, the secrets. His head had been quiet for a while now. Since the cabin. He had no desire to scribble down the pictures in his head, to capture the darkest parts of his psyche on paper.

It wasn’t a relief. If anything he felt on edge, especially away from Rey, like something was changing in the shadows.

Ben cut off the water and stepped out of the shower. He reached for a towel to dry off as his thoughts shifted to breakfast and the festival tonight. Rey was set to head to Rose’s right after school to get ready. Ben had been roped into helping his mother and Maz with last-minute festival preparations. He was grateful for the event as it meant his mother hadn’t had time to force him into talking about Rey or Snoke or any of it yet. He hadn’t gone to his last three sessions with Luke either and Ben was sure his mother wasn’t happy about that.

Ben shaved away his patchy morning stubble and cleaned the blade before toweling off the rest of the foam.

His eyes glanced over a dark figure in the mirror.

Ben froze, his head racing as he did a double-take. But the mirror was empty. He gripped the edge of the sink and took a deep breath. Just a trick of the light.

It was nothing.

It had to be nothing.

Ben turned off the water and headed down to the kitchen to start coffee and breakfast.

He had to be strong for her.

...

School flew by. Most of his classes were spent preparing for finals and they were working on building portfolios in drawing. He hated working on things in school where anyone could see them. No one got to see his drawings until he decided they could. Even Mrs. Tico knew that she shouldn’t pry too much and that Ben would eventually show her his work when he was ready.

Out of all the teachers in school, Mrs. Tico had been his saving grace. She was an amazing artist in her own right and could have made a living on her art, but teaching had drawn her in. He’d been taking as many of her classes each year as he could- some where it was just the two of them. Mrs. Tico was a true mentor, a gentle presence that never judged him for what he put down on the paper. She hadn’t even pressured him to look into art schools, though she had gently guided him in that direction. She had also given him paths that didn’t involve school, and there was a little agreement between them that Leia didn’t need to know everything. Apparently, Mrs. Tico’s father had been a principal in school and she knew the pain of over-involved parenting when it came to academics.

He’d be sad to leave her and eternally grateful for the safe haven that was the art classroom. Especially since it had brought him Rey.

Rey had woken all smiles at the plate of eggs and toast that he brought her but Ben could see the worry behind her eyes. Sometimes it was almost impossible to know what was going on in her head though he could see the thoughts turning violently behind her eyes. From the way she looked around for the book he had tucked away, Ben was sure her worry had something to do with that.

“What did you find?”

Rey worried her lip and pushed around her eggs before deciding on a bite of toast. “Our grandfathers worked together.”

Ben took the notebook she pointed out to him and opened it to the first page of her scratchy handwriting. He frowned and skimmed over the words. “They knew each other?”

Rey nodded. “From what I can tell so far… They were affected… Like we are. I think they were studying it. He goes into some theories like mass hallucination, shared psychosis. It’s hard to make out. Some of it is coded or just completely blacked out.”

Ben flipped through the pages and stopped to look at some of the blacked-out text. “Do you think Anakin did it? Or someone else?”

Rey shrugged. “Both maybe. If it was so secret. But not all of it looks the same- look.”

She flipped through the pages and pointed out sections of blacked-out text. Some looked old like it was done in the original ink of the journal, but others looked newer. More like sharpie or magic marker.

The door to Maz’s room swung open and Ben quickly shoved the notebook under Rey’s blankets. Maz shuffled out of her room, hair in curlers and a robe wrapped around her short frame. She yawned deeply and blinked at us. “Morning, children.”

“Morning, Maz.” Rey smiled softly.

“There’s coffee and eggs and toast on the stove if you want some.” Ben stood from the bed nervously. Maz didn’t seem to mind the fact that he was there, but he didn’t want to push his luck. The old woman’s face lit up at his mention of food.

“Bless you, boy. I might have to keep you around.”

Maz shuffled off and disappeared down the stairs. Ben let himself relax a little and Rey turned her bright eyes to him. Her hand reached for his and Rey intertwined her small fingers between his larger ones. That was all it took for Ben to completely melt into her.

He knew he was doing it again. Letting her in. Caring far too much and trying to fix all her problems for her. He couldn’t fail this time though. He wouldn’t let anything bad happen to Rey. Ben wasn’t sure he would survive if something did.

“Whatcha thinking about?” Rey appeared at his side, wrapping her arms around his waist and pulling him out of his thoughts. Ben wrinkled his brow as he looked down at the spread of drawings before him. Five. He had to choose five to present to Mrs. Tico.

“Not art.” Ben grunted.

Rey made a small noise of affirmation. “I can’t either. I’m better off just rolling a dice to choose my five.”

“No, you have a good eye.”

“I know. That’s how I know all mine are bad.”

“They’re not bad.” Ben groans inwardly as his voice betrays him. Art was not Rey’s forte and they both knew it. She accepted it.

Rey laughed. “You’re starting to make me think you’re the one with the concussion.”

“They’re not… that bad.” Ben set down the still life drawing they had done of random objects from around the school. “You’re very beautiful and I love you.”

“You’re a scoundrel.” Rey rolled her eyes and grinned up at him. She looked a little lost and Ben knew she still didn’t quite believe him. At times he didn’t believe it either, but everything had changed so quickly. It was hard to process their short time together.

Rey looked over the pile of drawings in front of him and carefully sifted through the stack. She took her time looking at each one before selecting five. A landscape of rolling prairie, a lone woman looking out over the land. A landscape of a strange alien-looking desert city. A still life of a lone man drinking at a strange bar. A portrait of Rey. A portrait of Lily. It was hard to tell one reality from another.

“Are you sure?” Ben asked as Rey spread out the drawings over the small table. Their portfolios were going to be displayed in the lobby before the winter concert. It was bound to raise questions if people saw Lily’s face next to his name.

Rey nodded and traced her fingers over the portrait of Lily. “I never knew her, but I feel like I did from the way you draw her. I know you loved her. Other people should know too.”

An ache rose in Ben’s chest. He’d never let himself rest after Lily’s death. He’d thrown himself into protecting Rey now that Snoke was gone. It would be far too painful to open those doors again. It would break him to pieces and Rey needed a whole person. He needed to be whole for her.

Somehow Rey always knew. Somehow she understood him better than anyone in the galaxy. Somehow they were always meant to find each other. It was too much of a coincidence for it to not be fate. He didn’t understand how other people hopped from person to person, but maybe he was just lucky. All he knew, deep in his bones, was that Rey was it for him. There would be no one else.

The thought should have been terrifying, but all Ben felt was immense comfort. Calm. More alive and grounded than he ever felt before.

Ben pulled Rey close and left a gentle kiss on her head. “Are you excited for tonight?”

Rey groaned, but there was a smile on her lips. “Rose is going to put me through hell, but it will be worth it to see you in a tie.”

“I’m supposed to wear a tie?” Ben frowned at Rey but broke his act when she scowled at him. “I’ll wear a tie.”

He looked around the room and found most everyone else was listening to music or distracted. Mrs. Tico was bent over and in deep discussion with some sophomore girl who looked close to tears.

Ben nuzzled close to Rey’s ear. “It’s a date. And you’re gorgeous. Plus, I have some ideas where a tie might come in handy.”

Rey flushed a deep red and cast a sheepish glance around the room before whispering. “Are you going to tie me up, Ben Solo?”

All the blood in his body drained south at the heated look in her eyes. Fuck. Like always Rey was two steps quicker to the draw. She seemed to take a special interest in torturing him.

“Maybe. If you’re good tonight.” He had to figure out a way to get them away from the crowds and out of the eyes of his entire family. He missed her, though he had been sleeping not twenty feet from her for the last week.

“What if I break the school record with our cart?” Rey countered.

“You can’t bet on a sure thing.” Ben winked at her and Rey grinned. It had taken some convincing, but Han had finally agreed to let Rey drive the cart as long as she wore a helmet. Ben was too large to fit into the cart and they both refused to let anyone else touch it.

A few minutes before the bell, Mrs. Tico collected their chosen portfolios and reminded them about the festival’s concert gallery. Ben and Rey wasted no time in hurrying out of the building and across the parking lot to the school shop. Today was finally test day.

The shop buzzed with voices as they entered and more than a few eyes turned to watch them warrily. Snap glared worst of all, but was smart enough to keep his mouth mostly shut. He’d gotten two detentions from his shop incident, but Ben found himself wishing he’d given the guy a black eye or two. As if sensing his thoughts, Rey took Ben’s hand and led him to their shared desk at the side of the classroom.

The bell rang again and Han stood from his perch on the high stool at the front. “Well, kids. It’s testing day.”

A cheer went up from the boys in the back.

“I’ve already double-checked your engines and I’ve left a pint of gas with each of your bikes. You should all already know the rules. Each cart will carry the same weight of passenger and cargo. The goal is to go as far as you can on the gas given to you. You’ll each warm your engines for five minutes. That will be timed. Since it’s cold out, we’ll start in the garage. And I’ve cleared a path in the parking lot for us to follow. Questions. No? Good.”

Rey grinned broadly and bounced excitedly on her toes. It was the most excited he had seen her in a long time. He couldn’t help but smile. Rey Niima had his heart, his soul, and the rest of his life.

Read Me Here

#reylo #ben solo deserved better #ben solo #ben solo x rey #rey x ben #reylo fanfic #reylo ao3 #reylo fanfiction #one day ill make a masterlist

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astrodances · 4 years

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F.O.W.L. Case Files: Owning the Town

Okay, so I was theorizing earlier (and I’ve seen others mention this, too) about Isabella’s lost Fountain of Youth, and how I’m betting on its episode will center around Scrooge, Rockerduck, and (hopefully) Goldie in a sort of “Outlaw” follow-up, because I’m sure after all that time on ice (he “ain’t lookin great these days”), Rockerduck will need a new way to stay young and all that so he can help F.O.W.L. larceny against the world. (And he also wants “REVENGE!”)

But once Rockerduck gets back on his feet (whether through the fountain or otherwise), he’ll probably be assigned a new mission, or will take up whatever mission he was working on before he got frozen (assuming that’s why he was frozen in the first place - probably something to do with being competition for Scrooge for the title of richest duck in the world - perhaps he was frozen right after Scrooge got the title/started McDuck Enterprises? Like I’ve said before, and from what we’ve learned: F.O.W.L. = long game). Anyway, whatever the reason, I think bad ol’ Johnny’s mission is going to center on this:

Rockerduck essentially stole Gumption and all its gold from the townsfolk, and what is F.O.W.L.’s main objective?

(Putting the rest under a cut!)

I’ve mentioned before in a reply to another theory of mine (before we knew about the buzzards being F.O.W.L.) what I think might be F.O.W.L.’s bigger plot (seeing as how we thought they were running things from St. Canard, which is known for “supercrime” - and that probably is still the case). For convenience, here’s what I wrote:

I didn’t even consider this when I wrote it in my original post, but you know what I’m now thinking the “possibly as part of a bigger plot” bit that I mentioned could be for F.O.W.L. using the buzzards to take over McDuck Industries? They want to take over Duckburg as well, and Scrooge owns the deed to the town. If they take the company, then they’re that much closer to their goal, since McDuck Industries provides power, water, and so much more for Duckburg.

(Heck, I think the only thing that would be stopping them at that point is that, I’m *pretty sure*, the deed is privately held by Scrooge, not the company. After all, Ma Beagle was looking for the deed in McDuck Manor as if it’s a personal item of his. But if not…oh boy.)

So building on this, if the buzzards’ focus is on gaining control of McDuck Industries, as the business-oriented birds that they are, then Rockerduck seems perfectly suited to go after Duckburg (especially considering that he - or his family - already have Rockerduck Estates).

It’ll be a perfect one-two punch for F.O.W.L. Add in @alliterative-albatross’ original buzzard conspiracy theory that the buzzards sabotaged Scrooge’s attempts to rescue Della so they could ultimately control the company (along with the future potential angst that the whole Spear of Selene-family situation is bound to bring), and they really have clear shots at Scrooge’s heart, wallet + bin, and leadership.

All F.O.W.L. has to do is keep pushing their dominoes.

Getting back to Rockerduck, I want to bring up the below tweet, where Frank said that Rockerduck is “looking to exact revenge against those that wronged him in Gumption.” (While I still think/want to see Scrooge, Goldie, and Rockerduck go tête-à-tête in the Fountain of Youth episode, I could also see them doing this when Rockerduck goes after the town.)

That need for revenge will be perfect motivation for him to help with F.O.W.L.’s plot: Scrooge took (back) Rockerduck’s gold, essentially his investment in/ownership of Gumption - now Rockerduck will return the favor with Duckburg.

Ooooh bonus twist: building off of their existing parallels of being rich guys and all that, what if Rockerduck is actually a freelance operative for F.O.W.L, just like Scrooge is a freelance agent for S.H.U.S.H.? That would give the show an even greater angle to really hone in on his need for revenge.

Sort of branching off into and yet sewing together multiple theories simultaneously now (please bear with me haha)...

F.O.W.L. and Rockerduck want the town/deed...

F.O.W.L. also wants “access to the most mysterious relics lost to time” (from Isabella’s journal), and are now racing the McDucks to do so...

Circling back to the first gif, Rockerduck’s revenge will likely entail trying to gain ownership of everything *under* Duckburg, and he’ll probably want some personal compensation for the Rockerduck Nugget from Scrooge...

And in just what location would Scrooge likely keep important documents, such as deeds, and his most mysterious non-money treasures, relics, etc., that just so happens to be underground?

The Other Bin. Where Scrooge “puts all his most dangerous finds and artifacts to keep them from prying hands.”

Yet the Other Bin sure seems like something that absolutely no one outside the family (except for a scheming shadow witch with an inside spy to get her foot in the door) would know about, right? Surely not even F.O.W.L. could get in there.

Unless they also had the appropriate inside man.

I’ll let my addition to this post speak for itself, but to add to it and tie it into this as the “how” for Rockerduck’s plan, Duckworth would be the perfect inside man. After all, he was the one cleaning the Other Bin for who knows how long (see his cleaning schedule below) - he knows what’s in there (and will probably be seeing many of the relics from Isabella’s journal go in there), how it’s laid out, and now as a ghost, access to it is probably easier than ever for him, as is reporting to F.O.W.L. High Command.

If Duckworth can at least get them/Rockerduck the deed, and/or get them access inside the Other Bin secretly, then they could take whatever they want, including any of Isabella’s lost relics that Scrooge got first.

When Bradford says that F.O.W.L.’s going to steal the world “out from underneath McDuck’s nose,” I think he really, truly means "under,” and Rockerduck will be fully ready and willing to help see that through.

#DuckTales #F.O.W.L.#John D. Rockerduck #Scrooge McDuck #buzzard conspiracy #F.O.W.L. Case Files #my theories

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nightlight-stardust-and-rain · 4 years

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I was classpecting the characters of dgm because I was "will I ever find someone to classpect them with" because I know litterally nobody who's both into Homestuck and Dgm. But you know what I'll just do it myself.

Lavi is so obviously Heart. It's just. So funny. He is SO a heart!! Come on!! It's irony at its best!! Bookmans don't need a heart but Lavi is very clearly a heart player!! (also this kinda goes with my little theory that Lavi has/is the Heart so yeah) no class cause I'm shit at class but something passive maybe?? Like. A heir ? Heir seems good or maybe a witch ? Idk

Lenalee is SO blood. The bonds?? Her whole world being her friends and family?? She is SO blood!! Also I think she's a Knight cause she's really determined to protect her friends?? But again, classes are very confusing to me I'm not even sure to understand mines.

I think Allen is... Hope. Yeah Hope fits. Hope is all about convictions and Allen got plenty of those! Also "They do right for right's sake, and are quick to come to the aid of anyone they deem to be experiencing injustice". Yeah. Maybe Heir too? Or Page? Page seems better.

Kanda is Time!! Using the wiki page here, he fits the aspect perfectly!! Prince maybe ? Bluh.

Komui could be Space... Or blood. But I think he's Space? Or Light because he's a scientist but it doesn't sounds quite right ? I really think he's Space. (@birriabirria says Mage of Space! Agreed)

I think Cross is Breath. Idk why honestly but he gives me a Breath feeling. One who's kinda not in tune with his aspect but still? Maybe a Bard? Or a Prince?

I think Alma is Void and Miranda is Doom ! Nothing else to say it just came to me like that. (*i* have nothing else but @birriabirria says that Miranda could be a sylph of Doom and Alma a seer of Void!! Noice :3)

Can't believe I forgot the Noah but. The Earl is obviously something like the White queen ? Idk. Oooh Mana and Neah can be like Caliborn and Calliope and whoever wins is the earl? Except they love each other so it's super sad :(

Tyki is just as Heart as Lavi (which is fun cause those two are one of my favorite ships :D). Seriously, he litterally has a "white" and "black" side. He is SO Heart. It's funny cause for all the others characters I have *some* doubts but for Lavi and Tyki, nope. 100% Heart. You can pry this from my cold dead hands.

Road might be Mind. Something like a Prince or a Thief? Oh, or a Mage! Mage of Mind would suit her!!

Sheryl. Might... Be... Hope ??? Idk really this guy *Confuses* me. He is very confusing. Honestly, trying to classpect him I could only think "DEFINITELY not Rage" and, well. "Definitely not Rage" is pretty much Hope, isn't it? It kinda suits him too? Hmm.

Not sure about Wisely. I want to say Seer of Mind cause he reads minds but it seems kinda bad? Idk I just. He doesn't feels Mind? I have no idea about him he confuses me more than Sheryl, Wisely looks high half the time I can't figure him out.

I don't know about the others honestly. I thought the twins could be Heart because they could be splinters of the same Noah?

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dontasktheradiodemon · 4 years

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DM Private Chat - 11/30

Alastor and @hiss-and-vinegar talk about Sir Pent’s mental health.

And Alastor casually mentions that he’s been to therapy and just, fucking, doesn’t elaborate on this at all.

11/29/2020

hiss-and-vinegar

🐍 DON'T TELLJOKEsr

dontasktheradiodemon

🎶 Come again?

11/30/2020

hiss-and-vinegar

🐍 OH. I DON'T REMEMBER SENDING THAT.

dontasktheradiodemon

🎶 Are you feeling alright? Didn’t wake up disoriented with a bump on your head?

hiss-and-vinegar

🐍 NO, I WAS JUST EXHAUSTED!!

🐍 I THINK THAT RESPONSE I DON'T QUITE REMEMBER HAD SOMETHING TO DO WITH SOMETHING YOU SAID

dontasktheradiodemon

🎶 Oh? Remember what it was?

hiss-and-vinegar

🐍 YOU DOUBTING YOUR STANDING AS MY FRIEND!

🐍 I'VE NO INTEREST IN MAKING A DOPPELGANGER MY BEST FRIEND, THAT IS TOO CLOSE FOR COMFORT.

dontasktheradiodemon

🎶 Oh! Fine, fine, no more jokes like that.

hiss-and-vinegar

🐍 AT LEAST PUT IN SOME KIND OF HINT TO ME THAT YOU ARE JOKING

🐍 LIKE YOUR OWWO FACE SOMEWHERE

dontasktheradiodemon

🎶 Right! No tone online, is there.

🎶 Honestly, it wasn’t so much a joke as a slight hyperbole! I expect you’ll be making good friends with him, won’t you? Who are you going to get along better with than yourself, after all! So much in common!

hiss-and-vinegar

🐍 COMMONALITIES MIGHT NOT ALWAYS BE SO GOOD FOR FRIENDSHIPS.

dontasktheradiodemon

🎶 No? I've always gotten along great with my duplicates! The only problems are when we don't have enough in common.

🎶 I'm quite alike with all my friends!

hiss-and-vinegar

🐍 I IMAGINE IT COMES NATURALLY TO YOU! I FIND IT A STRESSFUL ENDEAVOR. COMPETITION, BUT I TRY.

dontasktheradiodemon

🎶 Why compete! You could exchange tips and tricks on now to conquer your respective Hells! Or split up research projects—one of you works on an engine while the other works on a gun, you'll be twice as destructive in half the time and you can still take credit for it because you would have come up with the exact same designs!

🎶 But I understand, the temptation to see whether you measure up to yourself, and if you're the better of the two how can you trust he won't be envious... All the same. I think you Should get along.

hiss-and-vinegar

🐍 THAT IS WHAT I AM HOPING FOR, AND I AM CERTAIN IT WILL GO THAT WAY. HE SEEMS OPEN TO NEW IDEAS, MORE THAN I HAD BEEN. I SUPPOSE I AM THANKFUL HE WASN'T LIKE /ME/.

11/30/2020

dontasktheradiodemon

🎶 How do you know he's not thinking the same thing about you? Give yourself a little credit, my friend!

hiss-and-vinegar

🐍 HA! IT IS THE SELF LOATHING.

🐍 HM, THAT JOKE DOESN'T HIT RIGHT OVER TEXT

dontasktheradiodemon

🎶 I don't think it'd hit very well in person, either.

hiss-and-vinegar

🐍 CAN'T ALL BE BANGERS.

dontasktheradiodemon

🎶 You're just about the most impressive person I know! I'm amazed all of Hell doesn't think so! But if anyone should think so—it should be you.

hiss-and-vinegar

🐍 I KNOW THAT I AM AMAZING AND INCREDIBLE, I KNOW THAT I DESERVE EVERYTHING I WANT, THAT THERE ISN'T ANYONE AS HARDWORKING AND DEDICATED AS I AM!!!

🐍 BUT THERE ARE DAYS THAT I'M SO TIRED.

🐍 AND THOUGHTS SLIP IN, EXHAUSTING THOUGHTS.

dontasktheradiodemon

🎶 On those days, I'll try to like you enough for the both of us, how's that sound? See if I can't cancel out some of the thoughts that have no business hanging around your head.

hiss-and-vinegar

🐍 HAHA, YOU SOUND LIKE VALERA, ALASTOR.

🐍 THANK YOU.

dontasktheradiodemon

🎶 Well, with the two of us on the cause, you should be fine!

hiss-and-vinegar

🐍 HA! YES, WELL, WE KNOW THAT THERAPY IN HELL CERTAINLY WON'T BE OF ANY AIDE.

dontasktheradiodemon

🎶 Very entertaining, though! Ask an alienist to explain their favorite fringe psychological theories and it sounds like reading Jekyll & Hyde, all this talk about subtle mental processes you can affect with clever little chemical potions.

🎶 Have you been looking into that? I doubt all of them were damned for being bad at therapy, some of them have to be down here for adultery or what have you.

hiss-and-vinegar

🐍 OH, I DO NOT DOUBT IT AT ALL. SLEEPING WITH THEIR PATIENTS, I'VE HEARD TALE AS WELL.

🐍 I WAS REMEMBERING SOMETHING VALERA SAID ABOUT MEDICINE AND THERAPY. I SUPPOSE I WONDERED ABOUT IT.

dontasktheradiodemon

🎶 I meant normal, non-therapy-related adultery, but that too!

🎶 I suppose it can't hurt, as long as you don't go to an absolute lunatic. Easy enough to figure out by asking around.

hiss-and-vinegar

🐍 I AM NOT CERTAIN ABOUT IT, OVERALL.

🐍 AFTER ALL, GOING TO SOMEONE LIKE THAT, TO WHAT... POUR MY GUTS OUT FOR THEM TO MOCK AND PICK APART? MMM. NO THANK YOU

dontasktheradiodemon

🎶 What, the profession in general?

🎶 Ah! You'd be surprised what you can get away with keeping secret! Most of them are either too dumb to figure it out or too smart to pry.

🎶 And you can always shoot someone who knows too much.

hiss-and-vinegar

🐍 HA!

🐍 STILL, WHAT TO EVEN SAY? "I REQUIRE MEDICINE THAT WILL KEEP ME GROUNDED TO AN ACCEPTABLE LEVEL OF SUFFERING IN /HELL./"

🐍 I PUT IT TO THE SAME STANDARDS AS REDEMPTION--A NICE THOUGHT, BUT HARDLY POSSIBLE TO OBTAIN

dontasktheradiodemon

🎶 Sure! Why not say that? I've been brewing potions for a century—and a potion's just a kind of medicine—and, surprise surprise, most of them keep working just fine in Hell.

hiss-and-vinegar

🐍 I RATHER WANT TO AVOID BEING LAUGHED OFF.

dontasktheradiodemon

🎶 More than likely, what you're going to get is some alienist eager to chuck pills at you until something sticks. I've even seen ones that just keep little samples of reefer and coke in their office to shove at clients to see if that'll fix their problems, but they'll recommend the more finely-tuned stuff, no problem.

🎶 Why, they wouldn't be trying to make a living treating ailments of the mind in Hell if they didn't expect customers to come in the door asking to suffer less!

hiss-and-vinegar

🐍 I SUPPOSE THAT'S TRUE.

dontasktheradiodemon

🎶 I visited an alienist for a bit in the early aughts—competent man. Pro-cannibalism and pro-murder. Classy fellow, too. I could hunt out his contact information if you want?

hiss-and-vinegar

🐍 AH.. PERHAPS?? I DON'T KNOW. I'M STILL NOT SURE.

🐍 I DO NOT ENJOY ASKING FOR HELP FROM HELL'S SINNERS

dontasktheradiodemon

🎶 I'd think of it less as "asking for help" and more as "demanding a service worker do their job on your behalf"!

🎶 But up to you. Offer's there if you want to try it out with someone who's already been vetted for competency.

hiss-and-vinegar

🐍 I GUESS I ALREADY TRUST ALCOHOL FLOODING THE CREVICES OF MY BRAIN TO HANDLE MOST OF MY PSYCHOSIS, PERHAPS IT ISN'T TOO ODD TO HOPE FOR SOME MEDICINE THAT IS MEANT FOR THE JOB.

dontasktheradiodemon

🎶 I'm given to understand that most modern medicines work by taking the narcotics people already use to some chemist's lab and extracting the particles that help from the bits that cause side-effects you don't want. So if you've already got something that helps, I bet you anything that someone out there has made a more refined version.

🎶 And I'm not just talking about a higher proof!

hiss-and-vinegar

🐍 MMM

🐍 I DON'T KNOW ABOUT "HELPS" HAHA! JUST NUMBS EVERYTHING, ABOUT.

dontasktheradiodemon

🎶 Well—maybe something more useful's been made anyway, who knows.

🎶 I'm going to ask a question, and if it's none of my damn business you can tell me so, I won't take offense.

🎶 But when you say you've got a "psychosis"—everyone I've met who says that means something different by it. What's it mean to you?

hiss-and-vinegar

🐍 WELL, UP UNTIL I'D DIED, I THOUGHT THAT MY BRAIN WAS CONTAMINATED WITH GHOSTS. AT LEAST, THAT'S WHAT I WOULD HAVE BEEN TOLD BY THE PHYSICIANS OF MY TIME. NOT ALL OF THEM, MIND YOU, BUT WE WERE ALL OFTEN BLAMED FOR OUR OWN MENTAL INSTABILITY.

🐍 BUT I DO KNOW THIS.

🐍 WHEN IT IS AT ITS WORSE, IT IS AS IF I CAN FEEL MY OWN BLOOD BECOME ACID IN MY VEINS, AND MY OWN SCREAMING IS FAR AWAY.

dontasktheradiodemon

🎶 Huh. Metaphorically or literally?

🎶 I can at least say it's no ghost. I dealt with plenty of ghosts and none of them ever did anything like that.

hiss-and-vinegar

🐍 I WANT TO SAY METAPHORICALLY, BUT I DON'T KNOW. POSSIBLY METAPHORICALLY.

🐍 ALL I KNOW IS I AM OVERCOME WITH THE INTENSE PULL TO CLAW AND TEAR AT MY OWN FLESH, FOR SOME KIND OF RELIEF.

🐍 YOU BETTER NOT LAUGH- THESE ARE EMBARRASSING THINGS TO ADMIT.

dontasktheradiodemon

🎶 My friend, I am absolutely not laughing.

hiss-and-vinegar

🐍 A GREAT SHAME OF AN INVENTOR, TO ADMIT THAT HE IS MAD INDEED. ANOTHER REASON FOR ALL OF HELL TO BRUSH ME OFF.

dontasktheradiodemon

🎶 What, haven't you heard of the "eccentric genius"? And to hear the picture shows tell it, most inventors are mad. I don't think it's anything to be ashamed of!

🎶 I know some curses that make one's veins feel like fire, but if you were hexed, you'd probably know by now. Never heard of a mental cause. But then that's not my field, I'm sure someone knows.

hiss-and-vinegar

🐍 PERHAPS IT IS JUST MY LOT IN HELL!

dontasktheradiodemon

🎶 If it started before you got to Hell? I doubt it!

🎶 I'm not claiming to be some kind of expert on acid blood, I'm just... well... Thinking out loud, I suppose.

hiss-and-vinegar

🐍 I UNDERSTAND. MY BLOOD DOESN'T FEEL LIKE ACID THE REST OF THE TIME.

🐍 JUST WHEN IT ALL GOES SIDEWAYS. AND EVERYONE BECOMES AN EVERYTHING.

🐍 AND I BARELY FEEL LIKE I'M HERE.

dontasktheradiodemon

🎶 Ahhh. So it doesn't just come on by itself, it's some sort of reaction to something.

hiss-and-vinegar

🐍 YES, APPARENTLY.

dontasktheradiodemon

🎶 Some kind of brain-storm, then. Huh. Well, I don't know if people were familiar with brain-storms in your time, but they were in mine, so it stands to reason someone's got to know more about them by now.

hiss-and-vinegar

🐍 A BRAIN STORM? WHAT A FUN LITTLE NAME! WOULD MAKE AN INTERESTING WEAPON.

dontasktheradiodemon

🎶 Hah, there's an idea! Go to a shrink, tell 'em you have brain-storms, wait'll he asks what they feel like, then say "Like this!" and shoot.

🎶 It probably wouldn't help. But it'd be funny!

hiss-and-vinegar

🐍 HAAAAAAA HA HA HAAAAAAA

🐍 I DO LOVE THAT!

hiss-and-vinegar

🐍 AH, THANK YOU ALASTOR. I DO NOT MAKE IT A HABIT TO CONFIDE LIKE THIS. MY MIND BECOMES PANICKED AT THE THOUGHT THAT I MAY HAVE SAID TOO MUCH, BUT THE FACT YOU DIDN'T LAUGH ME OFF MEANS A LOT.

dontasktheradiodemon

🎶 I'd never!

🎶 And you've done the same for me. Not brain-storms, per se, but other unhappy things knocking around in my head.

hiss-and-vinegar

🐍 NYA HA HA, SO WE ARE EVEN! (I AM WINKING)

🐍 ;3

dontasktheradiodemon

🎶 So we are! Very kind of you, I don't like being in someone else's debt for long!

🎶 UwwO

#hissandvinegar #chat log

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