#keep in mind i operate off inspiration

[cjrae]

Rank And Responsibility. Or: The Hairpin Scene from Jinshi's POV.

Be warned now about the consequences of choosing to do an English Lit degree - you end up doing lit crit for fun. With that in mind, let's break down the hairpin scene at the end of Covert Operations (Episode 5). Mild spoilers for Jinshi's arc are below.

While this moment does kick off the romantic subplot, with all the implications that giving Maomao the hairpin out of his own hair has, I would argue that this is not the moment Jinshi realizes he's in love with Maomao. Instead, from his point of view, this scene demonstrates how Jinshi handles failure.

Holding Power In An Open Palm

This is still very early in the story. Our first hint to Jinshi's true rank does come in this scene, but for now we know him as the manager of the Rear Palace. For the three thousand people who live and work there, for all intents and purposes, Jinshi is the highest authority they will encounter. He literally has the power of life and death over them, either directly in the case of the servants and eunuchs, or in the case of the consorts, his word to the Emperor directly can serve the same purpose. We also see Jinshi use this power early on - he's not just there to keep order, but also to test the consorts' loyalties and virtue. We never see what happens to the lower-ranked consort who attempted to invite Jinshi back to her room, but at the very least that report ensures that her already small chance of the Emperor choosing her as a potential mother of the nation is utterly cut off - and if she doesn't bear children, she will be discarded.

We also know that Jinshi will not hesitate to order corporal punishment if he views it necessary - for example, when Maomao discovers that the toxic face powder is still being used by Consort Lihua's ladies in waiting, she mentions in the aftermath that the eunuch who failed to recover the powder was flogged, while the lady in waiting who hid the powder is put in solitary confinement. These are brutal punishments - and if we consider the historical inspirations, these are also very restrained consequences. For hiding an item that caused the death of the prince (unfortunately, the more valuable child) and has put the life of one of the Emperor's favored High Consorts in danger, Jinshi would be utterly within his rights to order executions. If ignorance is a sin, ignorance in the face of knowledge is a greater one.

Microcosm of Li

For all that Jinshi holds his power lightly, he also takes the responsibility that power bestows upon him quite seriously. It's worth noting that Jinshi takes over governing the Rear Palace shortly after Maomao's service contract is purchased. (Remember, Xiaolan talks about the "beautiful, new eunuch that's been posted to the central courtyard," which tells us that Jinshi has not been in the Rear Palace long enough to become a fixture - he's an object of speculation and admiration from episode 1).

In context it's clear that, with the birth of two Imperial children, his job is to ensure the survival of the Imperial line and investigate why children of the Emperor are dying consistently in one of the wealthiest and safest places in the entire empire. We're shown him running in between Lady Lihua and Lady Gyokuyou to ensure that their very sick children are being seen to properly, investigating what could be causing it, while also managing tensions as rumors about the Emperor's children being cursed begin to spread and outright accusations of sorcery are being thrown between consorts. While the audience might immediately scoff along with Maomao at the idea of one consort cursing another, if Maomao hadn't found the cause of death, those types of accusations followed by Lady Lihua's and Princess Lingli's inevitable deaths could have ended with Lady Gyokuyou's execution.

The Rear Palace is a reflection of the nation as a whole. No Imperial heirs plus the deaths of two High Consorts with various foreign and domestic political ties had the potential to thrust the entire nation into chaos. Jinshi's choices have very real consequences, so when Maomao discovers what the true cause of death is and sends her warning, Jinshi looks at Maomao and doesn't see a person. He sees a "perfect pawn." A tool, one with talents that have ensured that at least one Imperial child has survived and providing a rational explanation why these children have died so that it can be prevented from happening again - and a skill set that can be turned to preventing any more shenanigans in the Rear Palace that could threaten the empire's foundation.

And, as Gaoshun points out, in the beginning of the hairpin scene, she is a toy. Maomao amuses Jinshi up until this point.

For all that Jinshi is shown wielding power with a light hand and a responsible mindset, it literally doesn't occur to him that the people working in the rear palace have stories - some tragic - about how they came to be there. They are resources to be used as befits the Emperor's (and therefore the nation's) need.

Hidden Beauty

When Maomao turns around and Jinshi doesn't recognize her until she speaks, he's shocked. He thought he knew exactly who and what this girl was - ugly and unremarkable, except for her intellectual brilliance and the challenge in managing her by other means than empty compliments and smiles. He attempts to recover and assumes that she is enhancing her looks - and is shocked again when he realizes that the face Maomao has presented to him so far is a protective mask against attracting attention. In a world where beauty is both a currency and a tool that others covet, Jinshi doesn't understand why Maomao would deliberately devalue herself like that. So she tells him.

This is the moment Maomao becomes a person to Jinshi.

Not a toy, not a pawn. Someone who has been ripped from her home and her life illegally and sold off. It's in this moment that Jinshi is forced to confront the ugly side of the society he lives in, people who would rape Maomao out of pure convenience or just take a "borderline marketable" girl off the street in order to get extra drinking money.

Worse, Jinshi is complicit in Maomao's captivity. The Rear Palace has bought her contract - and as the manager of the Rear Palace, Jinshi is responsible for everything that happens within its' walls. The fact that Jinshi does not personally oversee service contracts is irrelevant. The buck stops with him. If the Matron of the Serving Women or whoever is below her is buying these contracts without checking their sources, that is Jinshi's fault because he has allowed a lax enough system to flourish. He has failed to govern this microcosm of the nation wisely, with thought for the welfare of the least powerful among his people. Worse, he has failed to even notice the problem - Maomao may say she's angry about having been kidnapped and sold, but she doesn't react in a way that indicates anger. Instead, she's resigned. Yes, what happened to her was wrong and she's angry about it, but there's literally nothing she or Jinshi can do.

Or Is There?

Jinshi offers Maomao two apologies, the first of which is our first hint to his true status. "I'm sorry we couldn't police them better." Maomao immediately blows off this apology - she points out that there's no way Jinshi should have known and has a very "all's well that ends well" attitude about her situation - her contract will be up eventually and in the meantime she's managed to land in a fulfilling role. Essentially Maomao is telling Jinshi that this apology is not his to make - he's overstepping his responsibility. And, if Jinshi were simply the manager of the Rear Palace, she would be right. It's his job to ensure that the Rear Palace is properly staffed, not to regulate that all contracts comply with the law.

Jinshi apologizes again. This time, he offers no other context. He doesn't accept Maomao's absolution of responsibility - because he knows (even if we, the audience, don't) otherwise. It can certainly be read as Jinshi refusing to accept easy absolution, and the rest of those witnessing the scene, apart from Gaoshun, certainly take it that way.

Instead, he takes the hair stick from his own hair and places it in Maomao's. Their entire relationship has just been upended; Maomao is a person who has been gravely wronged and it is Jinshi's responsibility to begin to make it right. Aside from the personal implications of giving her the hairpin (and the faint blush on his face makes it clear that he's aware of them), it is a form of restitution. There is an unspoken social contract Jinshi is offering that Maomao does not understand in the slightest. It never occurs to her that Jinshi would do something for her with no thought of what he would receive in return, because of the difference in their social ranks. But, from Jinshi's perspective, that social difference is the point. He has failed her and, as the person of higher rank, it is his responsibility to do what is within his power to begin to remedy the situation in front of him.

And, of course, in that moment he sees Maomao in a new light, the other meaning of gifting her his hairpin has fertile ground to take root in Jinshi's mind.

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

So request kinda if not just sharing my thoughts in general.

Alex. My boy. What if reader is a civ or even another soldier in a different squad and the whole thing with him joining Farah’s forces indefinitely. I think this can really lend itself to some angst and that good old misunderstanding. Kinda leaning towards civ!reader just because the more miscommunication. I guess it’d have to be an angsty ending though 😳, but regardless-

Love your writing and, as always, feel free to change anything or do whatever gives you the most inspiration

World Caves In

PAIRING: Alex Keller x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: Perhaps it would have been better if your husband had died - at the very least you could understand that.

WORD COUNT: 7.9k

WARNINGS: Angst, misunderstandings/miscommunication, hurt/comfort, vulgar language, abandonment?, Alex being an adorable husband, fluff, etc.

A/N: I was gonna make this an angsty ending but I got my period and thinking about that made me cry so here we are, lmao. Enjoy, Anon!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

When you’d been escorted out of work by two uniformed men, you knew the news wasn’t going to be good. Sitting in the back of a large black car, you spare nervous glances as the vehicle jumps, its wheels going over the last speed bump. Your work building begins to become a fraction of a memory and disappears faster than your resolve. 

The men sit on either side of you, silent, and the only comment is to the driver as you all enter the main road. Swallowing, you part your lips and mutter, plain dread in your tone, “Is he alive?”

All you get is a glance from the front mirror and nothing more. You hunch more in your seat and stew in agony, mind far off on the topic of your husband. 

Alex wasn’t overly reckless, you’d managed to snuff most of that out over the course of the many years you’d expressed concern to him about it, but a large chuck of the blond was still too selfless for his own good. It was hard not to think the worst. 

From training to advising, your husband was always off on one mission to another, far from your quaint and quiet home here—where you waited day after day for even a sliver of contact from him. Alex specialized in so many things that trying to wrap your head around it was impossible.

Even now, you only knew the bare minimum. 

The soft-smiled man worked in the SAD division of the CIA. He’s an Operations Officer. Currently, he’s somewhere across the globe. 

Away from you.

Thinning your lips, you take down a deep breath and settle back into the seat, pulse flying. The men were obviously Agents—you’d looked closely at their badges when they’d first shown their faces at the front desk and had kept within view of your work’s security cameras just in case this was a ruse. When you could find nothing out of the ordinary, you had tensely asked them what was happening. 

They would be holding his dog tags if he was dead, you had reasoned, desperately, a flag. 

It was frantic, the way you had thought that up; how could you not be like that? Alex was the light of your life! With him constantly putting his life on the line, it was inevitable for him to get hurt, sometimes seriously. It was ingrained into your mind the way you would help clean his wounds in the middle of the night when the pain woke him up with a grunt stuck in his throat. The way you would sit half-asleep in his lap and re-wrap bandages while he told you to go back to bed half-heartedly. His hands drifting over your warm skin like he was cascading his fingers up and down the spine of an old book.

You never listened. 

“It’s late, Bug, I can’t keep you up like this.” His drawl echoes in your ear as you rub a heavy palm into your eye. Alex’s hands are both on your hips, squeezing the flesh just below your tiny sleep shorts. You have him sitting on the floor, back resting on the wall and shirt discarded to the side only wearing loose gray sweatpants. A long cut up his left pec is the center of your blurry attention—a wet rag held as you dab at it. Blue eyes narrow at you. “I’m just fine with doing it myself, y’know.”

“You’re being stubborn again,” you utter, the soft light of the bathroom placed at half-capacity to at least try and keep some of the veil of sleep over your heads. “I told you to wake me up when you needed it cleaned.” Your skin brushes his and Alex shivers under you, sighing breathily. “And you’re not keeping me here—I’m helping.” 

A small flash of that full smile, mustache flinching up, “Well when you look so pretty sleepin’ I can’t just shake you awake and tell you to fix me up.” 

You take your free hand and pinch his nose, yawning as he grunts out chuckles. A delicate glance is thrown his way as the rag lowers from reddened skin. Like a butterfly's whisper, you study his face gently; reaching and cupping his cheek with your palm. 

Alex’s lids flutter, heavy weight falling into you as if waiting for this—lips pressing to your inner wrist in reverence. You hold back a tired giggle and feel the corner of his mouth pull up when he feels it.

“All that talk, and yet,” pressing a smooch to his forehead you take your hand back and hear the grumble he lets out after, “you still like it better when I’m the one that’s working on you.”

“Can’t complain too much,” he admits slowly as his head leans back to tap the wall, “my wife’s hands are way softer than mine.” 

Alex’s grip on your flesh tightens when you sipe away the last line of crimson from the wound, tattooed arms flexing. 

“Sorry,” you whisper, watching his eyes slightly awash with pain. “Got caught on a stitch.”

“Ah, well,” the blond sighs, shifting “I suppose I can forgive you.” 

Laughing quietly as the house settles, you shake your head and rest your forehead on his. 

“Such a saint,” your lips utter teasingly as Alex smiles wide, his hands moving higher to your waist. You lean into him, stealing his warmth as your tired eyes flutter; feeling his thumbs run circles over the flesh of your lower spine. 

A content breath escapes you.

“Go back to bed, Sweetheart,” Alex whispers, lips brushing yours like silk, the bristles of his facial hair tickling you. “I can do the rest, promise.”

“Know you can,” your mutterings are barely heard, but the man seems to register them, sea-glass gaze incredibly soft. He chuckles at your sleepiness, one hand leaving your waist to capture the back of your head; weaving into your hair and gently massaging your scalp. You practically melt into him, limbs going slack, slurring out, “Quit it. Wanna help, Alex.”

His laughter shakes you, and with a huff escaping, you bury your burning face into his neck and lean into him, careful of his wound even in your fatigued state. 

“No offense, Bug,” Alex shifts, grunting as he easily maneuvers you until you’re laying in his arms, inked forearms under your knees and behind your shoulders with vivid images of grim reapers, snakes, and angels guarding you close. A kiss is firmly pressed to your forehead as the blonde smirks downwards, “But you’re about as helpful to me right now as an empty mag.”

You grumble, trying to disappear into his skin and letting him dig his stubble into your cheek. 

“If you bring me back to bed before you’re done,” you yawn and close your eyes, “I’m divorcing you.”

He laughs deeply into your ear, body shaking as he pulls back and sends you an incredulous look. 

“Hell, we can’t have that, can we, Mrs. Keller? I’d lose my damn mind.” 

It’s a long drive, and you worry through the entirety of it. A primal, whole-body-shaking type of fear. You’d built a life with Alex and loved him more than anything or anyone that had come before. Even if he was gone a lot, that had never dulled what the two of you had—your marriage was nothing short of something you would find in a fairy tale; flashing pictures on pages with vivid colors and tender glances. The very cover itself is made of the finest leather and inlaid with gold calligraphy. 

Please, Alex, you plead in your head as you remember his loving gaze—his back as he makes supper in the kitchen and hums to himself. Please be okay.

The men hold open the car door when it comes to a stop outside a very obviously abandoned apartment complex near the outskirts of town. You get out quickly. Looking around, you take in the overgrown grass and the broken concrete with a knife in your lung; holding back the flood of anxious tears. 

Though, confusion takes president. 

“Where did you…?” You turn to look at the Agents, but they’re already clambering back into their car and snapping the doors shut. Wide-eyed and slack-jawed you watch them speed off as a cloud of dust drifts into the air. 

Pulse echoing in your ears, you watch the vehicle speed down the road and disappear. 

Swallowing, you whisper, “What the actual fuck?” Turning in circles, no one else is around. A part of you starts to worry less for Alex and more for yourself.

They were CIA, you reiterate, I checked their badges—Alex showed me the standard ones. Could I have missed something? 

Expression nervous, you shift on your feet before your stuttering legs take you closer to the abandoned building, not really seeing much choice here. You could imagine the scene from The Wizard Of Oz—when the man pulls back the curtain and all is revealed. 

That said, you could really only hope that was what was actually happening to you and you weren't getting kidnapped or shot. Taking a deep breath, you clench your fists and enter the building through the open front door. 

It was in the wide lobby that you locked eyes with Kate Laswell. You blank, mouth parting as the scent of concrete and decaying furniture get stuck in your nose. 

The woman seems highly agitated, brows tight and jaw clenched. Her white blouse had been flattened multiple times by rough hands, lanyard swaying on her neck like Alex’s dog tags would. She holds a file in her hands; the paper bulky as if holding something more than just paper inside its manila clutches.

“Kate?” You ask, confused, “What are you doing here? What’s all of this about?” Taking quick steps forward you splay your hands as your voice grows more serious. “Where’s my damn husband?” 

You didn’t know Laswell personally, in fact, when you had first got a glimpse of her here, you’d forgotten the older woman’s name for a moment. The first meeting between the two of you had been at a CIA get-together that Alex had been forced to go to because of his position—some celebration because a group of ICBMs had been taken back into US hands after being stolen. Your husband had introduced you to the Station Chief over a drink with a hand on the small of your back.

But it didn’t stop you now from talking to her like you’d known her for years. Not when fear was flooding your veins.

“What the hell is going on?” You say harshly, glancing around the room for any sight of someone else here. 

Kate sighs heavily but wastes no time in speaking, her professional tone and serious face leaving your already fast-paced heart racing.

“Alex isn’t coming back to the United States.” Your eyes blank, staring into icy blue. She holds out her manila folder, jaw tight. Blunt. “He’s a deserter.” 

It’s like your entire being halts; your skin suit feels as if it’s sagging on your bones with the weight of a cinder block connected by hooks to the floor. 

What did she just say?

Opening and closing your mouth you stutter, lids blinking rapidly. 

“I…” Fingers flinching in the air, an exhalation from your nose sounds more like a wheeze. Kate watches stiffly, taking a look at the floor before returning her attention to you; emotion flashes in her eyes. “...W-what?”

“Keller deserted his post—I tried to speak with the Colonel but there’s only so much I can do.” Laswell takes a deep breath as you continue to go through shock. Alex wasn’t coming home? How, why? “He’s staying in Urzikstan to fight with the Liberation Force.”

“Urzikstan?!” You gape, but the woman continues. 

“For all intents and purposes, I shouldn’t be here, but Alex asked me personally to hand these to you.” Again the manilla folder is shown to you, but when you only glare and fight the fear and confusion rampaging in your gut a sigh echoes out and it’s placed on a termite-eaten side table. “Even communicating with you could put you in danger now that he’s gotten on the bad side of the entire SAD and CIA branches. This is all I can do.”

“What the fuck,” you whisper to yourself, hand coming up to capture your mouth. 

“If Alex re-enters the states—he’ll be arrested and tried in a court of law. If he’s not shot on sight for what he knows.” Kate watches you closely, shaking her head in pity. “I’m sorry,” there’s a strained pause, “but he’s made his decision.” 

As she brushes past you, leaving the folder on the side table, you feel your wide eyes well with tears—confused and horrified. But he’s coming back to me, right? Alex…Alex wouldn’t leave me here alone.

It was common knowledge that over the last years the blond had gotten more agitated at his line of work; the orders that he didn’t want to follow but had no choice. No voice. But he can’t just abandon you...could he? You’d taken vows. Had a happy marriage and relationship. Loved each other.

He can’t just…he can’t…

Your hands shake and you’re unable to stop them, gaze locked on that unassuming manilla folder. Kate pauses in the doorway, peeking back and seeing your sickly-looking face, the agony written in the lines of your forehead. Like the picture of a loyal wife being told her husband was never coming home. And Alex wasn’t even dead. Resentment begins to burn. 

But he made his bed. 

“He told me to tell you that he wouldn’t be angry if you wanted to leave him,” was all she said, a final knife being stabbed into your heart and being ripped out like a live wire. Electricity makes your back go stiff in an instant. “It would be best to never tell anyone that we met.” 

You were alone, full body shivers and bile stuck in the back of your throat. Cold sweat coats your palms, a sticky mess of your barebones disturbance. 

“He…” your voice is hoarse, bouncing off the far walls. “Alex left me here? He left me.”

It was easier to say that the sun had exploded and you were waiting for the last beam of light to incinerate you. Inside of your skull your brain pounds as, in a mad dash of desperation, you rush to the manilla folder and rip it open with vibrating arms.

Having Laswell tell you that Alex wouldn’t be mad if you…if you…the hairs on the back of your neck rise and suddenly you’re angry beyond a sliver of a doubt. It was insulting.

“Alex fucking Keller,” the paper opens to the bulk of your husband's dog tags and a flip phone—reports like his own personal file and the patch that he had once worn so proudly on his combat vest. Red, white, and blue dig into your retinas; it was old, worn beyond measure, but that little patch was something that was never removed. Not even to be cleaned. 

“The dirtier it is,” Alex had commented on the American flag patch when you’d offered to mend it for him, cringing at all the blood stains and dirt flecking off it as he slipped his vest off in the foyer of your home. “The luckier I am.” 

“I think the stench of it alone will frighten off anyone who comes near,” you had raised a brow, smirking up at him as he walked over, laughing. A kiss is placed on your lips, Alex’s bright smile transferring over to you as if able to spread from his mouth to yours that simply. You sigh dreamily. 

He pulls back with a tiny wink as you gaze up at him, cheekily stating, “That’s the plan, Sweet Thing. Gotta make sure I come home to you in one piece.”

You brush your hands over it and think that maybe it would have been better if he had died. Then you could understand why he’s doing this to you. Anger spreads into rage. 

Looking next at the phone and dog tags, all you do is shake your head and slam the folder shut, bitter tears tracking your face. You can’t read anything—can’t see his name imprinted on that metal that used to press coldly into your skin as you both slept in bed. You don’t care about the phone or the files. 

None of it mattered.

“He fucking left me here,” it’s like you’re a broken record replaying over and over again. “You absolute bastard, Keller!” Yelling, you press your fingers into your face, hands spreading over your eyes and mouth to muffle your enraged sobs. 

“You’re still alive and you left me alone.” 

Only the abandoned building echoes your pain; replaying it back over and over again as your wails echo around the lobby like a symphony of laughing jesters. 

—

The phone that Laswell had given you had been going off at least three times every day—morning, noon, and at night. You had stared at it with fury, knowing exactly who was calling even if the thing was displaying an unknown number. By now you had steeped in your anger enough that you had found yourself snapping at friends and family alike when asked if you were alright. 

You wished Alex was here so you could hit him upside the head for being so stupid. So you could hate him until you had the pleasure to love him again.

Urzikstan. 

You’d looked up the country after you had spent two days straight in bed, afterward manically cleaning the house with a glare that could light fires. The far-off place was a land utterly divided by war. Russian occupation, a terrorist group; the force that your husband had joined. Mass against mass against mass.

Brick meets wall.

And Alex had chosen to stay—without a doubt because he’d seen the dire situation and had used that damnable good heart of his to empathize to the max. Forget donations, humanitarian work, or anything else, the man had fucking decided to join in a Liberation Force. 

As much as you wanted to say you hated him; had wanted to slam your gold wedding band to the table with a good riddance for betraying you like that…you still had his dog tags around your neck, and the ring was still on your finger. 

“Too good for his own sake,” you grumble, shoving dirty clothes into the washer like they had tried to attack you. “Deserted the fucking CIA, Jesus Alex. Do you even think when I’m not around?” 

There were only so many times you could curse his name until you felt a deceiving needle of pride slither itself into your skull. You could describe Alex as many things but he would always be steadfast in causes that truly needed his help. He often told you that the best missions were the ones where he could do so much more than take out a target—he strived to help the individuals he met. Form bonds. 

God forbid something came in between the blond and the ones he’d chosen to give his loyalty to.

You slam the washer shut and stomp into the living room after starting another cycle. Stress cleaning was really not a good look on you—the entire house was without a single spec of dust but you yourself felt like you’d run seven marathons. Clenching your teeth, you go and drop to the couch, a grunt falling from your lips as your head hits the pillow.

Staring at the ceiling, you finally take in the utter silence of the house—not a home, because it could only be that if Alex was here—with a pained crease forming on your brow. The pipes spit water, and the washer grunted its mechanical garble…but there was no humming man making food in the kitchen. No blond hair visible as a head rests on your chest; your fingers playing in the locks that act like silk as you part them, the man on top of you purring. Body a weighted blanket.

“Was it really that easy,” you whisper to nothing, lip quivering. “Was it really that easy to stay away, Alex? I thought…I…” 

Eyes wrenching shut, you hear the phone right at noon again as it sits on the coffee table. And you let it. 

There were voicemails, no doubt, but you hadn’t thought to listen to those either. This small act of rebellion was all you could act on but for the simple fact that it also harmed you. Barbed wire steadily digging deeper as it kept your hands wound to your sides—neck plastered to the pillow as bright silver spikes glinted. You stare at the unknown caller who really wasn’t all that unknown and watch the screen light, vibrating over the wood in steady intervals. 

What hurt the most was that if he’d asked you to come along—become an Expat just for him—you would have said yes. You could find a new job, a new place to call home. Humanitarian work would have been at the top of your list and Alex…well….he would still be fighting, just as he always had. 

But at the very least you would have been there to clean his wounds. Together. You’d both promised on that altar to do nothing less. He could’ve asked. He should have asked. 

Alex…

“Urzikstan,” you mutter for what seems like the fiftieth time. When the ringing stops a few moments later the new voicemail icon flashes. Placing your arm over your mouth, you clench your hand so tight it starts to shake, whispering into your skin, “Fine. I guess you did make your bed. And…and I won't be there to lie in it with you.” No matter how much I want to.

You slip the wedding band off of your finger and place it beside the phone before turning and burying your head into the cushions; feeling more numb than you ever had before.

—

It carried on like this for three months. The ring didn’t move from the coffee table and neither did the flip phone; the file had all but been tossed in the trash as it sat teetering on the living room desk. You carried on as well as you could, all things considered. 

Work was a blur, going out with friends even harder to enjoy, and any enjoyment of hobbies or activities was dulled to an almost gray existence. Like a ghost, you wafted through experiences with dog tags and a withering appearance. Eventually, you just stopped going out unless it couldn’t be helped. You still bought meals for two at the grocery store out of habit. You placed blankets where Alex used to sleep beside you. You went to work. 

And still, the calls never stopped except for a brief pause after the first month. You’d thought he’d finally given up, but no. Back at it.

It had gotten to a point now where the device was automatically deleting all recent voicemails—too little space in the inbox. 

Angry curiosity was tempting you. It would be easy, you reason, to simply play the first message and listen. The worst part of it was that you’d begun to forget Alex’s voice and perhaps that was why, on that dead-aired Saturday, you snatched the phone and brought it into the kitchen. 

Firmly planting it on the counter, you stand behind one of the island chairs and glare, hands tapping into the wood. 

“I’m giving you three minutes, Alex,” you speak as if he’s still here, as if his form stands right behind you, head tilted like a damn dog with that infectious smile and those sea-glass eyes. “Three minutes,” your fingers snap the device open and you go to your voicemails; jaw tight, “and if you don’t hear you groveling, Keller, I’m deleting all of them and chucking this phone into the sink.” 

You go down the line to the very first message, small buttons clicking, and before you can stop yourself you press play.

It begins with a small moment of silence. A cough. 

“Hey,” he says your first name, not one of your epithets. Your brows deepen their annoyed furrow, but you can’t help the uptick in your heart rate. Inside your flesh, the sinews of your throat close in on itself like a balloon. “I…I’m guessin’ I have a good enough ass-kicking waiting for me since you didn’t answer.” A strained laugh before another pause. You feel acidic tears boil behind your lids. “I’m not surprised—not really. Done some stupid things but never something like this.” You can hear him shake his head, voice going lower in defiance. “But they were asking me to leave Urzikstan in a worse place than when I entered it. This Liberation Force, Bug, it…they’re good people and what they’re asking me to do…” Alex huffs, growling under his throat. “I can’t stand by that. The man you chose to marry, he can’t stand by that. They need me here. I’m not asking you to not be angry—to not hate me for this. I know I damn well deserve it.”

You let your tears hit the counter, head slightly bowing over. That was your Alex. 

“You need a leash,” your strained voice hits the walls, bouncing off picture frames and your husband's cooking utensils. The small pieces that make up the whole picture frame of your life. “God,” you huff wetly, “you’re going to get yourself killed.”

“I know I should have talked to you first, figured out some plan. But, uh,” Alex’s throat gets choked up, and you snap a hand to your mouth when you realize he’s close to tears. He clears his throat. “Hell, I should have done a lot of things, Sweetheart.” 

You can hear shouts in the background, calls in Arabic. The pounding of a door and a woman’s voice.

“Alex, we need to move! Everyone is ready—Barkov’s lab cannot be left standing a moment longer.” The hurried hand to the line muffles the words, but you hear him anyway.

“Affirmative!” He comes back. “I don’t have time to explain more, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for… everything. I’d understand if you don’t use the passport Laswell’ll give you, but that doesn’t mean I’m just going to stop calling.” Alex laughs and your face freezes.

“Passport?”

“What kind of Husband would I be if I just let the most perfect woman in the world go without a fight, huh? I’ll be waiting until you call to tell me to shut the hell up and leave you alone or that you’re down in the airport waiting.” There’s a large sound of combat vests being clicked on—pistols being situated into holsters and a rifle strap slipped over a chest. Alex suddenly pauses and you stare at the phone blankly. “I know this is a big ask, Doll, and I know I’m horrible for even springin’ this on you when I’m half a world away from our bed. But I had to try, even if it was selfish. I just…I just really need to hear your voice telling me if I’m an idiot or not for thinking this up. Call me back soon…or when you run out of my clothes to burn in the firepit out back…I love you, okay? More…more than anything.” 

There’s a minute or two of nothing, just Alex’s ragged breathing, and then there’s an older man’s voice ordering him to hurry up. The line clicks. 

Your ears ring as it does, wide eyes dripping tears from your bottom lashes as your lungs chill over. Hand slowly flinching out, you ghost over the keys before clicking on the following voicemail. As it plays, your feet start to take you backward at a snail's pace, your spine flattering against the wall as blood drains to your feet. 

“Hey, it’s me again. I still haven’t heard from you—that’s alright. Take your time.” Steadying yourself with a hand, you look out of the kitchen and get a glimpse of the manila folder on the desk, its tan hide sucking you in. Pulse in your throat, you rush out to grab it as Alex’s voice echoes. “I know Laswell gave you the file, I trust her that much at least.” A sigh. “But even if it’s just to yell at me, please pick up the phone soon. Let me save some of my dignity and give me a chance to beg on an open line, huh, Sweetheart…? But I guess that’s all—gotta go. I love you.” 

You don’t play the next message because you’re ripping open the file with rabid hands, seeing exactly as you had when Laswell left it for you. Alex’s mission report; his patch. The dog tags around your neck clink together like a song, some brutal rhythm. 

“Passport?” Grasping the mission report you pick it up, flipping through the multiple pages of blacked-out words and more confused than ever. “Airport?” 

The words come out as whimpers, hands so shaky that the pages slip from your fingers. They slam to the floor in a flurry of bond paper and you curse loudly, snatching for the remnants futilely. Grasping on your hands and knees hitches build in your breath as your fingers dance rapidly before they slip across something distinctly not paper. 

Small, tiny, and blue. Laminate. 

Your very blood seems to stop in your veins. Pushing back one last piece of paper, you come face to face with a singular American passport. Gasping down mute breaths and licking your lips, you pick it up lightly, leaning back on your legs as if you’d just slammed your head into the concrete. 

“Alex…” you whisper to no one. 

Flipping the hard cover open, a small, palm-sized piece of paper slips out to your lap as your own face stares at you in image form. You blink for a moment before going to take the note and separate the ends. Formal script is inside, stiff lettering. Not your husband's handwriting, but you didn’t have to guess who’d written out these directions for you. 

Laswell.

There was a destination in fountain pen ink—an airport near the Urzikstanian and Georgian border. Seeing as Urzikstan was on the travel-ban list due to the turbulence of the government and terrorist threats, you wouldn’t be able to get there directly. 

But you supposed Kate had your back for that too. 

Georgian safehouse - wait for Keller there. It’s secure. More directions and then a small gap. A pause. Good luck.

You don’t know how long you stare at that paper—that passport. The first thing you think about is how could Alex ask you to do this. Uproot yourself with the snap of a finger. You wouldn’t be able to bring anything beyond what could fit in a few suitcases. No furniture, no large amount of clothes, or even sentimental items. You’d have to quit your job; leave behind family and friends to travel to a war-torn country.

But he’d said it was your choice, and he wouldn’t push you to make it. He’d said you could leave him if you wanted—keep all of this that you’d built here.

…But you’d built it together, hadn’t you? 

You think of Alex’s bright smile and his mustache. His tattoos. How he’d hold you so tight in the long hours of sleep that you half-believed he thought you’d disappear if he didn’t; nuzzling his nose into the back of your head and grumbling out nonsense. The way you could trace his scars and watch as he willingly submitted to your praise, delicate lips curving into sheepish grins as you place soft kisses on the raised skin. Red cheeks.

This place wasn’t a home without Alex in it.

You look over at the coffee table and lock onto the gold of your wedding band.

—

Getting into Georgia was a long affair of paperwork and screenings—not days but months of legal jargon that Alex had dodged entirely because of his desertion. By the time you’d landed in country, you were wholly exhausted down to the very marrow of your bones. You get through the checkpoints, pick up your bags, and look out at the entirely new world outside of the airport’s windows. 

“Okay,” you swallow saliva and nod carefully before looking down at Laswell’s directions to the safehouse. 

You slip the paper into your pocket after memorizing the address, tips of your fingers brushing the smooth surface of the flip phone. Clenching your eyes shut, you take your hand back out and go to try and hire a driver. You were here, but that doesn’t mean all of this was forgiven. 

After you find someone able to drive you to where you need to go, you end up standing with a quaint hostel ahead of you, home far behind. Gazing slightly nervous at the strange place you’ve found yourself, you think of Alex’s hand on the small of your back and sigh; caressing the cool metal of the ring around your finger. 

Walking forward, you hitch your bags over your shoulders and grit your teeth against the hot sun. When you meet the owner at the front desk you state your name and ask for a bed. 

The man’s eyes widen for a moment before he looks at something on his countertop, raising a brow in thought. Grabbing at a stack of papers he holds up a finger and begins digging. Too tired and overwhelmed to ask what was wrong, you just watch and rub at your face. 

“Ah,” the man snaps his fingers and laughs to himself, “here it is! I knew I had placed the note somewhere, Mrs. Keller.” You blink, confused, but the man just takes a key from the wall and motions for you to follow. Sparing a glance around for a moment, you slowly slink after, not really having a choice.

“I remember your Husband coming to me—the blond with the tattoos.” The owner looks back, making sure you’re following. He motions to his right side with splayed fingers. “Scars on the side of his head, to reserve a room.”  

Alex was here? How much had he done already pertaining to the chance that you would show up? 

“Y-yeah,” you chuckle stiffly, “that was him. Sorry for being so long I was…preoccupied.”

“You’re lucky he kept up on payments,” the man grumbles, opening a door with the key and motioning you inside. “My pleasure to finally have you, regardless.”

Entering the small and sparse room, you take the key from him with a thankful smile and a quick thank you before he closes the door. As the barrier thuds, you sway on your feet. Blinking. Breathing hard. You drop all of your bags with a heavy thump that echoes off the walls in a single instant. Heart pounding at everything that was striking you in an instant, you walk slowly back to the bed. You don’t bother to take a shower or brush your teeth; even change. 

You fall down on the mattress and pray you don’t have to dream about Alex sending money to this place every week simply on a suffocating hope that you’d come back to him. You pray you don’t dream at all. 

The phone wakes you up only thirty minutes later.

Groaning, you shift your body so your hand can snake into your pocket, grasping it and tossing it to the pillow beside your head. You’d never made it through all of the voicemails without crying, so you just deleted all of them and let the inbox fill back up again. 

Feeling the dog tags press against your chest as you form your chest into the bed, you shove your head downward and listen to it ring. 

Bring-bring, bring-bring, bring-bring

It happens in a flurry of a sleep-addled mind and a horrible desperation to see your husband after nearly a full year of no contact. You flip it open and answer with your nose pressed deeply into the pillow below you. Ears straining and pulse running like a starving cat after a mouse. 

Dead silence. 

“...Sweetheart…?” It’s pitiful how fast the tears flood you at Alex’s shocked and tiny voice. Tight breathing sounds over the line from his end and your other hand digs into your scalp. A small, cut-off laugh. “Hey…I—” 

You hang up with a vicious slam of the screen and let the silence settle again. People walk the hall; the sun dims as night sets in. This isn’t home. Dropping the phone back down to the pillow you curl into a tight ball and cry yourself back to sleep.

If you had to guess, you’d say the small curse was what woke you for the second time, though you didn’t register it until minutes later. That muffled ‘shit’ as a foot hits your dropped bags near the door. But then it’s silent again and your ears only twitch to the gentle sigh that brushes against your face; a thumb and forefinger caressing your cheek as hair is placed back over your ear. 

Perhaps the only reason at all as to why you don’t wake up screaming bloody murder is because of his calluses. They burn your flesh as they slide over it—as ingrained into your very being as your own heart is. As if Alex’s touch was another organ that was needed to survive. More important than a liver or a spleen. 

When your eyes slip open he’s leaning back in a chair he had turned to face you, built form shifting as the rickety wood creaks. No more than five feet away sits your husband, and all you do is suck in a tight breath and lock gazes with soft sea glass. 

Alex freezes at the same time, strong brow line peeling back and mustache stiff as his lips immediately thin. You both stare for a good while, a thread of tension entering the air. The night deepens. 

He speaks first, in the dense hours of confrontation. Your heart feels like it’s been stuck with a spear, vignette at the sides of your vision, and a blooming center of only Alex’s body and his messy hair. The scarf around his neck. The combat vest. 

Had he driven all this way to see if you were here? Because you’d answered the phone? But you hadn’t even said anything. Your head stays on the pillow, wondering if you were hallucinating.

“Hey,” Alex forces a chuff before he glances away, nervous arms crossed. “Hey there, Doll. Sorry that I woke you. I…ah,” your eyes bore into him, hand on the sheets slowly clenching into a fist. “I figured there was an off chance you would be here.” He clears his voice, throat closing on a trying laugh. “Guess I’m glad I looked. You should remember to lock your door, by the way.” 

At the sight of your rising glare, his tone drops, expression falling even more than it already was. Deep well of sadness grew in his eyes, lips pulling back in a strained agony. 

Alex’s gaze drops to the floor. 

“I know,” is what hits the air, “I know, Sweetheart. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t fucking cut it,” you push your body up as his large shoulders tighten—such an accomplished and strong man brought to a squirming heap when his wife’s sharp words hit him in the chest. “What the hell were you thinking, Alex?!”

Heavy feet hit the floor as you stalk over, fatigue and tiredness pushed all the way to the back of your mind yet also enhancing your emotions. Bitter rage was sparking—held in far too long. Alex’s eyes don’t meet yours, so you grab him by the chin and angle his head up to you. 

At the sight of your red sclera and the baggy gaze he stills. Under your grip his beard tickles you, the soft grip of flesh that makes you want to wrap your arms over him and weep; make him promise to never leave like that again. 

“I…I wasn’t…”

“That’s the thing isn’t it—you didn’t think.” Sea glass floods over, going glossy; hurt etched into both of your faces as if carved from the same stone. But you don’t stop now, growling out as your skin burns. Alex isn’t sad that you’re angry, he’s sad he’s done this to you. “You disappeared, Alex. Laswell had to just drop all of this shit on me. I thought you had died.” You growl. “Do you know what that feels like?!” 

“Sweetheart—”

“Shut up! You let me talk,” he falls silent, hand delicately coming up to grab your wrist. Not to pull you away, just to hold you. To feel your skin and the heat of it. You sniffle and his eyes break. “And the worst part of it was that if you had just asked I would have followed you right then and there.” Alex sharply looks back at you. “But the biggest insult was that you thought I would leave you—that you even considered that.” 

Shock slowly gives way to a blank expression. He was confused, now.

Was that what you were angry about?

“You’re an idiot, Keller. Hot-headed. Cocky.” You shake your head, but a tiny smile begins to bleed onto Alex’s face. Watching you like you’d just sprung a million dollars on him. His grip slightly squeezes, calloused thumb running the span of your knuckles as you shake his head with your hand. “Damn nuisance to my health, is what you are.” Trying to remain angry is tough when he’s looking at you like that—starstruck—but you spit out, “It’s insulting that you thought I’d just give up on us that easily.”

“Most women don’t want a man who’s wanted for desertion, Doll,” Alex whispers, testing a smirk on his lips with his expression still strained. 

“Arrogant!” your voice snaps. “Not a single brain cell in his stupid little head.” You let go of his chin and grip the sides of his skull, feeling the dirty but still soft strands of hair before you huff at him. 

But he just looks at you and smiles, face smooshed. 

“...You really came?” Alex asks quietly. You fall silent and after a moment you deflate.

After the silence of trying to keep the sneer on your face, you let it drop, lips quivering slightly. Anger glints with pain. “I should hit you upside the head, Keller, for all the worry you’ve put me through,” you grunt, eyes flashing over every new bruise on his face—every cut you’d have to re-learn. He looks tired. 

Oh, Alex…

Before the blond can respond to you, you’ve captured the back of his head and shoved it into your chest; face burying itself into his scalp to bring forth that scent of dust and cologne. You whimper out as he grips you around the waist with just as much fervor, “Did you think that I would stay away?”

Alex says nothing, only the slight tremor in his bicep betraying him. You firmly kiss his skull and run your fingers through his hair, the both of you so tight together there’s barely enough room in your ribs to allow your lungs to inflate. 

But holding him was more important than air, a sentiment that Alex seemed to share entirely. 

“I’m so glad you’re here, Bug.” He mutters into your skin. “Feels good to be able to hold my girl again.”

You stay like that for a long time before you pull back and capture his cheeks, face pulling closer before you kiss him deeply. It’s not a fast-paced or desperate thing—no clashing teeth or tongue. That wasn’t what you needed right now. 

All that you needed was Alex. Your home. 

You both separate and the blond grabs the back of your neck, forcing you back so he can lay another on the side of your mouth; nose, cheek. Anywhere that he could reach as his mustache tickled you to a smile. Giggles worm out and you wiggle out of his grip to wipe at your cheeks, spreading away tiny tear tracks and saliva.

“Quit it,” you whisper, and Alex gazes up at you reverently from his chair.

“Negative, Ma’am,” he says, equally as soft, not even blinking. “Don’t wanna.” You roll your eyes, face hot. 

The seconds draw long of only watching one another before you shake your head and move your hands to shimmy out of the dog tags around your neck. Alex’s gaze locks on the metal swiftly, smile shifting.

“You’re horrible.” You huff, quietly, before shoving his dog tags at his chest. “Now put them back on.”

“But I’m not in the—” Your glare shuts him up. Alex clears his throat sheepishly. “Yes, Ma’am.” 

You nod and watch as they’re resituated around his neck. Right where they should be. When you take a step back to really take him in, there’s a moment where you skim over the state of his left leg. After all, the metal was barely noticeable in the dark. But when you do see it every little part of you shrivels up with confused pain.

Alex stands with a noticeable preference to his right and as he towers over you, fingers coming to grab at your face and slowly drag it back up.

A slightly apologetic look washes over him.

“I’m guessing you didn’t listen to all of the voicemails.” 

“Alex…” you slowly cut off. “You…” Staring at the metal limb instead of the real one, you gape. “...how?”

“Y’know,” he laughs, but you don’t find this funny. He notices and kisses your forehead, tapping his scalp to yours and saying after a contemplative pause, “I think it’s better if I don’t explain it. I’m alright, just...” Alex smiles cheekily, the spark that you love coming back easily as it shimmers in his eyes, “just a little more carbon fiber and aluminum than I was before.” 

You hug him tightly.

“I’m sorry, I should have come sooner—I was just angry, and I wasn’t—”

“Don’t apologize to me,” Alex sighs, grabbing you and maneuvering the both of you to the bed. He sits and you end up laying in his lap like that moment in the bathroom ages ago. “None of this is your fault, okay? You deserve to be angry. I shouldn’t have put such a burden on you.” 

You sigh in his arms, head under his chin and heart finally able to return to a steady pace. Licking your lips, you ask, “Does it hurt?” 

Sending a glance down, Alex’s lips twitch with a grin before it disappears. He hums.

“Sometimes.” Your hand grips his opposite cheek and you lay a kiss on his chin, caressing his flesh.

It’s a tentative kind of love. An understanding and a plea all at once. 

The blond leans back against the wall and pulls you closer, closing his eyes. Finally relaxing for the first time in what seems like forever. But his girl is in his arms, and he’s never been this calm.

“I have a home in Urzikstan,” he confesses lightly, fingers brushing your body and giving way to shivers. You listen, eyes fluttering at the vibrations of his words. “It’s safe—protected. I…want us to live there.” Alex nods against your head, swallowing. “If you’ll come back with me.”

“Yes,” your answer is immediate. “Anywhere, as long as you’re with me.” 

You feel his breath hitch, soft chuckles brushing your hair far better than any comb. There’s a small tremor in his voice as he says, “I love you. God, do I love you.” 

Your lips pull up, body growing heavy with a final sense of home.

“I love you, too.” Soft kisses and tight arms. Shifting tattoos. “But if you ever do something like that again without talking to me, I’m telling Laswell she has permission to put a bullet in your ass.”

His loud laughs shake your body, and you press your face into his neck to steady yourself; smiling.

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[kiss-me-cill-me]

Hi!!! I know it’s only a small idea but I wanted to request something for Emmett based on when he first puts his hand around Evelyns mouth to keep her quiet but instead he does it to the reader to keep her quiet, in whatever scenario you can think of. The way he looked was so hot with that eye contact it had me sweating 🥵

My dear anon, literally no idea is too small for Emmett. This man is so underappreciated it's a crime. I also decided to shoehorn in some inspiration from another one of my favorite snippets of Emmett thirst, which is the gif below of him looking through his rifle sights because hnnnnnnggg. Hope you don't mind ;) Thank you for requesting! <3

Distractions

Pairing: Emmett x Reader

Word Count: 4.5k

Summary: The more time you spend around Emmett, the more distracted you get. And when you finally can't keep quiet about it any longer, Emmett has to take matters into his own hands (heh heh) and make you stay quiet.

Warnings: Smut, sexual tension, a whole lot of build-up, close call with a creature, kinda angry sex, quiet sex, biting

***Please read the warnings before continuing. Minors DNI***

Distracted could not even begin to describe the way you were feeling.

The dim light forced you to squint as you watched Emmett - the scope of his rifle held out just in front of his face as he peered through the sights to scan for potential threats. He took his time, sweeping across the expanse of road stretched out in front of you. Making triple sure that nothing would jump out at you as you climbed down from where you were perched. 

The gun rested firmly against his squared shoulders, and you found your gaze trailing idly from there, down over the line of his arm. Somewhere from off in the distance, a pale yellow light illuminated him just enough for you to make out the soft hair on his forearms. You wanted so badly to reach out and touch him, but shook your head, chasing the thought away quickly. It wouldn’t do either of you any good if you startled him.

You refocused on his lips, which were parted slightly. In concentration, his tongue darted out to lick at the sliver of space between them. You wished you had something to hold onto and brace yourself with, against the wave of desire that moved through your whole body. 

But, aside from you and Emmett, the only other thing around was an old metal guardrail. And you really couldn’t risk releasing the noise that might hide in its depths. These days, anything that looked even remotely like it might creak was off limits.

A gentle breeze rustled his hair, and he lowered the rifle. He turned briefly to nod at you, once. It was safe. 

No words dared to fill the dark, empty space as both of you stepped carefully over the guardrail. Pausing at the top of the overpass to take one last look at the scene below, you stopped to reflect on the past two days. That was how long you’d been traveling for, and you’d been together with Emmett for only a bit longer.

Although, “together” was the operative word. You had been sticking close to each other, under some quiet but shared understanding that two people were often better than one, at least when it came to things like keeping watch while you camped out in the open, or scavenging for supplies. But he and you weren’t together together, as much as your mind liked to wander and go wild with possibilities. In fact-

Something suddenly caught your attention, and you snapped back into focus again, to see Emmett waving an arm at you. He was standing a short distance in front of you, partway down the hill that connected the overpass to the wide road below. Staring up at where you stood, with an inquisitive look and just a hint of concern in his eyes, half hooded with shadow.

You gave him a thumbs up, and cautiously started to make your own way down the steep hill.

It was early. So early that it was still almost full dark out, and you followed the beam of the flashlight that Emmett held like a beacon. Usually, you weren’t out until after the sun had risen. But last night, neither of you had seemed able to sleep, and so it felt silly to waste time just sitting around when it would be light in a few hours.

You thought you could glimpse the first few streaks of dawn, just barely starting to leak out on the horizon. Goosebumps spread over your skin, in the chilly half-darkness. Emmett had loaned you a checkered bandana, and you reached up to tuck it a little more snugly into the neck of your jacket. The rough fabric brushed up against your chin, and you smiled.

In front of you, Emmett stopped short. You were only a few paces away from him now, and you paused just behind him, before you could bump into the hand he’d extended to stop you.

The hill didn’t sit fully flush with the ground below. Instead, it dropped sharply off at a stone wall, just a few feet above the road.

Emmett kept one hand pressed to his rifle, holding it still as he eased himself down; careful to not make even the smallest noise. You shuffled up to the edge of the wall, ready to follow right after him. As you stooped down, Emmett reached up, offering help.

You accepted it, awkwardly, and let him take one of your hands in his while the other came firmly to rest on the small of your back. As he guided you down, you felt your arms heat up, rapidly chasing away the goosebumps.

You looked at him once your feet were back on solid ground, slightly surprised by the physical contact. Not that it meant anything. Not that it was even anything worth getting excited about. He would probably do the same thing for anyone. He was just being helpful. 

Abruptly, you realized he’d already started to walk away, continuing on the journey that you were both supposed to be focused on. You hurried to catch up, but made sure your footsteps were soft as you followed.

With no opportunities to talk, the time spent traveling felt long. You were both in your own worlds; Emmett focused on scanning for danger, and you, well, distracted by watching him. As usual. 

It was probably best for both of you that Emmett hadn’t yet noticed the way your gaze lingered on him. But, that was just how he’d been, in all of the short time you’d known him. He was observant, and overly anxious to keep an eye out at all times. He seemed almost not to notice anything that wasn’t actively threatening his safety, and that included you.

Streaks of pink started to stretch across the sky, and then blended into the blue of a new day. Finally, it was light enough to see clearly, and you looked around at what was once a small town. You were just passing through, but the devastation that was clearly written across streets, stores, and houses felt unsettling. 

To your left, a sharp, unexpected sound made your blood run ice cold. Emmett froze right along with you, and you both whipped around to watch as an animal scampered away from a trash can, now tipped over and spilling out garbage onto the street.

Litter was the very least of your worries, though, as an all-too-familiar screech echoed across the empty street.

What shit luck. That was the only thought running through your mind as Emmett frantically dragged you by the arm, not wasting even a second more as the creature advanced. It was close by, and you had nowhere to hide. 

Apparently Emmett did, though, as he forcefully shoved you into the backseat of a car. Both of the doors, you noticed, were missing - completely torn off by some previous run-in with these monsters, by the looks of it.

As your back landed against the cloth seat cushions, you felt the wind knock out of your lungs. The soft sound of breath leaving your body was silenced, as Emmett slammed down on top of you, hastily bringing a hand to your mouth.

Your eyes blew wide as his body pressed fully into yours, stealing your breath in a quite different way. A sound caught in your throat, and you swallowed it down, hard. You were not about to get both you and him killed by moaning at a time like this.

His palm pressed down over your nose and lips, and you could feel the heat of your own breath as he stayed there, not focused on you but still scanning, even now, for the monster that sounded like it had finally arrived. The metallic sound of the trash can echoed out on the street.

You moved your head a little, trying to shake out of his almost-oppressive grasp to breathe easier. That finally seemed to get Emmett’s attention, and he looked down with a mix of horror and embarrassment as his hand pulled away. Still pressed tight together, you both shifted your attention to more urgent matters. 

You could still hear that thing wreaking havoc as it searched fruitlessly for the source of the sound. Sometimes you were almost impressed that the creatures could hunt at all, when they were the ones who were making the most noise out of anything. Anything left, anyway. This was a bad case of wrong place, wrong time, but for the most part, anyone who hadn’t learned early on to stay quiet was no longer around to learn.

Emmett’s arms, planted on either side of your head, tensed as his fingers dug into the seat cushions. In any other situation, this would have been pleasant. As things were now, though, you could feel both your heartbeat and his as they pounded together, hard enough to cross the thick barrier of bone and flesh.

The car lurched, and you felt your eyes bug out of your head. The creature was on top of you now, quite literally; you could hear a sharp groan as the car protested under its weight. A series of clicks told you that it was on the offensive, still searching for even the tiniest sound.

Another sharp jerk made you gasp, barely audibly, but loud enough for Emmett to press his rough hand over your mouth again. This time, he was a bit more careful, leaving you room to breathe out of your nose as he pushed his palm down on your lips. But the panic that swarmed in his eyes as you looked up told you exactly how he felt. You both stayed stock still, waiting to see if that little sound had been enough to give you away.

The car screamed even louder as the creature stepped off, lurking its way down onto the street, now on the other side of the vehicle. You stretched your neck to look back, and watched as it swiveled its head side to side. Thankfully not listening in your direction for too long. 

Cautiously, you dared to move just a few inches, wiggling and brushing your hips up against Emmett’s as you tried to make yourself more comfortable. As you did, though, the unmistakable feeling of something hard pressed into your thigh.

You looked up at him, your eyes straining with horror as both of you realized what had just happened. 

Emmett looked even more mortified than you felt; his lips pressed together in a tight line as his eyes seemed to beg for a way out of this. You threw him a panicked, questioning look. In reply, all he could do was reflect the same painful and wide-eyed face, as if to say, “What do you want me to do about it?”

There wasn’t much either one of you could do, however, as in that moment the creature’s head whirled back around with a sharp screech in your direction. You’d been quiet, you thought, although maybe the sound of your breath mixed with Emmett’s as he strained against you was enough to grab its attention again.

You both froze, and you quickly buried your face in his chest, tucking yourself away from the horrible fate that awaited you, as best you could. 

But, after a few harrowing seconds, you heard the creature move on. The sound of its clicks grew more distant as it ran off, still searching for prey.

You let out a huge breath, silently this time, and lifted your head from your hiding place. As you pulled away slightly from where you had curled up against him, you saw Emmett still looking down at you, horrified. You wondered why, for a second, before realizing your fingers were tangled firmly in his belt loops, desperately pressing his hips against yours as you’d braced for your end.

Now, though, that the danger had passed, all you were doing was grinding yourself firmly against his erection. Which had definitely not gone away, despite all the imminent, life-threatening danger.

Emmett’s hand brushed against yours, and your heart skipped, only for him to pry your fingers apart, releasing himself from your death grip. He refused to make eye contact with you; instead awkwardly shuffling out of the car, and facing away as you crawled out after him.

Your heart was still thundering in your chest, maybe even a bit louder than it had been as you were being stalked by the monster. You wished desperately to be able to talk to Emmett; you hadn’t said more than two words to him since you’d set out earlier this morning. That wasn’t unusual, but if there was ever a time when you wished for the ability to communicate, it was right now.

You scanned quickly for any safe space. Now that you had time to actually assess your surroundings, you noticed several buildings with wide open doors. You tugged Emmett’s sleeve, silently telling him to follow you.

He did follow, somewhat reluctantly, and soon you were deep in the relative safety of the stockroom of a small store, your weapons and backpacks cast quickly aside. Someone who had been here before you had taken the time to shove mattresses up against every wall - added protection to muffle any sounds from within. Finally, you could speak.

“Emmett…”

But where could you even begin? Did you admit that you had feelings for him? Would that only scare him away? Maybe scaring him was good; if that was what a little adrenaline had done to him, part of you felt tempted to put him in even more dangerous situations. But, then again, if that’s all it had been, then maybe he didn’t like you at all. At least, not in the way you liked him. As you quietly wrestled with indecision, Emmett took over the conversation.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, still not meeting your gaze. “I didn’t mean- I’m… Fuck.”

“Sorry?” you echoed. “What are you sorry for?”

“For…”

Emmett trailed off; his face twisted into a new expression of pained awkwardness. The tension was thick enough to wrap solidly around your ankles, rooting you to the spot where you stood. 

Emmett shuffled, apparently still restless despite the heavy pressure that had settled over the small room. Your whole body felt weighed down, and yet you were still buzzing with the unchecked excitement that always came after surviving a close call. Your veins felt ready to burst.

“Shit, is it hot in here?” you wondered. 

While outside you’d been freezing in the cold morning air, suddenly in here you felt flushed. Maybe Emmett wasn’t the only one who’d been affected by the adrenaline rush.

You peeled off your jacket, and looked up to see Emmett’s eyes glued to you.

“What?”

“Nothing. I’m-”

You cut Emmett off before he could finish his sentence. 

“Don’t say you’re sorry again,” you whispered, a bit more harshly than necessary. “You don’t need to apologize if it’s nothing.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Emmett sighed. 

“So it’s not nothing?”

“What’s not nothing?” Emmett shot back, exasperated. “The way that I’ve been trying my best to ignore you looking at me like you want to rip my clothes off for the last week?”

You stared back at him with renewed horror. It hadn’t really been that obvious, had it? You had felt certain he hadn’t noticed you staring.

“Why didn’t you say anything?!” you gasped. 

“Because I didn’t want what just happened to happen!”

“Nothing just happened,” you hissed.

Now you were the one spitting out denials. The oppressive atmosphere grew hotter, and you felt the need to strip off more layers. Not that doing that would be particularly helpful right now.

“Look, Emmett - do you like me?”

You figured that asking him point blank would get you the most direct answer. Instead, he looked at you as if you’d just grown an extra two heads.

And you might as well have, for all the good your current one was doing you. You racked your brain for another strategy, growing increasingly frustrated by the second.

“Do I like you?” Emmett said finally, interrupting your frenzy of thoughts. “What kind of question is that?” “It’s the kind that I’d sure like an answer to,” you replied. “If we’re going to be able to move forward from this, one way or another.”

Emmett glared at you, incredulous, his mouth hanging open as the rest of his face twisted into a look that was hard to read. Just when you thought he was going to turn on his heel and walk out, he took a step closer to you.

In the next breath, he’d grabbed your shoulders and pulled you in, quickly stifling your gasp with his lips.

Kissing Emmett felt like fighting for air, and like having it pumped directly into your lungs. All at the same time, and all scorchingly hot as his lips seared against yours. The torturous days spent fantasizing about this exact moment flashed before your eyes, as you tried to search for some hint that you’d missed to suggest that he felt the same way. Had you really been so wrapped up in your own pining that you hadn’t noticed him struggling, too?

As you both pulled back, you stared at him in shock. Emmett’s eyes were on your lips, too downcast for you to catch his gaze. But finally, they flickered up and lit the spark that had been smoldering deep inside of you. Your fingers tightened over his clothes

���Why didn’t you say anything?!” you asked again, feverish. It was a challenge to keep your voice quiet.

“Say anything about what?” Emmett bit back.

You noticed the way his eyes drifted over you, taking in the frazzled and overwhelmed state you were in. That kiss had taken a lot out of you, and you were frantically scrambling to re-collect your thoughts.

“Why torture both of us by pretending that you don’t want the same thing I do?” you clarified.

Emmett’s hands traveled up to your face, cupping your jaw in his palms as he tugged gently, pulling you to meet him again.

“Because I didn’t want any distractions.”

That was probably the most ironic answer he could have given. What had you spent the past few days doing if not being constantly, thoroughly distracted? By him; by the question of whether or not he would notice you, in the way that you found it all but impossible not to notice him?

“That’s so stupid,” you grunted, closing the rest of the distance between you.

You barely resisted as Emmett maneuvered you, swinging you both with your lips pressed together so that he could pin you against a small table. He lifted you up, making you sit on the surface, as his rough hands wandered over your legs.

“Some of us have self control,” he informed you.

“Really? Who?”

His fingers tightened their grip, and you felt thankful that you were already seated. Without the support of the table, you almost certainly would have crumpled against him. Emmett’s waist was between your legs, and you squeezed desperately, not wanting to let him go in case he suddenly got the idea that this wasn’t the time or place.

And it wasn’t, but you weren’t about to let that stop you.

Emmett’s hand snaked under your shirt, then your bra, rubbing his thumb against the hard peak that had already formed. You bit his lip, cautiously at first, and then with more vigor as your bodies reacted to the other’s touch. It had been so long since you’d done anything like this, and you felt your legs growing more shaky already.

“Take my pants off,” you gasped, pulling away for a frenzied breath of air.

Emmett deftly popped the button on your jeans; practically growling at the sight of you once he had finally peeled them off. You settled back onto the table, and hooked your legs around him once more. Already wet, you could feel yourself stick to the cloth of his t-shirt.

“Fuck,” you sighed, bracing your hands on the table to push closer.

Emmett pulled back, and just as you were about to complain, you felt his hand drift down and brush through your folds. Shivering all over again, you threw your head back.

“We shouldn’t be doing this here,” Emmett muttered, just like you’d thought he would.

“I don’t care. Need to feel you,” you moaned, grabbing his wrist and guiding his fingers right where you wanted them.

You let go, urging him to take over. Despite his reluctance, Emmett seemed all too willing to be pulled along. His fingers sank into you, eliciting a long whine.

“Be quiet,” he reminded you.

But, luckily, the threat of making enough noise to be noticed by whatever monsters were lurking outside wasn’t enough to stop him. He pressed deeper, curling his fingers and brushing the pad of his thumb dangerously close to the bundle of nerves that would almost certainly seal your fate. It was a dangerous game, and every whimper that threatened to escape your lips could be your last, if it was loud enough.

“Fuck.”

Your legs were sore from walking for days, and it hurt as he spread them. It felt good, though; the deep stretch serving to set your imagination on fire with all the possibilities that were unlocking with every twinge of your sore muscles. 

“Emmett.” You put a hand on his shoulder. “I… I want more than your fingers.”

“Don’t push it,” he warned. “You’re already causing enough trouble as is.”

You pouted, but felt something stir inside of you at his words. If you had anything to say about it, you would show him just how much trouble you could be.

“I didn’t realize this was such an- inconvenience for you,” you snapped, voice hitching in the middle as he hit that spot that made you see stars.

“I didn’t want you to realize,” he shot back. 

“And yet, look where we’ve ended up. Despite your best efforts.”

The devilish smirk that played out over your lips seemed to make Emmett falter, and you felt him brush against your clit again. You had to bite your lip to stop from screaming.

Teetering dangerously on the edge of destruction only made you more eager to press on. The adrenaline from earlier had started to resurge, and you clung to it, heart beating fast in your ears as you rapidly approached your climax.

“Emmett. Gonna come,” you warned, already out of breath before you began.

Wordlessly, Emmett kissed you again, and you felt yourself explode against him. His thumb traced circles over your clit, somehow feather-light but solid, all at once. You cursed against his lips, maybe a little louder than you should have, but it was too late to take back now. As your high faded, you listened carefully for the shrill screech that would let you know you’d been caught.

It never came, and slowly you allowed yourself to start breathing again. Leaning over you, Emmett pressed his forehead against yours.

“That was way too close,” he complained.

“But worth it,” you hummed. “C’mon. Now it’s your turn.”

Eyes still half-clouded with sex, you struggled for a few seconds to find his zipper. As soon as you’d started to pull it down, Emmett stopped you.

“We’ve barely survived the last hour,” he scoffed. “And now you want me to fuck you?”

“I was just gonna jerk you off,” you lied. “But hey. If you want…”

Emmett’s face turned bright red as he realized the corner he’d been backed into. 

“Come on - you weren’t complaining two seconds ago,” you teased. “Well, I mean, you were. But you seemed into it.”

Emmett sighed, but his shoulders stiffened as you reached past his zipper and took hold of him. He was definitely still into it.

You slid off the table but stayed pressed against it, leaning back slightly as you pulled him out and pressed his head flush to your core. He slipped in easily, already slick with your arousal and unable to resist the pull of your body.

You sighed, and that was enough to make Emmett grab hold of you again, burying himself all the way in with one thrust.

The shock of it was sudden, but you quickly recovered and pulled him in closer, greedily pressing him as far as he could go.

“This is exactly what I’ve wanted,” you hummed, smiling contentedly.

Emmett’s only response was a grunt, as he pushed deeply into you again, dragging his hips back before snapping forward. His hands were holding onto your arms, keeping you steady against the sharp edge of the table. Both of you hung onto each other for dear life.

“Goddamn distracting…” Emmett muttered. It sounded like only part of a sentence, but you didn’t catch the rest. Too wrapped up in the way he was filling you.

Without warning, he pulled all the way out. He flipped you around, bracing your palms against the table, and then sank back in. You felt your walls tighten around him as you moaned, a little louder.

Fingers splayed over the grain of the wood, you clawed at the table as Emmett pummeled into you, picking up speed to match the erratic beat of your heart. Your eyes screwed shut, chasing the pleasure that steadily built in your stomach.

“Shit. I’m gonna come again,” you gasped, already feeling the waves wash over you.

From behind, Emmett’s hand reached around to slap over your mouth, one more time, pulling your head back a little as he continued to rut into you. You made a muffled sound of protest, but he kept going.

You didn’t have long to concern yourself with comfort, as you were quickly overtaken by pleasure. You let yourself give in; surrendering to the feeling that coursed through you, and the way that his hips never stopped snapping up to meet yours, and the rough palm he held over your mouth. Which was fortunate, actually, because without Emmett’s hand stifling your sounds, they almost certainly would have gotten you both killed.

“Mmmf!”

You tried and failed to bite back the cry that threatened to erupt, only halted by Emmett as he succeeded in keeping his hand steady. 

But it was clear he was close behind you. His hips bucked up with far less precision than they had a few minutes ago, and you could feel him tear out at the very last second, leaving you empty.

“Mmm!”

You cried again as you felt Emmett bite down, his mouth clamped onto your shoulder as he came, stifling his own desperate growl. His cum went not into you but all over you, coating the inside of your legs before he could stop himself. Emmett had clearly waited slightly too long to pull out. 

The soft grunt that vibrated through his teeth sent a shiver down your whole body, followed by another as he rubbed himself into the mess that was now dripping between your legs. Chasing the feel of your combined lust and the friction of your thighs.

“Self control, huh?” you goaded, once he had finally pulled his hand off of your mouth.

“More than you.”

Emmett’s rough voice was right in your ear, and you felt his chest press into your back, breathing heavy to make up for lost air.

“Well,” you said, a bit breathless yourself. “I guess we’ll just have to see about that.”

Taglist: @cillmequick, @hanawrites404, @hypotheticallyspeakingwitch, @littlewinter1917, @mothhball, @nnattu, @red-riding-wood, @slut4thebroken

[solurae]

four eyes (more to love underneath the frames) — PT.1

HELLO!!! okok the prologue received some good reception so i will!!! be continuing the series :3c THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE NICE COMMENTS AND REBLOGS AND OHHHH MY GOD THE MOTHER OF NERD!MIGUEL @nymphomatique REBLOGGED MY PROLOGUE (i could die happy) ty for the food and the inspiration to start this series!!!

i’m still the process of setting up my tumblr because my ass made this my secondary blog (but idek if that changes anything… i don’t think) OH AND YES THERE IS NOW A TAG FOR THE SERIES! ALSO PLSPLSPLS DON’T BE AFRAID TO SEND THROUGH ASKS FOR DRABBLES OR REQUESTS OR ANYTHING REALLY!!! i’m more than happy to feed us both hehe

tw/cw: mmmm not any i can think of (FIXING ANY GRAMMATICAL ERRORS AFTER POSTING BECAUSE I’M COOL)

PROLOGUE?! < <

“sorry students, the projector is currently out of order so i’d like for all of you to just go through the powerpoint on your own. feel free to come up and ask questions.” the professor sighs as he closes his laptop and settles down onto his desk, the chatter of other students and laptop keyboards create the perfect white noise for your 8AM lecture.

you weren’t really that keen on studying this period anyway so you’ll just get it done later but god he looked so much better up close. why did miguel have to be so fucking dorky and hot and cool all at fucking once? it bothered you that miguel has never spoken to you. ever. but with that in mind, no one would ever think of the effect this nerd had on you, not even the nerd himself.

“oi mate, mandem depending on you to pass this class.” you shake your head after you’re slightly shoved to the side of your desk by none other than your best friend bad influence. hobie, hobie, hobie… you groan as you look his way, legs propped up on the desk as if he’s completely unaware that he’s in an lecture hall. next to him is peter, trying to shove hobie’s legs off the table for fear of accidentally hitting miguel who was seated right infront of you.

peter and hobie were the angel and devil on your shoulder that manifested into your closest friends. it was so hard to make friends (partially because you weren’t interested in anyone aside from miguel) and that everyone in your class were already in tight knit friend groups, and it was clear they all wanted to keep it that way with the silent treatment and one-sided conversations. but that didn’t matter. what did matter was that neither of them were taking this class seriously.

hobie - for god knows what reason - just took the class for fun. well, hobie took it out of spite. he said and you quote, “it is my take on deconstructing the stereotypes and preconceptions of particular social groups alongside us punks that dictate that we lack the desire and strive for academic feats”. and you know what? for someone who likes to laze around and count the panels of wood used on the ceiling for half the lecture, his high grades put his narrow-minded folks to shame. oh and peter? although he couldn’t afford to skip his classes, he did anyway. mary jane, MJ - the mother to his children, as he calls her - is in the humanities elective they both share. and peter might as well skip that class instead of looking at MJ as if she invented humanities. you don’t know how watching you and hobie bicker was a better investment of peter’s time but no one was complaining. someone had to remind the both of you of operation miguel mutation, or in other words, get his gaze out of his books and onto your face.

“so much for wanting to prove the world wrong when you’re relying on someone else to do it for you”, you scoffed at hobie, pretending to brush dust off your shoulders. he chuckled, “i just wanted to know how it feels to be those good for nothing, narcissistic capitalists, is all”. you shoved him so hard it rattled your seats and you didn’t even realise you accidentally kicked miguel’s seat until his cold hard gaze towards you even made hobie look like an art piece in the middle of rendering.

“can i help you?”, fuuuuuuck off. he sounds so fucking hot. insanely hot.

his large pitch black frames could never obstruct how chiseled miguel was, he had angular features such as his nose, his jawline and even his cupid’s bow. but these features were softened with warm red eyes and wisps of his hair coming down to frame his forehead. o’hara’s face overall was slightly scrunched, his hand gripped onto the fold away desk while he faced you, his casual attire in sweats could barely hide his build. his mouth was slightly open, the very tip of his fangs making themselves known. he was definitely a specimen, a gorgeous specimen for lack of better word. you didn’t even realise you were staring at miguel until he raised his eyebrow and glanced over at hobie, then over to peter who was just happily content watching your unplanned, unconventional first meeting.

“oh. um, no?”, you were still confused why miguel (the man you’ve been trying to get the attention of ever since the first inkling of a feeling), suddenly turned around and spoke to you—

“excuse me, may i ask that you don’t disrupt your peers during class? i’m watching you too, brown.” if your teacher scolding you like a wack ass boy in year 9 wasn’t enough to make you embarrassed, your quick descent into realising that you quite literally pushed yourself - pushed miguel, rather - to make the first move. in the worst fucking way possible. you ducked your head a bit in an attempt to avoid the gazes of your classmates only to find your shoe jammed between the gap next to miguel’s seat, missing his elbow by a mere few centimetres.

you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

so much for devising a plan to properly introduce yourself by actually trying in class by answering the lecturers questions, to the point miguel can’t help but wonder that there is in fact competition. aware of his competitive nature, miguel would try to get ahead of you or widen that gap but then realise he was all wrong from the moment you’d tap his shoulder for a question you pretend to not understand, to look as if you’re struggling so much miguel can ignore his own studies for a little while to help you. men are stupid after all. miguel doesn’t apply here but being an outcast adjacent of the entire university has its benefits, in a way where it benefits your elaborate plan from stroking miguel’s ego by helping you, to ever so slightly become more and more interested in you. once you slowly ease into getting out of pretending to be an academic victim and miguel finds the joy in being academically challenged by the one girl who braved the odds and approach the mysterious mutant, he’d ask to you to meet at the cafeteria or the library. it didn’t matter. you would then, finally then, be in miguel’s line of sight.

“if this is your way of trying to get into my pants, i’m not interested.”

papers were stuffed into bags and the squeaking of chairs reverberated the lecture theatre. people were making their way to their next class while peter, hobie and yourself shared looks of disbelief, disgust, along with hobie’s infamous expression that scream the words i fucking told you so.

what the fuck? what the actual fuck was that?

o’hara didn’t miss a beat and swivelled around to start packing his belongings, completely unaware of how his response alone completely changed and destroyed all prior preconceptions about this man - or boy as you would now call him - turns out being smart never stopped anyone from being dickhead.

you felt like you just failed a quiz you didn’t know that was happening, despite being prepared to ace it.

it wasn’t like you to fail, however. especially not to him.

[ 🩷 — TAGS! @angelicful @lilipads @zaunsin @m4dyy @okkotszn @rhythmloid @cosmicbarstardust @thespaceinbetweennothing @cu1tvenus @huniedeux @oharasfilipinawife @ilovemuppets @loonalockley ] feel free to comment if you’d like to be added to the taglist!

[comatosebunny09]

what’s done is done (and done again) | leon k.

summary: somehow, you figure you've been here before. and, somewhere far off, he knows you've been here before, too. genre(s): romance, drama, angst, modern au warning(s): female anatomy described, mentions of bodily fluids, dry humping, explicit language, profanity, praise kink, implied character death, mentions of decay and blood notes: it's a fuckin’ time loop. based off this post i made a little while ago. inspired by the time traveler's wife and happy death day. thank you for reading, darling! now playing: if you let me - alina baraz

You’re in the briefing room, fighting for your life. 

Almost face-plant into your notebook a few times. Doesn’t help that it’s warm and dim, and you haven’t had your coffee. 

Your supervisor decided it would be an excellent time to bore you all half to death as if you weren’t already constantly putting your lives on the line. Something about Operational Security violations running rampant throughout your organization. 

Blah, blah, blah.

Of everything you’ve faced thus far, death by PowerPoint would be such a way to go.

“Long night?” bleeds in a voice from your right. Your savior. 

You look at Leon, all wild-eyed, like you’ve been caught doing something nefarious. He smiles in reply, all boyish and unguarded. Watches you like you’ve said something funny or like he could just eat you up. Whatever the context, you enjoy the attention. You always do when it comes from your partner. 

Your face begins to tingle with warmth. But you mask your embarrassment with a half-smile and an elbow to his rib. 

“You would know,” you mouth back, careful not to alert your supervisor. 

Leon smiles a little wider. Chuckles low and abrasive, leaning back in his chair with folded arms. Gives you a nice little view of the veins that live there and the muscle lurking beneath the cuffed sleeves of his shirt. 

He catches you staring in his peripheral, and the smugness he radiates is palpable. No one’s the wiser when he grazes your leg with his under the table. Sets little goose pimples alight on your skin when he pitches himself forward to grip your quad.

You take to messing with some frayed edges of your notebook, tucking your goofy, lopsided smile within its pages. Mind suddenly colors with memories of last night. Labored breaths, sweat, heat, and your tongue coiled around his name. 

Your body hums, and you pinch your thighs together to ward off the pleasant rush of endorphins between. He squeezes and winks, smile lines bracketing his mouth as he returns his attention to the mindless dribble of your boss.

What a long night, indeed.

“Dinner?” Leon simply asks over the blue light of your monitor. 

It feels like more of a statement than a request. Like he knows you’d never deny him as he presses the lid of your laptop closed with a definitive click!

You sit back in an easy slouch in your rolling chair. Cross your arms, looking every bit of smug-read-annoyed, and you eye him warily. 

“Only dinner?”

That grin is back. All dimpled and crinkly-eyed as he props himself against the oakwood of your desk. Bathed in the ethereal glow of the setting sun bleeding into your window, he laughs something guttural. You’re the cheekiest little shit when you wanna be.

“No promises,” he admits with a shrug. Exudes sex even without trying. 

You regard him for a moment. Keep him on edge, though both of you already know the answer. Doesn’t mean you can’t make him squirm with the prospect of your potential rejection. 

You clear your throat after a brief stare down. Feign indifference as you smooth out your sleeves and trousers. 

“Your place or mine?”

Like you’d ever say no.

Your place.

It’s always your place, but you can’t complain. You live on the quieter side of town, tucked away from the cacophony of the city and your nosy-as-all-hell coworkers.

Besides, it’s all cozy inside. Decked out with mood lights and earth tones and enough plants to rival a greenhouse. 

Leon likes it this way. How it distracts him from the bleakness of your jobs. The ever-looming premise of death and decay and corruption. So, you never bother to change it. It’s his little piece of heaven. 

You’re his little piece of heaven. 

Speaking of which—

“Stop it!” you half squeal, half giggle, spatula in one hand, a fistful of soft blonde in the other. 

The sound of your collective merriment carries from the kitchen. Sepia-toned with smooth jazz leaking from the soundbar. 

Leon’s chuckle vibrates your skin. Hands are a searing hot and homely pressure, perched on your waist. Lips blister kisses down the slope of your shoulder, and his hair tickles your neck. 

“Can’t help myself. ‘sides, you had a little sauce on your neck. Had to—” Kiss. “—clean it up for you.” Suck.

“Bullshit.”

“Mmmm, honest,” Leon drawls in a way that makes your knees shake, and you feel the sound of it pooling in your loins. 

He proceeds to do terribly distracting things with his mouth on your neck whilst his hands embark on a journey down your thighs. They bunch up the lace of your dress on their excursion, making way for his fingers to tiptoe between your legs, gripping meaty thigh until your flesh craters between. 

“Leon.” 

You huff out something between a laugh and a pleasured sigh. An eager hand instinctively curls around his nape, and you find yourself mindlessly grinding against him. Eyes shutter closed, head falls back into the pocket of his shoulder. Around a smile, you breathe, 

“I worked really hard on this. You don’t let me finish, I’ll kick your ass.”

That doesn’t deter him. Not in the slightest. Never does, and he snickers something sinister. Eases his grip on your thighs northward until the knuckles of his thumbs graze the seat of your panties. You shiver. Almost say, fuck dinner.

“Thought you were on the menu.”

You snort, gripping the counter’s edge for leverage and shoving back. Leon stumbles a few steps away, all blown wide pupils and a peachy color dusting his cheeks. Looks at you like a kicked puppy. That wobbly lip nearly does it for you.

“Later,” you promise.

Leon has a sweet tooth. You  always  give him dessert. 

It’s a mire of sounds.

Your voice, high and light. Leon’s, deep and abrasive. Your collective laughter and pleasured sighs intermingle in your bedroom whilst music croons in the background.

He’s got you where he wants you. Straddling his lap on your bed like a good girl, swathed in the subtle moon glow of the room. Has his lips latched onto your throat and his hands eagerly mapping out the contours of your body.

Your dress is bunched around your hips. Straps spilling down your arms, head thrown back, lids shuttered. He has this way of whittling you down to incoherencies like no one ever has. 

Who would’ve thought your goofy little Leon could be such a sex symbol?

He grips your waist, encouraging you to grind against him. Hard and heavy, and he radiates heat through the confines of his slacks. He feels so good and big, and you might just cum from the sensation alone. From the proximity. From the dangerous gravel of his voice as he murmurs every level of filth into your ear.

So good for me. 

Already wet, and I haven’t even taken your panties off. 

Naughty baby. 

You might cum before I even get it inside.

You would fully surrender yourself to him—to his palms kneading your breasts and the calluses of his thumbs scraping pleasantly over your nipples—if not for a series of buzzing sounds emanating from your nightstand. 

Again.

“God dammit,” you sigh, trying to catch your breath.

“Fuck that,” Leon husks, licking up the column of your throat. Desperation wades beneath the surface of his tone. Possessiveness. Desire. “Fuck the phone. I want you. Need you.”

It’s hard to argue when he gazes at you like that, with hooded eyes and furled lashes. And he’s drunk off the feel of you. Begging. Dipping his head down to close his lips around your pebbled nipple, and it’s like you’ve been struck by white lightning. 

“Fuh-huck!”

He groans against your tit in reply, matching the undulation of your hips with a roll of his own. You cling to him for dear life, fingers buried in his hair, pussy leaking and swollen against the seam of his trousers, mouth parted, and lips shining with spit. 

Try as you might to ignore it, the insistent humming of your phone leaks through the static of your brain.

“Fuck, Leon, I gotta…I gotta take this,” you gasp, scrambling for the nightstand. Whoever’s calling doesn’t know the meaning of peace. 

Leon doesn’t relent. Has a mouthful of tit, flittering his tongue over your nip and eyeing you wantonly and fucking groaning like you’re the tastiest morsel to ever grace his tongue. 

A familiar voice bleeds through the receiver as you bite your lips against a whine. 

“Hey!” trills your coworker, all shrill and uncomfortably cheery despite the hour. Cheryl from HR. You should’ve known. 

Play it cool. Though it’s exceedingly difficult with the object of your desires fucking you through your clothes. 

“Hey. What’s up?”

“Girl, I think I left my purse in your car.” 

You blanch. 

You picked her up for lunch. Of course, she left it. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Think my ID’s in there. Can’t get into the office in the morning without it. You know they’re tired of me losing that thing.” Sigh.

A groan swells in your chest. You’re at odds with yourself. Slap a hand over your forehead, cursing whatever higher being decided to bless and punish you tonight.  “I’ll go check the car,” you relent. Leon releases a chagrined sound in the background. Pins you with incredulous eyes as he releases your tit from his mouth with a wet pop!

Fitfully, you wrestle yourself free from Leon’s arms. Giggle as you stumble off the bed, and Leon lunges for you. You easily dodge, tiptoeing towards the entrance of your bedroom. Give him a placating smile halfway through the threshold, silently promising to finish what you’ve started once you’re done.

Hurry back, he mouths around a pout. Makes little grabby hands at you, and the furrow of his brows almost makes you clamber back onto his lap. But you’re a Good Samaritan. Sometimes. And you’ll never hear the end of it if you don’t find Cheryl’s purse.

Soundlessly, you whisk through your home towards the garage after fixing your dress. Ease into the driver seat of your car, the door slamming shut behind. You locate her purse on the passenger side floor with laser precision. Hard not to see it when it’s gaudy and pink like that. 

You rummage through it, mindful of its contents. Find her ID soon after, turning over the cool plastic in your hand to confirm. 

“It’s in here.”

She releases a weighted sigh on the other end of the phone.

“I can meet you at the front gate in the morning to give it to you.”

“Girl, thank you! You’re a lifesaver!”

You tamp down a smile. Tuck your bashfulness into your shoulder. Cheryl’s infectiously chipper. A nice change of pace to the depressing humdrum of your profession. 

“Yeah, yeah. See you in the morning.”

“See ya!”

When she hangs up, you ease her purse into your glove box. Nestle it between pistol mags and your badge for safekeeping. 

You glance at your phone. Squint against its brilliance, and it’s a quarter to midnight. Fuck. Another late night.

A quiet smile crests over your lips when you catch sight of your home screen. Of course, it would be Leon. With an adorably cheesy dog filter, and he’s all baggy-eyed and uncharacteristically happy on the screen. You’ve gotta get back to him. Left him all hard and leaking in your bed. 

So, you reach for the crisp door handle, mind abuzz with thoughts of Leon, Leon, Leon.

But then, there’s suddenly an explosion of colors. Yellow and orange seeping into red. A sound that’s deafening and robs you of all thought. White hot pain wading over your skin. And then…

Well, then, there is nothing.

[itsohh]

141 Leaving their partner to keep them safe

A/N: G/N reader, this was inspired by Eyes Without a Face by Billy Idol which I've been listening to repeat for like an hour. Such a vibe.

Warnings: Angst

Masterlist

Gaz

It had been a decision that had kept him up for nights. One her eventually went to Price about. "You have to do what you think is right Gaz. This isn't a decision I can make for you." John has told him, face soft with pity. He didn't envy the position Kyle was in.

So he took you out, gave you the best night he possibly could. On the now dark beach he took your hand, sat down the pair of you on a public chair. The roar of waves in the background. "I wanted to do everything I possibly could with you tonight." He swallowed and let out a deep breath.

"Kyle? Is everything alright." He couldn't look at you, couldn't look at those eyes of yours.

"I won't be able to see you anymore."

"You- huh? What do you mean?"

"I'm breaking up with you. You're a distraction at work, I can't focus when I'm thinking about you." His words had a sliver of truth to them, yes you distracted him sometimes but it was never a problem. It was never something he couldn't control. The real reason had been an attack on a number of SAS operatives' families. Leaked files that had compromised a number of people. Some had died. Kyle hadn't been compromised or had his file leaked but it was still a very real threat.

It has put his entire life into a new perspective.

Eventually he made up his mind. "It's not your fault, I don't think I can be in a relationship at all. It isn't a fit with my life anymore, I'm sorry."

"I... see." You looked over to the ocean. "I thought tonight you were going to… I don't know what I thought tonight was going to be. Not this. I hope your career works out well for you." Your voice went from broken to stoic. Almost emotionless. Kyle wanted to comfort you, to hold you close but he didn't. It wouldn't help you, it would only help him. Kyle knew he had been selfish enough that night.

So Kyle watched as you got up from the public chair. "You can get your stuff from my house tomorrow when I'm at work. I don't want it." From stoic to angry.

"Let me take you home, it's late."

"Piss off Kyle. I'll get an uber. You worry about where you're spending the night." There was an anger that bubbled in your chest, hand clenched. Despite your anger directed to him, it was more at yourself. That you ever thought he was going to spend the rest of his life with you.

Without looking at him you started to walk off, a mutter beneath your breath. "I hate the fucking beach."

Ghost

A single picture. One you would never know about. It was of you, a smile on your face as you candidly looked to the side. You had been drawing the curtains closed. A picture that you never knew and would never know was taken.

A single picture that had been sent to Ghost.

A single picture that had made him make up his mind.

Ghost had made sure to clean out all evidence of himself from your house while you were out shopping. That day he helped you unpacked. A smile had been plastered from one side of your face to the other. You had been so happy for his return, so happy to see him again. "I don't love you anymore." He had said those words when you sat down on the couch next to him. For a second you thought it was just a cruel joke. But you searched his eyes, searched that masked face of his.

"What?"

"Nothing more to it." He stood up from the couch and you jumped up after him.

"Is there someone else?"

"No, there's nothing that happened. Don't overthink it. People fall out of love sometimes."

"Can I do something to make you fall back in love? We can get through this, this doesn't have to be the end of the road. Simon if your scared if we are going too fast or-"

"-No. Nothing you say will change this." His movements were rigid, tense as he walked towards the door. Ready to vanish into the night to never be seen again.

"Simon-" Your bottom lip quivered and your eyes were big while you started at the back of his head.

"Don't call me that. Find someone that can love you the way you love me, because I can't."

Price

It had been a month. A month since work had been brought home. Back on your feet, the bruises had faded. Wrapped up on the couch a figure moved in the corner of your eye. "John?" No answer. You frowned and pushed the blankets off your body. The cool air hit your legs and you shuffled towards his figure. You could have sworn you heard the small click of the front door opening. 

"John?" He froze with his hand on the door, a bag slung over his shoulder. "Do you have another mission? I suppose I can't keep you here all the time." You smiled and he nodded. He returned the smile but there was something in his eyes. A sadness, a deep sadness. "Do you know when you will be back?"

"No." His eyes broke eye contact. "Let me go out this in the car and I'll be back to say goodbye." Before you could open your mouth he had pushed open the door and disappeared. 

True to his word he came back to the front door and opened his arms wide, welcoming you into him as he usually did. You hurried your face into his chest and your hands practically clawed into his shirt. A gentle kiss blessed the top of your head. 

Slowly you pulled back from him, eyes glazed as you looked into his. "You're not coming back are you?" 

He froze and his face turned into one of pity. "You always were a smart thing." His head gently started to stroke your hair. 

"Was it something I did John? Is there something that I didn't do? Is there-"

"-Shh shhh, I promise you. It was nothing you did. It's not you. You're perfect, too perfect for me. But I have to focus on work."

"John no please- don't-." You choked on your words, a sob ripped from your as you buried your face back into his chest. 

"I'm so sorry. Shhh shhh. Everything will be okay. You still have your whole life ahead of you."

"But I don't want that without you John please don't leave. I love you please, please, please, I love you so much I'll do anything please John." Your begs were interpreted as he grasped both sides of your face with his hands. His brows were furrowed and tears threatened to spill from his eyes. 

His lips pressed against yours only for a moment. "I love you too sweetheart. Please don't make this harder. I have to do what I have to do."

"John." He let go of you and started to turn but you grabbed his arm. "John please."

His shoulders tensed and his breath frosted in the cold air. John didn't try to pull from you, he didn't say a word yet the request to let go was loud in the air. 

"I love you John. I'll never forget about you."

"Forget about me. Please, it would be kinder."

"John!" You let go of his arm and sunk to your knees, watching him go. 

Soap

Graves's words rung in his head. Even after his death, the man still managed to make his life a living hell. "Heard you got a sweetheart back at home McTavish." If he hadn't been in the middle of throwing out the C4 there was a very real possibility that Graves's words would have made him freeze.

"Perhaps when I'm done here I'll go show them what a real man is. A real soldier. Perhaps be their shoulder to cry on. Then the second they get over you- make them mine. Will never think about your sorry ass again."

That final C4 has really made it truly satisfying to wipe whatever smirk that was on his face into smithereens.

The more Soap thought about it though, the more it worried him. If Graves knew you were existed then who else did? What if Shepard wanted to use you against him? What if someone else turned?

He could let that happen to you. At the same time, Johnny was scare. Terrified, he couldn't face breaking your heart. As much as he thought you deserved to be told face to face, he couldn't. "I'm a fucking coward." He hissed to himself, his handwriting messy as he finished scribbling down the piss poor excuse of a break up.

You were so peaceful in your once shared bed. Content. A mood that would drastically change at your wake. When you would find him long gone. Only a note for an excuse. Johnny taped the small note to his pillow and made the bed. You stired a little in the bed but didnt wake from your deep sleep.

In a moment of weakness, Johnny sat down on the bed. He lay down backwards so his head was on your chest. Eyes closed he could almost imagine the way your hands would thread through his hair. He could almost imagine that laughter that he would never hear again. "I love you." A small whiper into the darkness. With a deep breath he slowly moved forward. Still so peaceful asleep, he left, a final glance at the doorway.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Hi!! I sorta get the vibe that maybe Rook has some deep rooted trauma from his childhood?? Just because of how secretive he is; i know hes eccentric but i feel like it’s more than that. A lot of ppl are upset at Vil for “changing” Rook somehow but i feel like rook changed his appearance to match with Vil, moved to pomefiore, etc. because HE wanted to be more like Vil, i feel like him meeting Vil was a rly big turning point for him. And with how upset he was at having to hurt dream Vil and Neige (and his fanboy bedroom😭😭) i feel like he’s really dependent on both of them for his happiness and he’s avoiding dealing with some traumatic experience, but this could be a stretch. I was wondering what your thoughts were. Sorry this was so long, have a nice night!!🫶

Mmm, maybe? There's certainly nothing to disprove the idea, although there also isn't much to support it. Rook doesn't strike me as someone who is scared or put off by most things. He was very much able to keep his calm and composure even in demanding, high-stress situations like the STYX base raid in book 6 and the rescue operation in Endless Halloween Night. If he has experienced something dangerous and/or dark, he gives me the impression that he could handle himself just fine. (This isn't to downplay trauma; I'm just saying that Rook could very well be the type of person that reacts and copes well with it.) As for him being secretive, it could be for other reasons such as his family's line of work (which is implied to be pretty important, since they have warp pads and villas all over Twisted Wonderland). This would be reasoning similar to why Jade and Floyd's father's occupation is kept dubious. Rook's secretive nature could also be an intentional diversion (ie purposefully playing "the fool") so it's easier for his targets to lower their guards around him or not take him seriously. Really, there's many reasons for his enigmatic and eccentric attitude. I'm also of the opinion that you don't necessarily need to have a deep-rooted trauma to get deep into fandom or stan culture. Sometimes you just get really into something and want to dedicate your entire being to that which holds your attention! For Rook, that's Neige and Vil--and it hurts him on a deep level to have to harm those who have brought him so much joy. I liken it to like... how TWST fans have merch shrines dedicated to their favorite boys. Non-Twsties may not understand our love and dedication to these characters, nor why we may get upset if those merch shrines are destroyed or damaged.

I think a lot of Rook's emotional attachment to Neige and Vil doesn't come from "relying" on them to fill in some void within himself. Rather, the behavior stems from him literally viewing them as pinnacles of beauty, combined with his own reverence for beauty itself and how they've helped his own character development. We know that, as a child, Rook struggled to express himself and was first introduced to the magic of the arts when he watched a play that starred Neige. The performance and show must have deeply resonated with Rook. Later on, we see that he, as a first year Savanaclaw student, acts much closer to the Rook we know of today. Invasive, bright, speaking his mind in a verbose way, etc. This makes me think that it was through stanning Neige that Rook was motivated to express himself in a more open manner. Then, when Rook meets Vil, he's inspired and encouraged to beautify himself so as to be like the works of art he already admires. As you've said, Vil isn't the one forcing change on Rook; instead, Vil gives the suggestion and Rook becomes enraptured with the idea--to the point where he changes dorms against Vil's advice. This is another huge turning point in Rook's life. He changes dorms, becomes Vil's right-hand man, and drastically changes his appearance too. This is all so he can be closer to the "beauty" he wishes to see, so he can fully dedicate himself to that chase. Neige was the impetus that started it all, and Vil is the one who motivated Rook to go "above and beyond" in his pursuit of beauty. So thinking about it, Rook has gone on his own journey of personal growth, and Neige and Vil are both closely tied to that. It's like how some of us TWST fans have been with the game for a few years now. We've grown and changed, and TWST has been with us every step of the way. I bet you're a totally different person today than you were when you first came across your current hyperfixations. That's bound to deepen the emotional connection we already have with the object of our affections--be it TWST for us, or Neige and Vil for Rook, no trauma necessary. From all of that, I get the impression that Rook cherishes Neige and Vil because he has "grown up" with them and they're so pivotal to who he is and has become as a person. When he has to turn his arrow on them, it may hurt him in the sense that he's destroying his passions or the very figures who have inspired him to come as far as he has. That's how I interpret it!

I still think it's fine to headcanon whatever you want for Rook's past though! There's no harm in filling in the gaps with whatever you think suits the character or the story.

[star-eyed-angels]

Last Hope

Mafia!Hongjoong x gn nurse!reader

angst, fluff 4.2k

TW: mentions of blood, bullets, surgery, violence, swearing

Please read at your own discretion.

Where Hongjoong can’t think of anything else except to call you.

AN: heavily inspired by Atlantis by Seafret and Another Love by Tom Odell

_______

The dim room is filled with beeps and heavy breathing. Yeosang stands in front of a makeshift operating table. His sleeves rolled up past his elbow, and clothes covered in blood. Some of the blood belongs to him, but most of it belongs to Wooyoung who lays unconscious on the table. Yeosang frowns as he tries to stay focused on wooyoung in front of him. On the opposite side of the table, Hongjoong paces in front of them. His own clothes covered in blood, a frown etched onto his face.

Seonghwa hurries into the room, looking a mix of exhausted and concerned. Hongjoong barely spares him a glance, “How is he?”, he asks quickly. Yeosang swears under his breath, drawing the attention of the other two.

“I can't save him!” Yeosang curses from his spot in front of the table. Hongjoong freezes, turning to face yeosang. He glances up briefly at Hongjoong before turning his attention back to Wooyoung. He growls in frustration as he continues to operate on Wooyoung, the beeping of the monitors next to him growing more erratic.

“What do you mean you can't?” Hongjoong demands, stepping towards the table. Yeosang pauses, yanking the mask down from under his chin.

“I mean that I'm doing everything I can and even if by some fucking miracle I pull this off there's no telling if he'll wake up again,” Yeosang shouts. The room falls silent as the reality sets in. Yeosang shakes his head, doing his best to keep calm.

“I'm sorry hyung. He's too far gone,” he says solemnly. Hongjoong shakes his head, his eyebrows furrowed as he thinks. Seonghwa watches him, seeing the thoughts racing through hongjoong’s mind.

“Joong,” he reaches his hand out to grab him. Hongjoong’s eyes widen, suddenly turning to Yeosang.

“Can you keep him alive?” he asks suddenly. Seonghwa and Yeosang both give him confused looks.

“What?” Seonghwa finally asks.

“Can you keep him alive?,” he repeats, emphasizing each word. Yeosang blinks at him, before glancing towards Seonghwa. He nods slowly, still unsure of everything.

“If Seonghwa helps, probably,” Yeosang starts, “but i don't see how-”

“Do it. keep him alive,” Hongjoong cuts in, turning towards the door.

“Where are you going?” Seonghwa asks, already moving to help Yeosang. Hongjoong doesn’t bother looking back, simply pulling out his phone as he walks.

“To make a phone call,” he calls over his shoulder before disappearing out the door. Seonghwa and Yeosang both give each other looks of worry before moving to help Wooyoung.

_________

Your room is dark as you lay in bed after your night shift. The hospital being understaffed making your shifts busier than normal. The second you came home, you'd gone straight to bed, only bothering to throw off your uniform. You’re halfway to falling asleep when your phone starts ringing. You frown, reaching over to check your phone. The number isn’t saved, but you recognize the area code immediately. Hesitantly you accept the call.

“Hello?” you ask softly.

“It’s me.”

After all this time Hongjoong’s voice sends a fluttering feeling through you. You’re so distracted by hearing his voice for the first time in so long you forget to respond.

“I know what we talked about, but… But I need you,” his voice desperate.

“Hongjoong, what are you-” Hongjoong cuts you off before you can finish.

“Wooyoung- he,” his voice wavers as he chokes back tears. You sit up in bed, now wide awake. Months have passed, but you know the sound of his voice when he's doing everything he can to keep himself together. Despite the time spent apart you still pick up on his little cues.

“Hongjoong?” you say, already getting you up to get dressed. A moment passes before he speaks again.

“Please. You’re the only one that can save him.”

“I’m on my way.” You end the call before he can say anything else. You’re dressed and out the door without a second thought, snatching your keys from the table as you race out the front door.

You thank whatever is having mercy on you as you drive for not giving you a single red light. The drive to the house is still ingrained in your mind as you speed through the empty streets, going far faster than you should be. The house looks the same as you pull into the driveway. The longing you normally shove away comes back to bite you as you stare at the house. You can still trace the floor plan in your head. Memories of you hongjoong and your friends seeping through the wall you built up. A big part of you wishes you’d come back under different circumstances. But you know better.

Having the notorious Kim Hongjoong in your life came with a price. Tonight, it means swallowing the feelings you spent so long trying to bury. You shut off your car, walking towards the front door. You don’t bother knocking as you unlock the door with the spare, never having taken it off your keys.

Hongjoong is pacing the foyer as you open the door. He turns to look at you. You do your best not to comment on how exhausted he looks. His disheveled appearance makes your worry grow as you step into the house.

“Y/n,” he says, both shocked and relieved that you showed up. Despite the urge to stop and talk to him, you push it back. There will be time to talk later.

“Where is he?” you ask as you close the door.

“Yeosang has him,” he says quickly. You walk straight towards the infirmary, not bothering to wait for Hongjoong. He follows you wordlessly, not surprised that you don’t spare him a second glance at a time like this. It’s why he called you after all.

You throw open the door of the makeshift infirmary to be greeted by Wooyoung on the table and Yeosang covered in far too much blood. Yeosang glances up briefly, before doing a double take. A look of relief flooding his features at the sight of you.

“y/n?” he asks, voice muffled slightly through his mask. You step into the room with Hongjoong hot on your heels.

“Fill me in. How is he?” you ask as you make your way towards the table.

“He’s barely hanging in there, Hwa hyung helped me clamp everything off, but he doesn’t-” Yeosang chokes back his words, giving you a watery look.

You nod at him, starting to roll your sleeves farther up your arm.

“Okay. Let’s do this, yeah?” you say softly. Yeosang lets out a ragged breath as he nods. You give him a small smile, before turning towards Hongjoong.

“You, out,” you say firmly. Hongjoong looks shocked as you look between him and the door.

“What? No. I’m staying here.”

You cross your arms in front of you, frowning at him. “No. You aren’t. This isn’t up for debate.”

Hongjoong crosses his arms, wincing slightly, your gaze flicks down to his arm quickly before you look back up. You find hongjoong already staring you down, standing his ground. Yeosang sighs, already knowing what’s coming. The only other person who could rival hongjoong’s commanding nature was you. You’d never been phased by his attitude. While many submit to Hongjoong’s dominating presence, you never wavered. You chose to walk directly into the fire and give it straight back to him. That still stands as you raise an eyebrow at him, your gaze hardening instantly.

“I’ll have Yunho drag you out if I have to,” you threaten, matching Hongjoong’s energy easily.

“He’s busy with San,” Yeosang calls out.

You whip around to look at him. “What happened to San,” you ask, your heart dropping.

Hongjoong shakes his head, he can still pick up on your cues as well. “He’s fine, a bullet to the leg. He’ll be fine,” Hongjoong is quick to ease your worry. Even when arguing he’d do anything to wipe your worries away. You frown turning back to hongjoong as he stares back you, unwilling to budge.

“Dammit Hongjoong just go!” you say.

“I need to make sure he’s okay.”

“And I need to make sure he lives.”

There’s a brief moment of silence as you continue your stare off.

“You can’t ask me to leave. Not when he’s like this,” Hongjoong looks at Wooyoung trying to step forward.

“I’m not. I’m telling you” - you take a step towards him. “I’m not gonna operate on him with you in the room.” Hongjoong’s eyes water as he keeps glancing towards where Wooyoung is. His lip trembling, fear laced into his features.

“Y/n I can’t leave him, he-” Hongjoong chokes on his words. You grab his hand before you think, forcing his attention on you. His gaze snaps towards you, like you’ve pulled him out of his own trance.

“I know, joong. I know. Wooyoung is my family too,” you say softly. Hongjoong looks into your eyes, watching as you blink back your own tears.

“We’ve got him okay? I’m gonna do everything I can to save him, you have my word,” -you squeeze his hand gently, even as your voice wavers- “But I can’t do this with you in here. Please don’t make this harder than it already is.”

His heart squeezes at the sight of your pain. Of course your heart aches as much as his in this moment. How could he forget? After all you were the one to sit and patch them up while you reprimanded them for being so reckless. No matter how upset you were, each and every time they came home battered and bruised, you would wait with your kit in hand, ready to scold them while you did it.

Even now that hasn’t changed. While you may not be scolding him yet, he knows it will come eventually. For now there’s a job to be done in the form of saving Wooyoung. And while many could try he trusts no one but you to get that job done. Hongjoong finally nods, sparing one last glance at Wooyoung before leaving, rushing off to sans room. You wait until the door clicks shut behind him before turning to Yeosang.

“Yeosang, where are we at?” You step towards the table once again, putting your focus on your patient. You grab a mask from the tray, covering your mouth as you stand near the table.

“I’ve counted at least nine rounds in him. I’m working in the stomach now, but he’s already lost so much blood…” he explains, “There’s just too much, he’s bleeding faster than my hands can work.”

You nod, glancing down at where Yeosang works. Your mind is already forming a plan as you scan over Wooyoung’s wounds. You grab gloves from the stand off to the side, pulling them on smoothly.

“We’ll need another person to do this quickly. Where’s Hwa?” You say turning towards the door. Yeosang is about to answer when the man himself enters the room.

“Caught joong on the way out of San’s room. Figured you’d need as many hands as you can get,”he says, pulling on gloves of his own.

“Where do you need me?” He says, pulling on a surgical mask quickly.

“Help me with his chest. Stitch and go,” you direct, already pulling up your own mask. They’re quick to follow your orders. The unspoken trust they have in you is as clear as day. They know just as well as Hongjoong does that you’re the only person for this task.

_________

Hongjoong is sitting in his office. The clock on his desk blinking 4:50 a.m. in angry red lights. He’s beyond tired. His eyes are protesting with him to sleep. But he’ll be damned if he sleeps before he knows if Wooyoung is okay. He shoots up from his desk when the door opens. You walk in, dried blood staining your clothes, looking absolutely exhausted.

“Wooyoung-” he starts, before you’ve fully stepped into the room.

“Is sleeping,” you cut him off quickly. Hongjoong lets out a sigh of relief. You shut the door lightly, continuing towards his desk.

“He’s gonna have a hell of a recovery, but he’s woo. He’ll be okay,” you say.

“And Yeosang?,” he’s quick to add. You wave your hand dismissively.

“Staying in Woo’s room with the promise to at least lay down,” you start to explain. Hongjoong sags against his desk slightly, looking at you in awe.

“Already sent Hwa off to bed too. Stopped by Sannie’s room and checked his stitches, they’re seamless. Barely will leave a scar, much to his disappointment no doubt,” you explain. You shake your head as the thought of San’s pouting crosses your mind.

“Yunho learned from the best…” he says matter of factly.

“That he did,” You chuckle, leaning against the cushioned chair on the opposite side of Hongjoong’s desk. You groan quietly, rolling your neck as your joints click quietly.

Hoonjoong winces, once again reminded of just how drained you look.

“Listen y/n, I’m sorry- I know it was late when I called and-” you look up, also taking in Hongjoong’s appearance. You squint at his arm, remembering how he winced earlier in the infirmary.

“Roll up your sleeve,” you cut him off. He pauses, giving you a look.

“What?,” he glances down towards himself.

“Let me see your arm,” you repeat.

“My arm is fine,” he says, too quickly.

You roll your eyes, raising an eyebrow at him. Of course he’d never want to admit to anyone that he was hurt. But you’re not just anyone.

“Is that why you’re keeping it away from me? You’ve always been one to talk with your hands. but when you were arguing with me in the infirmary you kept it to yourself. But I saw the way it hurt when you crossed your arms, which is exactly how I know you’re lying to me,” you say, eyeing his arm closely.

Before Hongjoong can protest again you lunge forward, gripping his forearm with just enough pressure. He yelps in pain, grabbing your wrist on reflex. You frown, meeting his gaze.

“Roll up your damn sleeves kim hongjoong or so help me I’ll strangle you myself,” you demand. You merely raise an eyebrow, challenging him to ignore you. But of course he knows better.

He grumbles quietly as he sheepishly rolls up his sleeve, showing you the messy bloody bandage, haphazardly wrapped around his forearm. You can already tell from the color, that the large cut is deeper and will need more than this to heal.

“Fine my ass,” you mutter, gently pulling his arm towards you, “You call this a wrap joong? Did you even disinfect it?” you ask, eyes snapping towards him.

He turns his head, quickly avoiding your gaze. That’s more than enough to answer your question.

“Come on. I’ll make it quick,” you sigh, shaking your head. He quietly follows you around the desk and out the office.

_________

You’re sitting in his bed now, having sent him to change his mess of an outfit before forcing his arm under running water. You both sit against the headboard. His arm rests on the pillow propped over your lap. He watches as you stitch his wound carefully. He lets out a hiss as you pull another stitch through.

“Call it karma,” you say, not even bothering to look up from your work.

“You’re just being mean,” he huffs.

“No, you’re just stubborn,” you retort.

“That’s not fair! So are y- Ow!” he yelps, cutting himself off. You ignore him, setting your tools off to the nightstand.

“That’s the last one. Let me just clean and wrap it,” you say. He doesn’t interrupt as you start to clean his wound gently.

“You know the drill. Redress at least twice a day unless it starts getting gross. Don’t put weight on it and don’t even think about trying to itch it,” you order.

“I know, I know,” he says, rolling his eyes. He’s heard this spiel more than enough times.

He watches you quietly. Hongjoong had never thought he’d see you like this again. So attentive in your work. It brings back feelings he knew had never left, no matter how hard he tried to let go. All the words he wants to say are eating away at him. He clears his​​ throat, preparing himself.

“Thank you… by the way. For coming tonight. I know it was late when I called. And I know we haven’t spoken but I-” he shrugs, turning shy once again, “Just- thanks. I really don’t know what we would have done without you,” he finishes softly.

“Lose your lives, that’s what,” you grumble out, keeping your head down. You do your best to blink back the burning in your eyes. The gravity of tonight’s events finally taking its toll.

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” He laughs lightheartedly, shaking his head. There’s a moment of silence, where neither of you moves. You still have a gentle hold on his arm, your head tilted down. It’s only then that he notices you’re sniffling.

“Y/n?” He calls out quietly. You slowly look up at him, tears now running down your cheeks. He’s sits up in shock, at the sight of your tear stained cheeks.

“you promised,” you whisper, voice trembling.

“What?” His brain is going into panic mode, still confused as to why you’re crying. Your grip on him tightens slightly, before you let go, hastily wiping your tears away.

“When I left. You promised to be safe,” you choke out.

Hongjoong feels his heart crack at your words. Memories of your last night together flooding his mind. The fake strength and wavering smiles as you both said your final farewells. Your whispered goodbyes that night haunted him for months, He’d hoped they didn’t do the same to you. Now he knows he’d been wrong.

“y/n-” he wants to explain, to say anything. But you’re quick to cut him off.

“And then you call me tonight and I come to find all of you on the brink of death?,” you laugh, only sounding more broken, “I've seen bad, but this? I mean what the hell even happened hongjoong?.”

His own eyes burn as he takes in your broken state. He blinks back his own tears, letting out a shaky breath.

“We were making a deal over borders. The meeting was set up for tonight. There's a new group trying to climb the ranks fast. They caught wind of tonight's meeting and ambushed us on our way back,” he starts. He waits for you to stop him, to tell him you don’t want to hear it and storm out. He’d give you the out, he would never force you to stay and listen to the problems his lifestyle created. He’d let you leave and never look back if you wanted. But you weren’t that type of person and he knew that. When you give him a small nod, he continues.

“We were armed, but not enough for a turf fight. Wooyoung was at the front. He took most of the first rounds before we were firing back. We were near the car, but even then he was already bleeding so much. He was out before we even pulled onto the road,” he gives you the quick explanation of the night’s events. You let out a shaky breath.

“I was so scared Joong. He's my family. just like you and all the other boys. I know I'm not here anymore, but that doesn't stop me worrying about whether or not you idiots are taking care of yourselves.” you cry out.

Hongjoong has enough sense to pull you closer, tucking you under his arm protectively. He could care less about the stitches in his arm. The need to hold you was far more unbearable. You go willing, resting against his chest as you sniffle into his shirt.

“I know and I'm sorry. I never intended to have you in our mess. when I called you tonight I just didn't know what to do,” he admits quietly, “But I shouldn't have done it, I shouldn't have made you come here like this.” You shake your head, pulling away to look up at him.

“No. You should always call me,” you say, frowning at him.

“And have you worried sick? I won't put you through that sweetheart. I can't be the reason you're crying your eyes out in the middle of the night,” he says softly. He gently cups your cheek, catching the falling tears with the pad of his thumb.

“I'm not asking for your permission. I left to let you keep me safe. Even though it nearly tore me apart, I loved you too much to watch you kill yourself with guilt,” you say, softly grabbing his face. He leans into your touch easily, relaxing as he meets your gaze.

“But now look at you. Killing yourself by not letting me help,” he turns away at your words, feeling shame climb inside of him.

“You've always been prideful in everything you do, but that's just plain stupid. The hongjoong I know, knows better than that,” you turn his face back towards you, forcing him to meet your gaze. “The man I fell in love with would give his life to protect his family. So let me stay and help you make sure that never happens,” you confess softly.

His eyes turn soft at your words, his own tears finally falling. It could only be you to make the darkest part of his soul blossom with love. Your mere presence being all the hope he needed in the world. You, his saving grace and his biggest temptation all at once. He doesn’t think he could resist it even if he tried. He was a greedy man after all, in everything he did. That’s what made him the best in his line of business. So how could he not be selfish and need to have you? Especially after you say you want him too?

“My angel. always been our own personal guardian angel. Don’t know what I ever did to deserve to love you. A light so bright and good. Too fucking good for me and this damn world,” the smile on his face grows with every word. It makes your heart swoon, your watery smile mirroring his.

“My other half, my light, my life, and the only other person I've ever met who's just as stubborn as me,” he says, pressing his forehead to yours. Your laugh is soft as you relax against him.

“Who else is gonna keep you all from the brink of death, hmm? Besides, from what I've heard, Hwa is just one more late night from kicking your ass,” you joke, recalling the conversation you’d had with him earlier.

“Even if he does, I'll have you to patch me up, yeah?” he giggles, pulling you closer.

“Always,” you breathe out.

“I love you. More than anything,” he says softly.

He smiles, peering at you with so much love that for a moment you don’t feel like you’re staring at a notorious gang leader. Instead you just see Kim Hongjoong, the man you fell in love with, the man that makes you feel like you’re floating just by looking at you.

“I love you too,” you say, loving the way his eyes light up at your words. He gives you the biggest smile as he tugs your face back to his, pressing your lips together in the sweetest kiss. All the time you spent apart fades away as he kisses you. Finally breaking your walls and filling his heart with the love he’d been missing.

_________

An afterthought…

“Husband, wife. Breakfast is ready,” you hear a voice utter quietly.

You peek one eye open to see Seonghwa sitting on the bed. He smiles gently at you, reaching out to pet your head.

“Morning sleepy,” he says softly.

You smile, stretching your arms as you sit up, Hongjoong’s arm still holding you as he stirs. Hongjoong groans as he feels you sit up, turning to glare at Hwa through his messy hair.

“Good morning, Gremlin,” Seonghwa says.

“Hwa. I swear to god if the time is anything before noon, I’m gonna shoot you,” Hongjoong says, voice still gruff from sleep. You stifle a giggle as you glance at your phone, seeing the screen read 11a.m. Seonghwa winks at you, moving to leave.

“Can’t shoot me if you’re still in bed Joong,” Seonghwa sing-songs. Hongjoong grumbles, chucking a pillow in the direction of where Hwa stands. The pillow misses completely, landing at his side.

“Love you too Joong. Come eat before the kids devour everything. You know they don’t believe in saving plates,” Seonghwa says before leaving the room.

You turn to look at Hongjoong who still has his eyes closed. You brush your fingers through his hair, smiling down at him.

“Come on Joongie, I know you’ll be grumpy the rest of the day if you don’t eat,” you say.

“Five more minutes, let me enjoy you before the others pester you” he says, tugging you back down with him. You laugh, letting him rest on top of you.

“Don’t worry. Even then, I’ll always find my way back to you,” You say. Kissing the top of his head. He only hums, pulling you closer to him.

“I’m glad you’re here, welcome home my love,” he says, his voice slowing as he drifts back to sleep. The grin on your face only grows, warmth filling your heart at the thought.

You are home. And there’s nowhere else you’d rather be.

[silverzoomies]

Imagine quickie rails u so good u squirt but you’re low key embarrassed bc that’s never happened before but he talks you through it so sweetly and so hornily bc he obviously finds it the hottest thing in the world and he’s kinda obsessed with the fact that you just did that bc of him

…..yeah I need to know what he’s like talking you through it …….

anon, i'm so sorry. i dunno if this is what you were expecting. but i went a little off the rails. i haven't actually sat down and written anything in fifty gajillion years. apologies in advance if i'm super duper rusty. you're a doll, by the way. thanks for the inspiration !! this ask had me red in the face all over again !! 🤍 here's a short drabble for ya 🤍🤍🤍

In the boring emptiness of some secret, government research facility, soft squeals call out with ecstasy.

Hold that thought.

Aren’t you supposed to be on patrol?

🤍

Since the OG X-Men were busy with more important endeavors (another fancy gala. Huge snore fest), Xavier took it upon himself to recruit some newbie trainees. He sent three of them to a top secret facility. Super below radar. The building sat far away from the bustle of society, hidden at an off-the-record base.

It’s around one AM when Quicksilver himself finally crashes your boring, patrol party. He zips through the entire building, scouting the area; before checking in on the trainees. After sending the other two off on their twenty minute breaks, he soon finds you.

A newbie he’s far more acquainted with. In more ways than one.

But not as many as he’d like.

You look bored as hell sitting there by yourself, swirling in a swivel chair. A series of CCTV screens flicker before you. But you barely pay them any attention. Keeping your head down, clipboard on your lap; you doodle all over a security protocol sheet. Your legs kick in a childlike way.

Your first, official mission is the most lame of X-Men operations. But even despite that, you appear to be in high spirits. Peter’s almost jealous. The first time he joined up with the team, all he got out of it was a lousy, broken leg.

Anyway, you’re cute and all. But…don’t you have a job to do, you slacker?

Peter leans against the doorway, his hands nestled in the pockets of his silver, bomber jacket. Beady eyes watch you through the lenses of his goggles. His earphones hang around his neck. A quiet jam resonates from them. But you're so mesmerized by your doodling, you don't even notice.

In a flash, Peter makes his presence known. Big hands grab your shoulders hard. He leans in to whisper sternly in your ear. His voice vibrates, robust and quaking in an attempt to spook you.

“GOTCHA! Annnnnnnd, yer dead, kid! Mwahahaha!”

You swivel around in an instant. Hopping from your seat, you raise your hands in defense. Jeez! Peter's caught off guard by how quickly you react. Blinding beams of golden light burst from your palms. The same glow floods your eyes. You hurl scorching hot rays in Peter's direction.

Well…shit.

Thanks to Xavier's mad training skills, Peter's a little faster than light nowadays. And he's ultra lucky for it. Had you raised your hands and gone pew pew pew so many years ago - he probably would've charred to a crisp right then and there. 

“Damn! You got some killer aim! That was a close call.” He whistles. Peter gawks at the holes seared into the wall, straight through some ruined blueprints. A smirk plays on his lips. He gestures at the damage with a thumb, “Eh, they probably got backups ‘a those lyin’ around, right?”

Your only response is an affectionate eye roll. But Peter notes the curl at the corner of your mouth as you try not to smile. 

Screw it. You're pretty fun. Why doesn't he hang with you for a bit? He's probably got some time to kill. At least before Chuck realizes the speedster isn't dressed to the nines, bored out of his mind at the gala.

The two of you goof off for a few minutes. As you doodle, Peter looms over your seat. Watching the CCTV screens with a ready eye, he teases you about your lack of focus on the job. You're just such a supreme newbie, he can't help it.

To which you respond with a counterpoint - isn't he the reigning champion of getting sidetracked?

Touché, little newbie. Touché.

Boredom quickly makes him antsy. And being antsy has Peter's brain reaching for any stimulation he can find. Pacing the room, Peter casts subtle glances at your figure in tactical clothing. Hot damn. Black really does highlight your most bodacious assets.

Amidst casual conversation, Peter shamelessly flirts with you. And when you flirt back, he isn’t all that fazed. The two of you are always making saucy passes at one another. Horny topics of discussion happen more often than they should. You once poured your heart out for twenty minutes, complaining that you couldn’t squirt when you got off. Part of him took this confession as a challenge.

Peter never forgot how sexually charged the energy of that night was.

Or…maybe it wasn’t? Maybe you just wanted to vent to someone who would listen. Yeah. He’s probably uber delusional. That ‘energy’ might’ve come from the sunbeams radiating in your genes.

Sure. Nothing sexual.

But if that’s the case, why else are you giving him bedroom eyes - if not ‘cuz you really wanna bone?

Expelling a bland sigh, Peter leans back against the console where the CCTV screens are. He bounces a random ball he swiped from a researcher’s desk. Flirtatious teasing continues back and forth, remaining casual.

Until Peter makes a needlessly suggestive comment.

“I’m just sayin’. Picture this, ‘kay? You ‘n me, goin’ at it like there’s no tomorrow. Pretty sure I’d get you off in under, say, three minutes er less. That’s not a promise, it’s a fact.”

Throwing you a sly look, Peter smirks payfully. He bounces the ball again.

“Pshh. Not fast enough.” You mumble.

Peter’s dark gaze leers at you from under his brows.

Oh. Oh no, you didn't just...

His eyes fire across each CCTV screen, double checking for any unwanted visitors. All clear, it’s go time. Moving swiftly, he props you up on a nearby desk. At record speed - before you can begin to comprehend his impossibly fast actions - he crams six inches of girthy, speedster cock inside you. All without any warning.

In hindsight, maybe he shouldn’t have been so impulsive. But in the microsecond it took him to move your body and pull your pants off, at the very least; he had the courtesy to prep you with his fingers. And now, you’re coming undone as he jackhammers your cunt. Peter rolls into you in a blur of silver motion. Your walls clench perfectly over his cock.

You protest through shallow moans, “W-Wait! Oh my g-...too fast, Peter! Too fast!”

The tips of his fingers circle your clit, the vibrations shattering your moans. Wrapping your legs around his waist, you bring him closer. Peter shivers as your pussy squeezes him so tight. It’s an outrageously awesome sensation that drives him to drill his dick deeper. Tilting forward, he groans, his lips grazing yours.

“Y’think I can make you squirt like this?” He chuckles, his throat bobbing as he swallows down a moan.

You shake your head wildly, whimpering the softest, “Noooooo! I told you already, I cannnnn’t!”

“Huh? What’s that, cutie? Aw. Too bad. ‘Cuz I’m not gunna slow down ‘til you do.” Peter teases, looking over his shoulder at the CCTV screens. He smirks crookedly, “Better be quick. Yer teammates’re gunna be back soon.”

You tip your head back as you whine again. Peter ruts into you so inexplicably fast, his pace renders your lungs useless. His fingers keep torturing your clit, guiding your pearl in a whirring dance of speedy buzzes. You shudder, clawing into his arms as your hips move on instinct. 

Speeding the rhythm of his thrusts, Peter furrows his brows. His cock pulses when he watches your tits bounce in your shirt. He bites his lip to stifle a whimper. Below him, you try to call his name. But his powerful movements rupture your pretty voice. “Hell yeah, gorgeous. That’s it. Don’t hold back, ‘kay? Just let it happen. Gunna cum, pretty girl? C’mon, ya gotta cum for me. You can do it. C’mon.” He begs, his tone a little closer to a whine.

Not even two minutes into sexing you up, he has you gushing a spritz of luscious heat. Score. He'll be thinking about this sexy success for weeks. The corners of your eyes leak hot tears, as a rapturous orgasm overtakes you. The entire, lower half of your body tightens, muscles clenching. Your pussy pops with a juicy burst. Leaking down your thighs and ass, your slick coats his twitchy cock.

He kisses you, his breath burning hot, “Doin’ so good, princess. So good for me. Was that fast enough for you? Hmm? Oh, fuck. I'm sorry, baby, I'm sorry, I'm sorry-”

Pulling his soaked length free, he showers your tummy in virile, white jets. Leaning over you, Peter laughs again, exhaling a long sigh of elation. His lips capture yours, drinking in your kisses for a few beats. He feels his heart twist with satisfaction. All at the awesome notion that he drove you to such an intimate, breaking point.

“How’s that for a quickie?” He teases with a cheeky grin, winking down at you.

Your blinky eyes gaze over his shoulder, looking somewhat dazed. Beneath him, you stir in place. You’re trying to say something. But you’re so braindead from the totally slammin’ orgasm he gave you, the words won’t happen.

But then, Peter notices the way your glazed hues narrow. That vibrant, golden glow from earlier returns. Sitting up on an elbow, you raise a hand to point at the CCTV screens behind him. Oh, you probably saw someone on cam. Peter’s dark gaze widens. A sudden beam of light pulsates at the tip of your finger.

“NO, NO, NO, NO-” He starts.

Too late. The golden flash fires like a speeding bullet from your fingertip, colliding into the screens. A powerful burst shatters the entire CCTV setup on impact. Electric static buzzes amongst broken glass and fried wires. Peter sighs, looking over his shoulder, then back down at your cute face.

“Babe, seriously? Now’s not the time to be tryin’ interior decorating!” He rolls his eyes, playing ignorant to your shared romp in the research lab, “Hold that thought...aren’t you supposed to be on patrol?”

[theoutlawfaleena]

speaking like friends

könig x gender-neutral reader warnings: it just gets a lil suggestive inspired by this, this and this part 2 of this

The effect you have on König is hardly a secret.

The team knows you as charming, someone with a silver tongue and the means to use it well, but König knows you differently. He knows you as a partner, as a friend, and as someone who gets under his skin in a way that he cannot explain.

You only know this because he confessed it to you.

He had left you to sit with the statement that he had no words to say just what it was that you did to him. Your prying gaze that longed for a clearer description only made him a stuttering mess that quickly apologized for even saying such, and in your shock, you told him goodnight and let him be.

Ever since then, you can't get him off your mind.

Any eye contact that you make with him is broken at once by a turn of his head. You notice the way that his entire body seems to grow taut when you draw near, as if he has taken in a breath and held it. Just a mere second of meeting your eyes will send him stumbling over his words in discussions with the other operators, knuckles turning white as his grip on his gun tightens.

There is little mystery in how he feels about you.

You cannot deny what you feel for him, either.

Being at his side on the field makes your heart race. If you can't be with him physically, you keep up with him over the radio, asking him for his status and smiling to yourself when he answers, voice trembling with an adrenaline high. You had made a silent vow to yourself when you began this way of life that you would never get too involved, never put yourself in a vulnerable position, never open yourself up so much that you couldn't go back.

Time and time again, you'd broken your own rules, all for him.

Since that night, there's been a discernible shift in the energy between you and him. He speaks much less, but he looks at you far more; you feel his gaze when it finds you from across the room, staring past everyone else. Though he cannot seem to find it within himself to talk to you anymore, you find that he's always close by, almost as if he is keeping watch over you in the way he sees fit.

In return, your silver tongue begins to target him specifically.

You refer to it as "payback" for his recent bout of silence towards you. In truth, seeing his eyes widen and his pupils dilate as a result of something you say makes you a bit weak at the knees. Passing him in hallways pulls a smile from you, and sitting next to him always leads to brushing touches and soft apologies that fix nothing, for the contact never fails to come again. The other operators make snide comments about how close you are to him, how the man built like a mountain seems to completely change when you're around, falling all over himself and losing every bit of his composure. They ask you just what in the hell it is that you've done to him.

You wonder about that, yourself. The night things changed left you without an answer.

One evening finds you with the team, and him alone -- as usual. But he isn't far, and it's never hard for you to find him. Stepping outside of the base and into the cool night air leads you to him, his large silhouette seated in the grass and hiding among the parked Humvees.

"You know I don't like seeing you alone, König."

The sound of his name catches him by surprise and he turns to look at you over his shoulder. You smile at him, and he shifts slightly, looking down.

"Don't like all the noise," He murmurs.

"Or you're avoiding me again."

There's a sound like a little laugh from the back of his throat, a humored hm.

"Never," He says. One simple word to elevate your heartbeat.

Quietly, you approach him, and a gentle nudge of your knee upon his shoulder acts as your request to sit with him. He nods wordlessly, and you settle down at his side. The night is dark, and staring out into it seems to go on for miles and miles. You lower your hands to weave your fingers into the grass, and your fingertips ghost against his hand in one fleeting touch. He tenses, mumbling a hasty "tut mir leid." When you lean over and bump his shoulder, he grunts in surprise, turning and finding your eyes.

"When will we speak like friends?"

Rapidly, he blinks.

"... Wh - what?"

"That's what we are, isn't it?" You arch an eyebrow, staring at him. "You tiptoe around me like I'm going to bite you, then say sorry for hardly anything at all. You say you want me around, then avoid me like a damn plague. Surely you know that I don't mind having you around, either."

"I--"

"That... is what we... are, right?"

Friends.

The word sits on the tip of your tongue with the weight of a lie. You cannot bring yourself to speak it again, not when König can't seem to decide if he wants to look at your eyes or your lips. Your heart races behind your ribs, fingers itching to pull the hood away and really look at him.

What is it that you do to him, that which he hadn't the heart to tell you?

"I'm beginning to think you don't like me after all," You say.

"It's not... scheiße, it's not that," He quickly stammers. His muscles are taut, like ropes beginning to wear down and fray. Without a moment's hesitation, you place yourself in front of him, sitting between his legs and staring into blue eyes that fixate on your lips.

"What is it, then?"

Your hand rests on his knee and he takes in a shaking breath. Slowly, you move forward, and he instinctively leans backward, audibly swallowing when you're on hands and knees above him and staring at him expectantly. His elbows rest on the grass beneath him, and he has nowhere else to go. His fingers are twitching, as if every part of him is longing to put hands on the exposed skin of your stomach where you feel your shirt riding up.

"We are... friends," He responds, rattling the word out, doing what you could not. "And I like you. In fact, I like you far more than..." He pauses, swallowing again. "... more than most."

A soft smile pulls up at the corner of your mouth. Despite the chill of the night, your face is hot.

Friends.

You can't bring yourself to even say it.

[randomshyperson]

The List - Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Summary: Wanda shouldn't be sneaking off to your bedroom during the farewell party, and she certainly shouldn't be reading a list of pros and cons about the women you care about. Inspired by ‘Friends’ but make it Ross’s list something actually thoughtful.

Warnings: (+16) Some implications but nothing explicit, very brief angst of relationship going wrong and other lovers, implied friends to lovers, some Yelena x Reader and Vision x Wanda ‘cause they made bad choices, drinking, feelings talks, making out, getting back together, attempt to poetry and a hella of self-insert stuff. | Words: 3.052k.

A/N-> The author should be working on the last two Skam series but is doing midnight one-shots instead (self-criticism). This is short and dramatic and I just wanted something about one of the most popular scenes in Friends. Hope you like it.

General Masterlist | AO3 | Wattpad

--//--

A full tower meant Wanda would be locked in her room. Or at least, that's how it used to be.

Tonight, however, there is a 'Good Voyage' banner in the middle of the room filled with friends and guests, each with their own glass of drink, wanting to celebrate your last night as an Avenger. Technically, this party was also for Wanda. In official terms, she didn't leave the team, but she had a room booked at the Harkness Residence and no belongings in her old room. For the two of you, this was the last night in the tower.

This is why Wanda was wearing a party dress and wasn't locked away from the celebration as she would have been years ago when she was a new recruit and you would sneak out of appointments to keep her company.

She tried to avoid staring so much. Whether it was the lost smiles between you and Yelena, or the lingering hugs and complicit whispers. There was nothing official, yet Natasha had commented that you had been sleeping in Lena's apartment for many weeks and that you were probably the only number saved on her secure cell phone beside the older widow. 

"Would you like me to get you something to drink, Wanda?" Vision's voice made her jump in fright softly. She stared at him, and for a moment couldn't say anything, still getting used to the synthesizer's new appearance. Sometimes she missed the red, it was less intimidating than the full white.

"N-no, Vis. Thank you." She manages to reply when he looks at her curiously towards the silence. Wanda risks diverting her attention to you again, catching the moment when Yelena entwines her arm with yours and rests her head on your shoulder. It is so domestic that she feels sick. How many times has she made the same action? Swallowing dryly, she lets the robot beside her know, "I need some air. "

She left him before he could say anything else; and missed the moment he exchanged a glance with Natasha across the room as if asking her oldest friend for some kind of assistance.

Wanda lied - It wasn't her intention, she thinks, but her feet made their way alone. She went up the elevator in silence, offering nothing but forced smiles to any stray guests she met in the hallways to your old bedroom.

The place was dark and full of boxes ready for the move. All your belongings would be shipped the next day to somewhere in Europe, where you and Yelena continued on the mission to free the rest of the Black Widows, the personal operation that had to be paused for a few months with all the problems the Mad Titan brought to earth. With the victory of the Avengers, who were outnumbered for some time, everything needed to undergo some kind of reform. No one ever wanted to be caught as unawares as when Thanos appeared, and everyone had work to do. Wanda, and her growing magical power, included.

She let her fingers trace through the closed boxes, a red sparkle doing the work of turning on the lights at the entrance. Her mind was haunted by memories of a friendship long forgotten, glimpses of movie nights under those covers, stolen touches at breakfasts, and promises sealed with kisses that would be forgone and impossible to keep when reality fell on your heads.

When Wanda thought of you, she felt a pang in her chest. Missing you hurt her physically, and even with only a few rooms between you now, she felt as if the distance she had placed was much greater. She knows she would start to cry if she kept thinking about it, but there was no avoiding it, not when there were still some of her belongings scattered on your study desk and some of these were polaroids taken by Peter Parker with his intention to keep memories of his adventures with the Avengers.

She traced the photographs of younger versions of herself smiling beside you, but at the current moment, her smile was much more whiny than happy. She took her attention away from the pictures to the computer that turned on as soon as it recognized movement, and let her fingers play with the keys for a second.

"Welcome." FRIDAY's sudden greeting made her eyes widen softly at the fright. "Little witch."

She bit the inside of her cheek at the nickname she hadn't heard in a while. She lifted her finger to touch the colorful stickers you pasted on the device but bumped into the screen and was surprised by the automatic unlock. Her shock at still being allowed to access your belongings had to be forgotten because the open file was much more relevant than overthinking about this.

There were two columns in one document. Her name and Yelena's, below each a list of items. 

The witch swallowed dryly and turned her face to the door. A peek at something that contained her name couldn't hurt...

Wanda.

‘Complicated. 

Complicated friendship.

Complicated everything.’

Frowning, the witch felt something in her stomach sinking. When she read Yelena's first item 'It happened as it was supposed to' she understood that it was a list of pros and cons and she immediately regretted starting to read this at all.

But there was no stopping herself now. She needed to know where this was going.

Wanda.

‘Just because she was my first love, she doesn't have to be my last.’

Sniffling slightly, she looked at the next item on Yelena's list.

‘I don't have to fall in love with her just because everyone else thinks it makes sense.’

Wanda froze. A mixture of conflicting feelings surged through her chest. She wanted to be only upset by how distressed you felt, but she couldn't help the thread of hope arising from hearing your doubts regarding your feelings for Yelena.

Clicking to advance to the next lines, she held her breath without realizing it. The formatting of the list changes, taking away the bullet points for paragraphs that pull and bring the air out of her lungs with each sentence.

“Wanda only wakes up after all the alarms have gone off, I can always watch her sleep because of this.

Yelena never sleeps, and I can never fully relax knowing she's awake and haunted by horrors I can't take away.

They're both shorter than me, and they look adorable when they ask for help picking up something high up. Yelena kicks my ankle if I get too cocky about it. Wanda slides her hand under my clothes and turns me into a complete mess at her mercy, taller or shorter, she’s the boss.”

She pauses in her reading, a smile playing on her lips. She remembers doing the latter so many times. The memories hit her hard, and she had to take a deep breath to push them away and focus on reading again.

“Wanda feels so much that she explodes.

Yelena sometimes thinks the Red Room just left an empty cocoon behind.

I think I'm in the middle.”

Wanda pauses, thinking she hears someone approaching. With her heart racing with guilt and fear of being caught, she checks the door, but it's just her mind playing tricks on her.

“Wanda invades frequently. Privacy is a problem, especially because of her telepathy. I can never keep secrets from her, much less emotions. She gets so close that sometimes it suffocates.”

The witch pauses the reading with tears in her eyes. Guilt and shame burn her chest, and she takes a deep breath. She wonders how old the list is, or if the version of her that you have of it in your head is just the young girl who tentatively stumbled over her own feelings and traumas and hurt you even though she had no intention of doing so. 

She sniffles again and controls the threat of crying before reading the next item.

“Yelena goes so far away that sometimes I wonder if she was ever here at all.”

The witch needs to stop; She has for a moment, the realization that perhaps, you are better off alone. For the way she and Yelena, even if in different ways, hurt you.

And the next part of the list does not make her feel better about this. In cursive letters, and repeated for three more paragraphs, there's the name of the person responsible for putting an end to the fragile relationship that you and she used to have.

“Vision.

Vison.

Vison.

She notices a machine but she cannot notice me. 

She loves a piece of tin, but not the one who finds pairs of socks for her cold feet at night.

She loves the tin-man who signed the agreements that say she should be locked up, and not the person who would fight the whole world for her.”

Wanda sobs, and has to sit up in her chair to keep from falling to the floor. She cries for a moment, all the emotions that seem to have built up since the whole impasse with the Avengers two years ago hitting her all over again. 

You've got it all wrong. If there was a way, she would have gone back and done everything differently. She would have told her stupid young self that you were hurting like her, and that you always noticed her like she pretended not to be doing. 

That forcing yourself to invest in Vision was hurting you like it was hurting her.

Taking a deep breath, Wanda tries to stop crying to finish the list at once. It seems to be ending at least.

There is one note crossed out, and she needs to make a change and remove the underline to read it.

“Yelena never seems as happy with me as she is around Kate Bishop. She always diverts from the subject when I try to bring it up. It reminds me of Wanda when I would ask about him, and she would say they were just friends.

I wonder if I will ever be someone's first choice.”

Wanda shakes her head in indignation. You are her first choice. And her second and third. You are everything. You've always been too precious to risk losing. How can you not know this?

"People say that Yelena and I are very similar while Wanda is my opposite. Peter has been helping me try astrology and everything from Hogwarts houses to numerology.

I liked the phases of the moon where Yelena matches mine while Wanda is the part I am missing.

While Yelena mirrors me, Wanda completes me.

They say that the former is more important: That real, routine life is better with someone who resembles you. Yelena and I like the same pizza and the same movies. We never fight over silly things.

Every time I argue with Wanda I want to make her scream for another reason. She always looked so pretty moaning my name-”

The witch jumps to the next item, her face burning just like under her dress. She clears her throat quietly, fighting other memories that try to rise into her mind and which most likely would take away her ability to read anything.

‘I could write pages and pages of this, but this would be just me, running away from the truth. There is only one answer to your question, Captain Rogers.

Yelena can read me like a book, but Wanda is the only one who can edit the words.

I will meet a hundred people, and none of them will be like Wanda.

You told me that in order to make this decision, I needed to think about something simple. Who would I miss more if I had to lose in life, Wanda or Yelena? It was not so simple.

Because Wanda left me first and I had to get used to the pain day by day. But Yelena will never let me in enough to miss her. Not when she also knows that I'm always looking back, just like a little kid, waiting for the moment when Wanda Maximoff will have a spare piece of attention to trade with me.

I know I can survive missing her in my life because it is a feeling I am used to.

I just don't want to lose her again. I don't want to survive without her, I want to live with her.

I will tell her. 

I will.

I-”

"Having fun, Maximoff?" The witch jumps out of her chair at your sudden arrival. It is a mixture of shock and embarrassment, she cringes like a child being caught and her face burns even more at your relaxed posture, waist resting on the doorstop and arms crossed. Her favorite smile on your face.

"I-I was just..."

"Snooping." You complete, but you don't sound the least bit angry, just provocative. You uncross your arms to reach for the cell phone in your jeans pocket. "Yeah, I got a notification of a small change in my drive. I guess I was right about the boundaries issues topic..."

Wanda steps forward, almost desperate. "I didn't mean to! I-I accidentally clicked on it, and when I saw my name, I couldn't help it-"

You chuckle, nodding in her direction as a sign that it was okay. "Relax, I'm just teasing you." 

Wanda chuckles nervously, aware that you were getting too close. She holds her breath but you only lean toward the computer, humming in confirmation that it is indeed your list that she has spent the last few moments reading before turning your attention back to her.

"I'm really sorry." She murmurs embarrassedly, looking down at her own feet. Wanda really expects you to yell at her, to be angry at her for breaking your privacy and invading what is clearly a very personal vent. But you just stare back at her, and completely tear her apart as you take one of your hands to her hair, gentle fingers tracing the loose strands behind the nape of her neck to the front.

"I didn't get a chance to say that red really suits you." 

"T-thanks." She risks a look into your eyes, and her heart explodes at the intensity she finds.

"Actually I didn't get a chance to say much at all." You continue, a small smile appearing on your lips. Wanda tries to focus on your next words and not on your hand playing with her hair. "You ran out of the party. I was planning to ask you to dance."

She swallows dryly, trying to calm her own nerves. She's tired of games; they've hurt you both enough.

"I don't understand your list." She retorts in an affected voice, her gaze in a mix of hope and fear. "You say...you say you're going to tell me, but you're leaving-"

"We both are." You retort as if you are reminding her. Without stopping smiling, you use your free hand to search for something in your coat pocket. "It turns out, Nat and Lena really do have a lot of time catching up to do. And well, I know you do magic portals now, but I still trust planes."

In your hand are first-class tickets to Central-Southeastern Europe. You let Wanda hold them, appraising the item in shock as you clarify:

"Agatha mentioned that you need to find out more about yourself, and I thought, there is no better place than where it all began. Unfortunately, Sokovia no longer has an airport, but we can stay around. And get a car..."

She looks at you with watery eyes. "And y-you want to come with me?"

You smile at her so tenderly that she would have burst into tears if she weren't already doing so. Your hands find her cheeks, gently wiping away her tears as you clarify:

"Isn't it clear yet, Wanda? I'll go wherever you want me."

Something mixed between a sob and a relieved laugh escapes her; You have a very similar expression, and as you wipe away her tears, you kiss her cheeks and the tip of her nose to reassure her.

Wanda sighs, closing her eyes for a moment. 

"Detka, I'm so scared." She confesses in a whisper. "We've hurt each other before. I don't want to ever hurt you again."

You nod and wait for her to stare you in the eyes. 

"There is no such thing as a perfect relationship, Wands." Your tone, while firm, is also tender. "And we're both complicated. But I want this, us because I'd rather work on our differences than start anything new with someone else. You're the only one I want."

She stares at you trying to absorb all the sincerity in her words. For a second, even with the list, she takes a chance:

"But Yelena?"

You give her a small smile, holding her hand in yours at the height of your heart. "She could tell even before me that there was no one but you. Lena will continue the mission with Natasha, as it should be. And I will stay with you if you choose me."

She laughs tearfully, nodding. "Of course, I choose you, idiot." She assures. "I love you." And Wanda repeats and repeats until you kiss her.

It seems ridiculous that Wanda has gone without it you when your lips meet again. The worst part is that she only realizes how much she has missed you once you touch her again. The needy sounds that escape her are almost desperate, full of passion, and tugging at your clothes, trying to bring you closer than is humanly possible.

You give her everything. Your mouth, your tongue, your hands. She is pressed against the table, kissing you as if she wants to make up for all the time wasted in a single night.

There is a ripping of clothes, her dress will end up in a pile on the floor. No hesitation: Wanda gives you the green light as she snaps your belt off. There’s a promise of a future together that she can’t wait to live in the way you worship every corner of her body that night.

[nrdmssgs]

Spiraling

Masterlist Part 2 (in case you need a happy ending)

Very mild angst Pairing: Ghost x you TW: no Summary: Ghost understanding, something very important just slipped through his fingers. AN: this is kinda sorta songfic. Here is the inspiration.

The worst part is that Ghost can't even get mad at you. He was never there to show you true love, you were never there to break his heart. There were no promises, no occasional touches or stolen glances. There were these two evenings: each beautiful in its own way.

On the first one, the squad was resting after a successful operation, waiting for a transport to pick them up. A large group of soldiers gathered around you and Ghost came closer to find out what was going on. The southern sky was strewn with large, bright stars. Not a single cloud hovered over the desert, so it was a perfect opportunity for stargazing. Time to time you raised you hand up, searched for a next constellation and did this strange, unpractical move: you pointed on the constellation, drawing an invisible line between stars and then pretended to grab it. Ghosts mind blurted out some jibe about you obviously being too short to grab a star. So he sat on the ground behind others, to say it out loud, when you pause. Only to find himself alone on the ground, staring up at the sky. "Lieutenant? Ghost?" Your voice brought him back to reality. "Our heli is here. Are you alright?" He nodded and was ready to stand up, when you offered him a hand. He reached out automatically and you grabbed his hand. It was almost pointless since you were much smaller, but still you helped him. Grabbing his hand like one of those stars, you'd never reach.

The other evening happened much later. Ghost could say, he got used to seeing you around. There were still no chats outside work topics, no interactions at all as soon as any of you was off to home. It was the way it was supposed to be: clean and professional. Ghost was in his office tending to paper work, when you knocked and entered. "Lieutenant, I wanted to let you know, I'll be spending the next few months away from this base. Volunteered to train international corps." Ghost nodded, not even raising eyes from his papers. "There is one more thing. I like working with you and plan to keep it on. But lately I've felt distracted, when you are around." His hand froze, not even finishing signing the last form. That sounded not good. So he finally looked up on you, only to find your absolutely peaceful smiling face. "Don't worry, I won't let it grow. We are all adults here, and I am planing to work here, not search for any kind of informal bonds. That's why I decided to take this job. Just wanted to be honest, ok?" Ghost nodded again, much slower this time. "Ok. Now go show them, how it's done." You left his office, and he tried to remember, where was he. But after a few attempts he understood, it was utterly pointless: his mind was racing somewhere. And that rush felt easy, even joyful. It was a good thing, you two were colleagues and there always was this formal barrier between you. But it was also a good thing, you were so mature and honest. It made him feel safe. His borders were secure. Somewhere deep inside, he was smiling.

Two evenings, they weren't even filled with anything special. So why the hell he felt as if a white-hot sting was deepening into his stomach, when in a few months he got a short message from you.

"The problem is dealt with. I'll be staying here for a little longer. Staying frosty."

You come back in almost half a year. Calm, polite, effective and professional - Ghost couldn't wish for a better squadmate. He finds himself observing you from afar. In theory, he must like, what he not even sees, but rather feels: you are at peace, you are over this. But a traitorous voice somewhere deep inside chuckles, "That easy, really? A few months to erase me, a few more - to consolidate success - and that's it?"

"It's good to be back, Lieutenant." You give his hand a firm, short shake.

"You aren't back," hisses something from the back of his mind, but Ghost only scoffs at it.

Too little too late, Riley.

That day, he finishes paperwork earlier and locks in his room. He sinks on his bed and watches evening lights slowly crawling across the ceiling. Simons' mind begins to spiral as he lays there, heartbroken over a love that never even happened.

[averagewriter-inthedark]

Me & The Devil P.2 🌘| Harry Potter Imagine

takes place during HBP & DH1

Part 1 here | HP Masterlist

Characters & Pairings: Black!Sister reader x HP characters (platonic), Severus Snape x reader (platonic/semi-romantic)

Content Warnings: death, violence, profanity, angst, slight cannon divergence, mentions of torture and blood, set during the book timeline of the 1990s | female!reader (she/her) | wc: 6k

Requested yes/no

Premise: A dark storm is brewing over Hogwarts. The return of Voldemort and his Death Eaters spark unease in the Golden Trio. For a certain member of the Noble House of Black, she takes on a new role of double agent with the partnership between her and a certain Hogwarts professor. Will she survive the ordeal and get her freedom when it's all over? The odds are slim when acting as a loyal servant and hunted by aurors.

Note: Snape is 37 in this like the books and reader is 31. Part 3 will be the final chapter to this miniseries but I have no idea when it will be posted. Hope y’all like this one! Also near the end the final scenes are inspired by Wanda in MOM so yeah that belongs to Marvel

——————-

Months went by. Waiting. Scheming. Y/n felt her mind deteriorate by the day. Between Bellatrix’s constant complaints of Draco’s failures and Narcissa’s moping, Y/n spent most of her time in the attic of Malfoy Manor. Hidden away to perfect her spells and create new ones. She even managed to successfully become an animagus. 

A black crow.

How fitting.

At times Y/n found herself sitting in front of the window. Especially when it rained. The lightning in the distance, the crisp air filling the attic walls. Lost in her thoughts, Y/n would caress the silver jewelry laid on her left ring finger. 

Once a month she’d receive a letter from Severus, unbeknownst to the others, detailing Draco’s attempts and all the times Snape’s had to cover for him. As part of their deal to keep quiet of the others' disloyalty and motives behind actions, Snape agreed to update her on Draco and keep the Order off Y/n’s trail. For Y/n’s side of the bargain, she agreed to deflect suspicion on him from their fellow Death Eaters. Specifically her sisters.

And what better way to do that then in holy matrimony.

“You want to get married?” she scoffed, placing her wine glass on the coaster. Having left with her sisters following the unbreakable vow, Y/n returned later that night after Severus sent an owl. Sitting in the same leather chair from before, “You humor me.”

“I can assure you I am everything but comical, Y/n,” he drawled, standing by the fireplace. The sound of wood crackling filled the room. “This is not an arrangement I suggest lightly.”

Seeing how serious he was, Y/n’s demeanor changed. “Wow,” her tone lowered, finger raising to tap her lips. Unable to read her mind since she was a gifted Occulmens like himself, Snape was left to wonder what Y/n was thinking. Truth be told the woman was more impressed than shocked by his proposal. “I think that’s the first time I’ve been rendered speechless, Severus.” Standing, Y/n grabbed her glass and approached the man. “You truly believe this would work? Proposing a marriage between us….” she trailed, glancing at the fire briefly, “is intriguing. Tell me more.”

Snape’s expression remained the same, “It is simply a matter of convenience.” No need to sugar coat it, “We want to keep our secrets hidden. So long as you can assure your sisters stay off my back…..I’ll make sure the Order stays off yours. We play the part of a happy married couple when operating business with the Dark Lord, and I will do everything in my power to get your freedom when this all ends.” 

Y/n liked what she was hearing. The more she thought about it, the more engrossed she became. Marrying Snape wasn’t ideal--as the concept itself she did not care for--but Y/n could not deny the idea made her curious. Plus Severus was handsome, a talented wizard, and obviously, he knew her motives for following Voldemort. What her end goal was. She needed to keep him close. 

“I think I’ll find playing the part of a smitten wife will be rather easy,” she rasped, stepping closer to Snape so their chests were nearly touching. Walking her fingertips up the length of his arm, Y/n leaned closer to Snape which ignited a sharp breath from the man. She smelled of expensive perfume. Their closeness allowed him to see how her eyes turned from their usual coldness to something more lustful. Almost sinister. His reaction made her smirk, “Confident you can manage the same….husband?” 

Now, almost a year later, the two managed to successfully keep their union hidden from the Order. All while any suspicion the Death Eaters had of Snape seemed to disappear. Bellatrix, initially furious and doubtful of their ‘relationship’, soon began to trust him. Still, the witch grimaced each time the pair greeted the other with an affectionate kiss. Or when Y/n took claim to Snape’s lap during meetings. An action which surprised the man himself in the beginning.

Each letter Severus sent was met with one in return, however Y/n was careful to only send her owl in the late hours of the night. When her family was sound asleep. Signing the parchment with only her initials, but instead of B as the ending initial it was S. She’d never admit it aloud, but Y/n felt a sense of comfort with Severus. There was an overwhelming amount of hate in her heart, but the pinch of sanity left in her soul connected to him. Which is not a surprise. He is, of course, the only person who can relate to her. 

Neither would call it love. Y/n possessed no love. And Snape lost his when Lily died. They had mutual respect and care for each other as their partnership grew. Finding the other’s presence calm despite the world around them going to shit. 

The news of Draco’s success in connecting the two cabinets came from Bellatrix’s glee, the woman bursting into the attic with a loud, “It’s time, sister.” Reluctantly, Y/n trailed Bellatrix to Knockturn Alley, where they met several of their associates. 

Dark clouds painted the sky. Thunder rumbling. It set the tone of the evening. 

Y/n stayed stoic the entire journey. Hating every minute, yet doing nothing to escape. Where could she even go? The mark on her arm prevented her from doing so. Until Voldemort was defeated, the only way for her to stay alive was to continue the act of a loyal servant. 

Draco was gone when the group breached the cabinet in a cloud of black smoke. The boy rushed to find Dumbledore and complete his task. He found the man on the observation deck of the Astronomy Tower. Unaware his longtime rival, Harry Potter, was below him, watching the scene play out. 

The others arrived to witness Draco complete the task, however, in the end Snape was the one to administer the curse. And so the greatest wizard in history fell from the sky. 

Y/n kept her eyes on Severus the entire time. Watching his reaction. When he went through with the unthinkable, Y/n wasted no time in rushing to his side. Cupping his face, she noticed the dissociative expression Snape wore. Mind processing what he had done. “Severus,” he didn’t respond, making her shake his shoulders, “look at me.” Finally he meets her eye and the woman matches his anxious demeanor. “We have to go. Now.” 

Clutching his robe, the two push Draco in the direction of the Death Eaters. Bellatrix’s maniacal laughter rings as she shoots a spell into the sky to bring forth the Dark Lord’s symbol in the clouds. Not long after the tower was surrounded by members of the Order, ensuing a battle between the groups. Y/n tried to avoid dueling as much as possible. Not wanting to harm anyone, especially the kids in the school. 

Cutting the corner after dodging a spell from her niece Nymphadora, Y/n spotted the wretched Fenrir Greyback attacking a man she didn’t recognize. Judging by the wild red hair he possessed, she assumed it was a Weasley. Greyback’s back was toward her, unaware she stood behind him. From the looks of it, the redhead was losing the fight. 

Not sure what came over her at that moment, Y/n raised her wand and shouted, “Stupefy!” The werewolf was flung into the wall behind him, falling unconscious. 

“Bill!” a voice screamed, Y/n turning to see a young woman running to where the Weasley laid. Bloodied and knocked out. Fluer dropped beside him, sobbing at the state of her fiance. She glanced up to see Y/n, immediately becoming frozen with fear while pleading with her to help. “Y-you--H-he’s been--.”

Cursing to herself, Y/n approached the two. “He wasn’t bit,” adjusting her dress skirt, she grabbed the cuffs of Bill’s jacket and gestured for Fluer to help. Together they moved him to a concealed area away from the battle. “He’s been scratched.” Having studied werewolves while in school, the woman was well educated on the subject. Muttering a healing spell, Y/n attempted to at least stop the bleeding, however, she knew the extent of his injuries were serious. “Nevertheless, the wounds are cursed. They’ll scar.” 

Fluer watched her carefully, “W-why are you helping us?” Y/n gave no answer, instead casting a final healing spell before standing up to leave. In her peripheral vision, she noticed movement from Greyback, and sent a second stun his way to keep him unconscious. She always hated him, so it gave her great pleasure to pu thim down. 

Truth be told Y/n didn’t know why she helped the injured Weasley. It would have best suited her to get the hell out of there and let whatever outcome happen. Whether that be Greyback killing the man or Bill successfully overpowering the werewolf. But instead, she cursed her associate. Saving the life of ‘the enemy’. 

Several agonizing minutes passed before Y/n managed to escape the tower. At Snape’s order, she ran deep into the forest until she was far enough to apparate. Back at the manor she was immediately questioned by her sister.

“Is Draco okay,” Narcissa grabbed Y/n’s wrist to stop her from escaping to the attic. Eyes glossy with tears, “Did he--.”

“Your son is fine, Narcissa,” she roughly pulled away. “You have my husband to thank for that--he finished the job.” There was immediate relief from Narcissa, exhaling the breath she had been holding. Y/n went straight to the liquor cabinent, taking a glass and pouring a generous amount before downing it. She then refilled the glass, offering it to her sister without a word. Once Narcissa took it Y/n kept the bottle for herself, saying nothing more as she made her way to the attic. 

It wasn’t long before the others arrived. Y/n heard Narcissa’s cry of relief upon seeing Draco. Bellatrix was busy scolding Greyback--something that brought a smile to her face. Other murmurs were made out, but hard to identify with all the noise. Moments later she heard the fast approaching sound of footsteps nearing her door. Jolting from her bed with her wand raised at whoever was about to breach it. Only when it was revealed to be Severus did Y/n lower her guard, rolling her eyes, “What have I told you about--.”

Snape slammed the door shut, muttering a silencing charm which caused Y/n to raise her brow. “We need to talk.” Her guarded expression returned, but Snape beat her before she could question him. “I know you stunned the werewolf to save Weasley.” All movement from the woment seized, frozen in shock.

“How do you know--.”

“I saw you with Miss. Delacour, Y/n,” Snape peers down at her with visible frustration. “Why would you risk such a thing? If you had been caught--.”

“But I wasn’t, Severus,” she interrupts, eyes flicking to the door in fear someone was listening, but then she remembered the spell he cast. “I was careful. You should know better than to underestimate me. And to answer your question….” she turned away from him, hands on her hips as she turned her focus to the woods beyond her window. “I don’t know what possessed me to do what I did--It just happened. Maybe it’s the fact the Weasley’s are distant family. Or because I fucking hate Greyback.” She throws her hands up in defeat,  “Or I want the Order to have all its members to better their chances at winning this damn war. Maybe…” her hands fall back to her sides, “deep down there’s some humanity left in me.” The words were so low it was barely a whisper. Y/n shook her head, the speck of softness replaced with disinterest. 

“Whatever it was,” turning back to him, Y/n narrows her eyes in warning. “It’s no longer our concern. Dumbledore is dead, you killed him.” footsteps echo against the wood as she approaches Snape, noticing his expression change at the mention of the headmaster. “He will be plotting his next move. We need to remain focused--I expect his attention will be on us more now given the circumstances.” 

Snape knows she’s right. Killing Albus only shined a spotlight on him, and in turn on Y/n. He was now labeled public enemy #1 in the eyes of the Order. Voldemort himself will likely turn to Snape. They will have to up their game, continuing the act of a happy couple. Well happy as one can be in the middle of a war. 

That summer was endless torture following the Headmaster’s death. Y/n not only had to deal with Voldemort growing stronger, but also the return of Lucius from Azkaban. It did bring the witch great joy to see the dark circles beneath his eyes and matted hair. One year in prison did a number on him. 

Lucky for Lucius it was only one year. Had it been 15 like Y/n, he’d surely gone mad. Thankfully the two rarely saw each other. Not long after his release following Dumbledore’s death Y/n moved into Severus' home. Only returning to the mansion when necessary. 

At every Death Eater meeting Y/n had to fight yawning with how bored she was, keeping her expression blank even when addressed by Voldermort from time to time. The man wasn’t blind. Well aware the youngest Black was not as forthcoming with her praises to him like Bellatrix. Never voicing her opinions, while also keeping any objections to herself like a smart person would do. He never fully trusted her. Even though she was married to one of his most trusted advisors, something in the back of his mind told Voldemort she’d be the first to turn on him. Without proof, Voldemort kept a close eye.

The meeting tonight was just like any other. Seated at the massive dining table in Malfoy Manor, Voldemort at the head while the Black’s and Malfoy’s flanked to the right. Y/n seated beside Draco, far from her sisters. Very telling of her attitude towards them.

Severus was the last to arrive, dark cloak tailing behind him. His entrance caught everyone’s attention, while his was on his colleague hanging in the air. Muggle studies professor Charity Burbage. The wounds on her body indicated she had been subjected to torture. 

“Severus,” Voldemort greeted, “I was beginning to worry you had lost your way. Come. We’ve saved you a seat.” The headmaster took claim to the only free chair at the table, bidding a look to his wife, to which she slightly shook her head. Silently saying, “I had no part in this.”

Voldemort then said, “Do you bring news, I trust?”

“It will happen Saturday next, at nightfall.”

“I’ve heard differently, my Lord,” Yaxley interrupted at the other end of the table, then proceeds to say he believes Harry will be moved at the end of the month. The 30th of July. The day before his 17th birthday.

“This is a false trail,” Snape insists. “The auror office no longer plays any part in the protection of Harry Potter. “Those closest to him believe we have infiltrated the ministry.”

The Death Eater seated beside Y/n laughed, “Well, they got that right aren’t they.” Several at the table joined in the laughter. The youngest Black’s expression was tight, plastered with annoyance. 

“What’s say you, Pius?” Voldemort addresses the man seated at the opposite head of the table. 

Nagini curled herself next to the chair as he answered, “One hears many things, my Lord. Whether the truth is among them is not clear.” Voldemort chuckles.

“Spoken like a true politician. You will, I think, prove most useful, Pius.” The Death Eater appears pleased by the compliment. Voldemort turns back to Snape, “Where will he be taken, the boy?”

“To a safe house. Most likely the home of someone in the Order. I’m told it’s been given every manner of protection possible, once there it will be impractical to attack him.”

Suddenly the conversation is interrupted by Bellatrix. “My Lord, I’d like to volunteer myself for this task.” She leans against the table, voice dropping, “I want to kill the boy.”

“Of course you would,” Y/n thinks to herself, holding back the urge to roll her eyes. Frankly she found her sister to be stupid to ask such a thing. Considering Voldemort mentions his desire to kill Harry Potter everyday. And with the prophecy, there’s no way he’d allow anyone else the opportunity to do the deed. 

In the back, Charity let out a haunting groan, causing Voldermort to shout, “Wormtail! Have I not spoken to you about keeping our guest’s quiet?”

“Yes, my Lord,” the man spoke with urgency. “Right away, my Lord.” As he scurried off, Voldemort returned his attention to Bellatrix. 

“As inspiring as I find your bloodlust, Bellatrix,” the hope was clear in her eyes, disappearing with his next words. “I must be the one to kill Harry Potter.” With that she curled back into her seat, Y/n’s lips raising in a satisfied smirk.

“But,” he rises from his chair, “I face an unfortunate complication.” As much as Y/n wanted to tune out this conversation, the nature of it was hard to dismiss. Especiall when the man walked behind the chairs on her side of the table. Brushing past her sisters before ending beside Lucius. There was satisfaction seeing him visibly afraid of Voldemort. A smirk on her lips when he was to give up his wand, a wizard’s most prized possession.

Her expression shifted when Charity’s brought to the center of the table. Death Eaters laughing at her despair and cringing with disgust at her profession. Y/n moves her gaze to Severus, who’s emotionless to Charity’s pleas. Then when the woman’s killed and her body drops to the table, Y/n lifts her hand to grasp Draco’s wrist. Squeezing it in warning for him to control himself when she sees his distraught state in the corner of her eyes. 

The action surprises the boy. Draco sucking in a breath and forcing himself to relax. Once he does, Y/n removes her touch and waits to be dismissed by Voldemort. As soon as the order is given she’s quick to leave the table, taking Snape’s outstretched hand where he apparates them back home. 

“How do you plan--?” he doesn’t let her finish the question.

“I have it covered.” Moving to his study, he hears her footsteps behind him, Y/n slamming the door shut once they’ve entered. He looked annoyed, “This doesn’t concern you.”

“The hell it does!” she shouted, making him clench his jaw. Ever since the incident at the Astronomy tower the two had been on edge with each other. For one, the Order discovered their marriage causing Y/n to lose her shit. Now she was public enemy #2 in their eyes. Or 3 if you count Voldermort at the top. Her odds of the Order leaving her the fuck alone decreased immensly. 

Second, Snape told her of his and Dumbledore’s arrangement. That the headmaster asked Snape to kill him. A secret Y/n had trouble wrapping her head around and prayed to a higher power no one, especially Bellatrix, found out about. 

Crossing over to him where he stood at his desk, Y/n caught his wrist to make him look at her. “In case you have forgotten, dear husband, we are playing both sides right now. You say you want to protect Harry Potter…just how do you plan to do that during an ambush you helped orchestrate? What the hell are we supposed to do if Harry Potter dies at his hands Saturday next?” Y/n squeezed his wrist tighter, “I’m putting all my trust into Severus Snape. You promised me my freedom when this was all over.” 

“I haven’t forgotten, Y/n,” he removes himself from her grip, “You say you trust me. Do so, and you won’t be let down.”

Y/n didn’t know where it all went wrong. One moment she was flying in the sky, the next she’s being rammed into by Bill Weasley’s Thestral. Pain erupted in her chest, likely from a broken rib and caught herself on the creature's satchel. Her hand is then grabbed by the imposter Harry seated behind Bill, keeping Y/n steady to prevent falling to her death. Using her talent of legitimins, Y/n identifies the imposter as Bill’s fiance Fluer. 

“You’re not Harry Potter,” she whispers, causing Harry (Fluer) to widen her eyes. The accusation was confirmed when Fluer’s voice responded, “How did you know?” Before Y/n could answer, however, the world around her became black. Having been stunned by Bill who realized what was happening behind him.  

Acting fast, Fluer reached with her other hand to further grasp Y/n’s now limp body onto the Thestral. 

“What are you doing?” Bill shouted over the chaos, “She’s one of them!”

“And she saved your life in the Astronomy tower, William!” Fluer screamed back. Using all her might, she hauled Y/n over the bottom half of the creature. Gripping the material of her robes and dress while ducking at the incoming curses around them. 

When they finally made it to the Burrow, the shaky landing caused Fluer to lose her hold. Y/n fell to the ground, still unconscious. Bruises were sure to form on her body. Bill leaped off the Thestral, helped Fluer off and rushed to Y/n. After confirming she was alive by pressing his fingers to her pulse, the oldest Weasley took the death eater into his arms and followed Fluer into the house. But not before telling Fluer to take her wand which had been discarded into a ditch.

“Wait here,” he said, placing Y/n in the care of Fluer by setting her on a bench outside the door, Bill entered to find the others gathered around an injured George. After the shock wore off of his brother’s state, Bill announced the death of Mad-eye and departure of Mundungus. Deepening the already intense mood.

“There’s something else,” he hesitated, eyes flickering to find everyone staring at him with unease. They watched Bill exit the house, only to return a second later dragging the last person they ever expected. Gasps rang out, wands drawn in Y/n’s direction. The witch barely conscious but fighting against Bill’s hold. Eventually succumbing to sleep once again due to the pounding in her head. 

With the help of Remus, the two propped Y/n in a chair, casting a spell to bind her hands and legs. “Where’s her wand?” Remus urgently looked around, relieved to see the object in Fluer’s possession. He turned to Bill, “What the hell happened?”

As the oldest Weasley explained, Molly approached the woman, assessing her carefully. Y/n had dirt and grime in her hair. A small cut to her temple. Likely from a rock when she fell from the Threstral. Her breathing was shaky, pained groans escaping her mouth which Molly assumed was from trauma to her chest. Although the others were against it, Molly began performing healing spells on Y/n, “Had it not been for her my son would be dead! I do not care what side she is on--I shall offer the same courtesy.” 

The group was alerted to Y/n’s consciousness twenty minutes later when she groaned. Shifting in the chair, her eyelids fluttered briefly before opening to bright lights. Moaning, Y/n straightened up aware of the audience in front of her, however she did not appear concerned. Even with several wands pointing at her. “Hmmmph,” she blinks a few times, settling her gaze on Remus, “what an unpleasant situation we have here. I hoped to be dead before experiencing this.”

It pained Remus to hear her words. Thinking back to that little girl he’d met on the corner of Diagon Alley with James, perched on Sirius’ hip. That little girl was gone. In her place was a woman with the Devil on her shoulder. “We don’t want to hurt you, Y/n.”

Tilting her head as though she found his statement funny, she replies “Is that supposed to make me feel at ease?” rolling her eyes she adds, “Surely you could’ve come up with something better.”

Remus sighed, realizing it was about to be a long night. “We’re willing to negotiate terms if you provide us with information. A lesser sentence if you will,” he chose his next words carefully, seeing her demenor shift, “so long as you are upfront and answer all of our questions with honesty.” Y/n’s face tightened, no longer humored. Remus felt his stomach lurch, not breaking the intense eye contact she set with him.

“You threaten me--.”

“It’s not a threat--,” he insists but Y/n continues.

“With a cell in Azkaban and expect me to comply? By being a snitch?” she shakes her head, eyes full of fury. “Go to hell, Remus Lupin.”

“It doesn’t have to be this way.”

“Oh?” She grumbles with a glare, “and how else do you suggest it be? I’m not stupid--a tad mad if we want to get technical, but you all have yourselves to blame for that.” Y/n was referring to the Order not taking her in during the First Wizarding War. Sirius warned them of his family and the Death Eaters recruiting her at a young age. Yet no attempt to protect Y/n was initiated. 

The werewolf’s face fell, “Had we known--.”

“Known what?!” She jumped forward in her chair as the dam of pent up resentment and anger broke, making several flinch at the sudden movement. A few wands pointed up but she paid them no mind. “That I’d become a Death Eater against my will? That I’d be forced to use the Cruciatus Curse on the Longbottoms or face my sister’s wrath?” She spat with ferocity. Pupils nearly pitch black it made her appear demonic. “You knew what my family was like! Sirius knew--It’s why he left! And you did nothing to save me.” Leaning back in the chair, Y/n finished with, “Go ahead and kill me. I’m not telling you shit.”

Remus runs a hand through his hair, his patience running thin and stress levels rising. “Y/n, I’m trying to help you here. We’re giving you the opportunity to avoid a lifetime in jail if you help us--help us end this war.” When his efforts are exhausted Remus gestures to the man behind him, “Kingsley has Veritaserum and we will use it if necessary.”  Now this has her smirking, chin raising in challenge. 

“Go ahead,” her voice lowers an octave, sending chills along his arms, “I welcome you to.” Weary of her acceptance, the adult members of the Order all exchange looks before Kingsley approaches. Y/n tilts her head back, watching Kingsley unscrew the vial and pour the tiny amount of liquid onto her tongue. Once it’s entered her stream, the woman cracks her neck and returns her attention to Remus. 

He clasped his hands in his lap, leaning in his chair. “How’d you know about tonight?”

Y/n pretends to think, “I think I saw an advertisement in the Daily Prophet. Yeah,” she nods her head, acting serious. “That was it.” 

Remus’s own head falls to his chest, the others visibly confused. The potion was to make her tell the truth. Pretty much against her will. Thinking it may have not settled in yet, Remus asks another question. “Who told him we were moving Harry?” 

Deciding to play along, Y/n shrugs her shoulders, “Yaxley.” Lie. She held back a chuckle at his confused reaction.

“How did he know?”

“Overheard it.” Lie.

“Where?”

“Diagon Alley I assume.” Lie.

“From who?”

“I don’t know.” Lie.

“But he’s the one who told Voldemort.” Y/n rolled her eyes at that, gesturing to her binded hands.

“Obviously since we’re sitting in this predicament.” She sees the frustration on Remus, as well as the others. Yet, the witch couldn’t help but feel entertained. “Anything else?”

“What’s your relationship to Severus Snape?” 

“He’s my husband,” She didn’t miss the way the Order reacted to the news. Upset but not surprised. No point in lying. They already knew about their marriage from what Snape told her. The truth of why, however, was still a secret. 

“Why did he kill Dumbledore?” Harry stepped forward, drawing her attention to him. Anger was written all over his face. Filled with absolute hatred. Something Y/n had expected when her husband murdered the man he looked up to. 

“You were there, right?” she asked, head tilting with curiosity. “Snape mentioned you’d been below the observatory deck.” Tsking, Y/n surveyed him. She was getting under his skin. “Why do you think he did it?”

“I think he did it to save himself. He was a coward,” Harry saw the way her face tightened. Taking offense to his words. A mere speck of what someone could label as affection or respect to her spouse. 

“Severus Snape is many things,” she sounded sinister, anger seeping off every word. “But a coward is not one of them.”

“Fat lot of good coming from you.” Harry antagonized her. “You hightailed it out of the ministry when Sirius died. He was your own cousin.”

“My cousin who left me a sitting duck for the wolves,” Y/n reminded the boy, temper rising. An indicator with how her voice was strained. “Let’s not forget you all thought he was responsible for betraying your parents. Didn’t even hesitate to believe he was guilty.” That cut them all deep. “And I adored Sirius at one point in life. Much like you, Harry Potter,” she let out a deep sigh, attempting to calm herself, “look at where it got me.” Exhaustion was beginning to take over the witch. Her body ached and there was a pounding in her head. Molly’s healing spells worked to patch any internal injuries Y/n had, but she still was drained from the whole ordeal. 

They were getting off track. Having had enough of the tension, Remus butted in, “Answer the question, Y/n. Why did Snape kill Dumbledore?”

“I don’t know,” she simply stated. Lie. “He didn’t say. Although…I can only assume it was to spare my poor nephew.” Another shrug, “And survive the unbreakable vow. Which you already know of.” 

Harry shook his head, “I don’t believe you.” His gut was telling him there was more to the story. 

“Harry, she took the Veritaserum,” Hermoine pointed out gently, missing the flicker of amusement from Y/n. “She’s telling the truth.”

“Hermoine’s right, Harry,” Ron agreed, moving beside his friend. “There’s no way she could be lying.”

“How much did you give her, Kingsley?” Arthur questioned, also suspicious of Y/n’s answers. Kingsley held up the vial. More than half was consumed.

“Enough.”

“Something’s off,” he murmured, rubbing his chin. A bickering match ensued between members of the Order. Harry, Arthur, and even Y/n’s niece, Tonks, had difficulty believing Y/n told the truth. The majority, however, voiced opposition. 

“Veritaserum is a very potent and strong potion, Harry,” Remus stood from his chair, but before he could say anything else, Y/n’s voice took over.

“Which you just wasted.”

Silence consumes the room. Processing what she said. That’s not possible.

Heads turning to the witch, Y/n starts to chuckle in delight. A sight unnerving to the Order as it becomes more deranged. Harry looked to his friends for an answer, but they were just as perplexed as him. Y/n’s voice turns taunting, “Oh my, you lot really are daft at times. Have you forgotten? Or did you believe it to be a rumor?” Her grin is wicked, finding the scene entertaining much to their dismay. “I’m a skilled Occulmens.” 

It was as though the dementors arrived with how cold the air became. Everyone falters, stilling at the revelation. It could only mean one thing:

Everything Y/n said potentially was a lie. 

The Death Eater tsked, “What do you think I did with all that time I had rotting in the middle of the ocean?” she laughs again, more menacingly. “Your little potion is useless! My mind is more protected than Azkaban. For all you know I fabricated everything I just told you.” Her taunting laugh continues, shredding the last ounce of patience the Order had for her. 

Remus kneeled in front of her chair and smacked the table, causing everyone besides Y/n to flinch. “Enough of these games! I have tried to give you the benefit of the doubt knowing you’d been forced into this life, but you have proven to be not so different from your associates.” Now that was a nail to the coffin. Any and all of Remus’s hope for Y/n having some level of good in her gone. “This is your final warning--or we will throw you in Azkaban for the rest of your life for good!”

Never straying her stare, the Death Eater murmered cooly, “You have no idea how reasonable I’ve been.” This time it was Remus’s turn to scoff.

“Holding children hostage at the Ministry, attacking Hogwarts, marrying Snape, and sending assassins after the officials who locked you up,” He lists off, surprising the Order with the last detail. They had heard rumors of Azkaban guards and Ministry officials killed in the last few months, but assumed it was Bellatrix. “I don’t see how that’s being reasonable.”

Y/n gave a sound that was a mix of a chuckle and scoff, leaning forward in her chair. “Sending those assassins after them instead of myself was mercy.” A chill rose, Harry’s intuition telling him something was about to happen. “And despite your hypocrises and insults I have warned you time and time again to simply get out of my way.” Remus saw her hands fidget, tightening his grip on his wand. 

“You’ve exhausted my patience,” Her voice lowered once more, almost to a whisper as her bottom lip quivered. “But I do hope you understand…that even now--with what’s about to happen…..” lips curled into a deathly smirk. “This is me being…reasonable.”

Faster than the speed of light, Y/n casts a non-verble, wandless spell that mimics a gust a powerful wind, ripping the binds off her hands and ankles. Remus flies onto his back, the lights flicker and burst. The windows and glass shatter. Papers fly. Hermoine screams, echoing amongst the shouts as Ron pulls her into his arms. Molly leaning over an injured George to protect him from shards. 

 Fluer gasps at the feeling of Y/n’s wand in her hand ripped from her. The death eater had snapped her fingers in the chaos with a non-verbal Accio.

With her wand now in her possession, Y/n unleashes another bout of wind, crippling the Order from attacking her. Once satisfied she makes her escape. Black smoke fills the room before flying out the window and into the night sky. The storm inside the burrow seizing. 

“What the bloody hell was that?” Ron coughs, catching his breath. 

“That,” Kingsley stands up straight, sore from colliding with the wall which knocked him down. “Was the closest thing to experiencing the Devil on Earth.”

Tags: @unloved-and-outspoken

[her-reidiance]

I'm high and extremely emotional about Livinia Falcone (Penance) being the such a great complement and contrast to Margaret Nearl. It's like... so apparent. It had to be intentional or it's just a genius coincidence. This'll be long because I ramble, but please bear with me.

Like, first off,

I mean, you have the obvious white-black contrast in their outfits. You also have the contrast in their weapons, a nimble swordspear and a heavy hammer OF JUSTICE (and it might be cheating to mention that Nearl has long hair and Penance has short hair) (EDIT: I forgot her braid sorry), but then, then! You have the compliments! The glowing dagger in Nearl's hand, the codex in Penance's.

You also have like, the way their backstories complement each other in certain ways. Nearl was a competition knight, a hero to the masses and a symbol of safety and hope that was ultimately controlled by the interests of the bureaucracy. She was forced to leave her hometown, and live in the wilderness. Penance, on the other hand, is a judge. An enforcer of the law that supposedly keeps the people safe but was actually in the pocket of the Bellone famiglie. Despite doing everything she could, to believe in justice and try to uphold the law, she was shackled by her limitations especially to mafia affairs, even if she wasnt as tightly leashed by the Bellones and allowed to give guilty sentences sometimes. Both women were basically pawns to the powers that be in their countries, and it was an open secret that they weren't much more than that.

Where they differ is their outlook. Nearl's family motto, "Fear neither hardship nor darkness" lives through Margaret most visibly. She says it often, and she exemplifies what a platonic ideal of a knight would act like. She's noble, courageous, kind, she fights for what's right. She is uncompromising in her values but not close minded. It's beautiful and inspiring to see.

Penance is not so lucky. She's disillusioned. She has hope but it's faint and tricky. By the end of Il Siracusano she's ready to leave Siracusa behind and try to atone for her past inadequacy (hence her Operator name). She is a woman with honor that had to be compromised. She drinks, and apparently to blackout sometimes. Her codex, the toke of law she values so much, is literally bound in thorny vines and can in fact prick her. She's an idealist who had those ideals challenged, and while she didn't break, she did bend, and she has yet to recover.

Penance is the Tarnished Knight; a weapon of justice that was misused and as a result her faith in justice shaken, the hope that Don Bellone gave her in his final act a tenuous one and one that fosters complicated emotions. She fights for what's right, what's truly right this time, but she may never feel like she's cleansed herself of her previous wrongs. She fights for what she hopes is the right thing, for something to believe in. It's a realistic goal. She is beautifully tragic in that sense.

Nearl is the Radiant Knight; a symbol of hope that was discarded by her country and as a result found firm footing in her faith in the wilderness. She fights for what's right, affirmed in her beliefs by the Followers, by Rhodes Island. She fights for a better tomorrow, a very idealistic and optimistic outlook. It makes her all the more impossibly dazzling.

[ruthytwoshakes]

Howdy everyone!! I got super inspired by @a-scary-lack-of-common-sense class swap au and wanted to try my hand at it!

I really love these designs!! If people like them too I’ll make some full refs and make some more content with them. I probably will anyway because I have so many ideas.

Under the keep reading I added wayyy too much description if you’re interested. You are interested you will read I’m using my evil mind magic to make you want to read

(I’ll address them by their names to make it less confusing btw. Pyro and Spy are called Demonan and Soldier though. I’ll name them one day probably)

For Medic and Heavy I kinda swapped their backstories and personalities. Misha is an only child who comes from a family of, fucked up to say the least, doctors. He lost his medical license for stealing the entirety of a patient’s skin. Misha is much more of a hardass with a superiority complex. Cold and callous. He takes himself and his work very seriously,, thinks he is very scary. The other mercs don’t really give a shit, which infuriates him to no end. He cares about his teammates! somewhere deep down inside ,, like really far down. Probably. Really attached to his tools, names them like how the original Heavy names his guns. He’s pretty fluent with English.

Ludwig is much more silly and caring. He’s the youngest sibling out of his 3 sisters, and took this job because he feels obligated to pay back his family for protecting him and helping him go through college. He’s not sadistic per se, more just, really loves the blood, guts, and carnage of war, and has a very morbid curiosity. He often accompanies the Medic when he's doing operations, if he's not already the patient himself. Misha adores how fascinated he is by all of it, and gladly answers and questions he may have. Very loud and extroverted,, his laughs can be heard from miles away. He kinda scares the other mercs, but he’s trying his best to tone it down. He has a horde of pigeons that just ,, follow him around. He doesn’t really know where they came from. His favorite is named Euripides. He’s intermediate at English.

For Sniper and Scout I kinda kept their backstories the same, they just had different personalities and life circumstances that led to them taking their respective jobs. Jeremy is the older brother of 7 little sisters. His mother had him when she was 16 and going through college, leading Jeremy to have to grow up fast. He and his mom have always had to pick up odd jobs to help pay the bills. One of Jeremy’s bosses took him out onto a shooting range one day and noticed he was a natural. He encouraged him to take up predator/invasive species control to help pay the bills and helped him get started, Jeremy eventually saved up enough to move to the northwest. As he got more skilled, some shady people took note and offered him some more,,, lucrative opportunities. He’s a hick with a slight Boston accent, making him all the more awkward. Pretty introverted, the only friends he's ever had is his little siblings. He’s quick-witted when he wants to be, but usually stays quiet. He seems pretty cold tough, but will change really quickly around little kids. Drinks way too many energy drinks to compensate for his insomnia.

Mick is an only child and basically the Australian version of Scout. Which is a terrifying concept!! he scares me. He’s a pretty extroverted guy, but was still bullied for his scrawny appearance and a lack of mustache hairs when he was little, so he devoted himself to becoming the best track runner in Australia. Also he couldn’t win a fight against anyone and he tended to piss off a lot of people, so running was a necessity. He doesn’t have any siblings, but he has a lot of older friends who treat him like a little brother. He likes to paint in his free time. Took the job to help support his parents and to explore the world, or just New Mexico. Annoying jock bastard. He wears those tank tops with the holes at the sides that just go all the way down,, not even a shirt at that point. Still throws piss at people because I think its really fucking funny.

Nobody quite knows where Soldier came from, not even herself. All she knows is that she’s a General, and a damn good one at that. Although his team would like to suggest otherwise. She’s loud and erratic, missing quite a few cogs in her brain. Not lead poisoned like the original soldier, I’m leaning towards a lobotomy that really melted his brain, soupe de cerveau or somethinf. Even though she lost her mind, she kept her great commanding skills and leads the team in attacks. He can be found planning and strategizing for the next round, or hanging out with the other team’s Demo. A bit silly, a bit goofy. Comically patriotic like the original Soldier. Parleys-tu Français, DO YOU SPEAK FRRRENCH ??? Non tu ne le fais pas, you don’t? FUCK YOU

Tavish and pyros personalities are a kinda combined? I just took little bits from both of them and squashed them together. Tavish is a pyromaniac hailing from Scotland. There’s rumors that he was the cause of the fire storm that rained down on Scotland for about a week, but he’s never confirmed or denied this. His voice isn’t all that muffled, his Scottish dialect is just so thick that nobody can understand him, except for Ms Pauling and Engineer like usual. Tavish can be pretty unstable and hyperactive, but an overall happy-go-lucky guy. Drinks responsibly most of the time! Still depressed! Lots of Molotov cocktails. His favorite animal is the Pegasus, and his life's goal is to find and tame one some day.

Dell is the same personality wise, just more like spy. So a bit more stuck up lol. He also shares the same care that the original spy shows for his team, as long as it benefits him along the way. Dell comes from a long family line of Spy’s that all worked for the Mann brothers, they stole Australium for them and kept them safe from other entity's that wanted to have control over the Australium too. His goggles have all that super cool spy stuff in them, night vision, cameras, a radio. Jane helped him add some new features as of late, . I'm not sure how to incorporate Dell's fascination with trans-humanism into this Dell quite yet. Maybe something to do with his senses? Name’s Spy. Spy Gaming.

Jane is pretty much the same silly little guy,, but now with 11 phds! And he’s not lead poisoned anymore! Nobody’s quite sure where Jane comes from, every time he’s asked he always changes up his backstory. He tends to slack off more than the original soldier, "A good hard-working American always knows when to take breaks!" He's also built a variety of raccoon-themed machines that get into mischief around the base. He and the Pyro are good buddies! He likes reading their stories, and gently encouraging them to write more. He's pretty strict when it comes to safety, and will come down hard on his teammates for messing around. THAT IS NOT OSHA APPROVED HEAD-WEAR MAGGOT!

Demoman is more like Tavish backstory-wise in this. They’re a midwesterner with way too much free time who blew up their family’s corn field by accident when they were little, oh and their parents. Their bio family crawled out from the remains of the farm and took them in after they proved themselves, even with their lack of tentacles and wings. (yeah their parents are the Great Old Ones, cthulhu guys, for sillies :3 ) They still like to do creative stuff (but adult-ified because adults are insecure about having fun for some reason.) like adult coloring books, or oil painting, or having adult tea parties. Demoland is a book that they're writing, and will TOTALLY 100% work on this weekend. They hate eye contact and have never been seen without their bombsuit on, except for Scout, but he can comprehend these otherworldy horrors perfectly fine so idk maybe you have a skill issue or something.

Heavy is Medic

Medic is Heavy

Sniper is Scout

Scout is Sniper

Spy is Soldier

Demoman is Pyro

Engineer is Spy

Soldier is Engineer

Pyro is Demoman

notes: I was thinking of making Dell Jeremy's father, but I didn't want to change up Jeremy's facial features too much, so Spy remains. Mick has that neck-mic thingy that soap from COD has because I was scrolling through soapghost on pintrest help. Soldier wasn't actually a general, I was thinking he was just somebody who knew too much. But after she got the lobotomy, I'm thinking she did something similar to soldier and tried to get into the military, and failed. Ludwig is the biggest on the team, with Misha having a more agile body type. Still a bear!! Just a bit smaller. This art is a bit old because I've been working on this since MAY?!?!??? ough. Maybe I'll swap some side characters as well! Pauling with Bidwell, Saxton with Helen, if ya want you could give me some suggestions 👁 👁 This is all Merasmus's fault some how, babygirl messes up the timeline for the sillies, the funny haha even. I love her <3333 Also sorry if the info for Jeremy is incorrect, I just thought it would be neat idk a whole lot about hunting.

[themanwhomadeamonster]

The 1999 combat theme and its foreshadowing because the autism got to me and I spent too long trying to figure out this soundtrack

Jumping off from @brokenjardaantech's WITW music analysis post here - go check it out, it's very insightful and lays the foundations for what I'm about to talk about! And thanks to @theterribletenno for the burst of inspiration by giving me a massive oh shit realisation in the most chilling way possible LOL

Spoilers under the read-more; TL;DR at the end :'^D

To preface, the soundtrack is structured in an ABC structure with bridges between A and B, as well as another between B and C that borrows from A. The key starts in Cm, briefly modulating to Gm in section B then back to Cm during the second bridge, and settling on Em for section C. In-game for WITW you most likely will only hear up to the first bridge since the Technocyte fight only goes for around a minute long

Sections A, the bridges and partially C feature genre similarities to grunge rock with fuzzy guitar chugging, whammy bar, and palm muting, while the drums are notably sharp snares (except for the first bridge, which are clean bass kicks that gradually distort transitioning into section B's style). Musically, it sounds like a typical fighting soundtrack meant to hype you up - the melody is confident and likes to push and pull its rhythm. But in section C it notably become emptier in its layering while keeping the distorted drums, placing emphasis on the lyrics (which I'll get to below lol). Heavier syncopation and polyrhythms are also introduced.

Section B however is the main outlier. This section is where it most strongly resembles industrial rock: rhythmic synth layers begin to accompany the melody (a pedal point line that plays every semiquaver/sixteenth note), synth drums replace acoustics and the guitars drop the fuzz that is characteristic of grunge and steadily strum every quaver/eighth note. Compared to the push and pull rhythm of section A, this section is steadier, less chaotic than the other sections, it wants you to focus on this section.

Notably, the lead guitar introduces a familiar leitmotif: This is What You Are (which @brokenjardaantech goes more in depth regarding its use in WITW). Here, though, its second chord becomes flattened (Dm -> D♭m) and introduces a diminished, dissonant sound. To me this was the first hint that the song may actually be about Arthur's downfall. This is What You Are is a musical leitmotif that recurs in moments of vulnerability, especially when someone is at risk of losing their sense of self, their identity and what they are. It plays during The Second Dream when we discover the Operator, during the New War when Eidolon!Lotus just lost herself to Ballas and can't recognise the Tenno, and in WITW during the Vessel "fight" when the Tenno is forced out of their Warframe.

I was prompted to actually dig more into the lyrics because I saw @theterribletenno bring up something really interesting

In this specific song, the leitmotif is diminished, it's corrupted. "Surrender to the corruption" - this is what Arthur is afraid of. I brought up earlier that section B had a genre shift. The contrast of the music is important, it's highlighting something, and together with the musicality of the leitmotif, it's making a sense of urgency and danger. The leitmotif is a warning to Arthur.

Section B sings these lyrics:

Break it, break it, Break it open!

Compared to the desperation in the other lines, these two lines are sung mockingly. The Infested are trying to break Arthur, and are succeeding. Their voice is becoming his. But there are actually two vocal lines in this section - you can also hear muted backing vocals in a much less aggressive and lethargic tone warning that "Disillusion". Arthur is trying so hard to keep his own voice and stay clear-minded but it's being drowned out and he's nearing his breaking point, and Albrecht, based on the Codex Fragments you find, is well aware of this.

In section C, while the layering is less intense it's noticeably more heavily syncopated and polyrhythmic, and introduces new (accompanying) echoing and dissonant synth layers reflecting the confusion and disorientation that Arthur begins to feel (these synth layers are actually introduced in the second bridge, but are more easily heard in section C). Section B and C also keep the synth/distorted drums that section A and both bridges lack (at most it's a reverb in those sections); the industrial sound of the song becoming associated with the increasing influence of the Infested over his humanity.

So I tried deciphering more lyrics for each section; I haven't figured all of it out and most of it could very well be wrong because of how heavily clipped the vocal line intentionally is so I don't want to make anymore assumptions than I need to, but I can understand enough of it to realise that the song is foreshadowing Arthur's corruption to the Infested. In green are the lyrics I'm confident are correct:

A:

Sting it, sting it, sting it! Sting it, sting it, sting it in the flesh!

Bridge:

I don't understand! It brings more disease!

B:

Break it, break it, Break it open! (Disillusion)

Bridge:

Sting it, sting it! Sting it in the flesh!

C:

Who's dreaming? Who's the [???] It's a vision[?]!

TL;DR: the grunge/industrial genre hybrid represents Arthur's humanity/Infested respectively, and the song becomes increasingly industrial as the song progresses, most noticeably through the increasing distortion of the drum sound. Section A sets the stage, section B serves as a warning to Arthur that he's losing his sense of identity as the Infestation drowns out his "voice" while a dissonant version of This is What You Are plays, and section C is him experiencing confusion and disorientation as the Infestation continues to corrupt him.