#they just fucked on a golf course and your next chapter is like

[chiarrara]

i am just being emotionally devestated by a fic rn

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Comet Donati [Chapter 7: Heart Attack]

A/N: Hello all! Only 3 chapters left!!! 🥰 Thank you so much for loving this fic and giving all my eccentric AU ideas a chance. I’m currently in Washington DC visiting one of my best friends, so if I’m a little bit tardy replying to your comments/messages then that’s why. Don’t fear!! I will check in as soon as I can, and I am still amazed by and will forever cherish your support. 💜

Series Summary: Sex, drugs, boy bands. You are a kinda-therapist recruited (via nepotism) to help Comet Donati through a recent crisis. Things are casual with Aegon, very not-casual with Aemond. Loosely inspired by One Direction.

Chapter Warnings: Language, references to sexual content (+18), drugs, alcohol, smoking, Shelby being a bigger plague than the locusts of Egypt, mental health struggles, references to violence and abuse, New Jersey, pregnancy, mini golf, lots of content for the Cregan girlies.

Selected Chapter Quote: “We’re meant to be together. We have so much history.”

Word count: 6.2k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: ​​@doingfondue​ @catalina-howard​ @randomdragonfires​ @myspotofcraziness​ @arcielee​ @fan-goddess​ @talesofoldandnew​ @marvelescvpe​ @tinykryptonitewerewolf​ @mariahossain​ @chainsawsangel​ @darkenchantress​ @not-a-glad-gladiator​ @gemini-mama​ @trifoliumviridi​ @herfantasyworldd​ @babyblue711​ @namelesslosers​ @thelittleswanao3​ @daenysx​ @moonlightfoxx​ @libroparaiso​ @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics​ @mizfortuna​ @florent1s​ @heimtathurs​ @bhanclegane​ @poohxlove​ @narwhal-swimmingintheocean​ @heavenly1927​ @mariahossain​ @echos-muses​ @padfooteyes​ @minttea07​ @queenofshinigamis​ @juliavilu1​ @amiraisgoingthruit​ @lauraneedstochill​ @wintrr13​ @r0segard3n​ @seabasscevans​ @tsujifreya​ 

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist! 💜

You type into Google as you hide in the public bathroom stall, pink tile walls and mint green porcelain, very 1950s, phantom drips of water and humming florescent lights: Can Plan B make your period late?

You scroll through the results, clutching your iPhone with both hands. Faintly, you can hear the rest of the band outside, chattering, laughing, slurping on Slush Puppies, smacking trees and rocks with their golf clubs. Yes, the consensus seems to be; Plan B can delay your period. Incidentally, so can pregnancy.

“Fuck,” you whimper. You peer down at your panties, as if you can force bloodstains to appear: sparce rosy threads of warning, dark red splotches like rust, you aren’t particular. You’ll take anything. “Fuck,” you say again, defeated. You get dressed, wash your hands, and head back out into the cloudless afternoon sunshine.

“Stargirl, it’s your turn!” Aegon shouts as you trot over to them: tenth hole, shaped like an L, featuring an intimidating loop de loop. The course is dinosaur themed; Rhaena picked it. Aegon points to Jace. “This deformed bastard wanted to skip you.”

“I told you,” Jace moans. His speech is garbled and lisping, his face comically swollen, bruised yellow-emerald-indigo and drooling blood, stitches above his left eyebrow. He just had his dental implants placed yesterday; the four teeth that he lost at Club Camelot could not be readily located for reattachment. “I can’t keep track of who’s next. I’m on like four different opiates.”

Baela frets over him. “Shh, shh, baby. Try not to talk.” There’s something about watching someone get almost-murdered that makes you want to forgive them, you suppose.

You grab your club and golf ball, dark blue, from where you left them by a tree. Rhaena gives you a covert little thumbs up and raised eyebrows. Everything good? You smile—too widely, insincere, a liar—and nod. Technically, you have yet to obtain concrete evidence to the contrary.

You take your turn, somewhat awkwardly due to the splint that still encumbers your dominant hand. You are thinking about anything but mini golf. Your ball goes halfway through the loop de loop and then comes rolling back. How many strokes? Four, five, you lose count, it doesn’t matter. Aegon is snickering, though not in a mean way, never in a mean way. Aemond is watching you. He does this constantly; you can feel his eyes—river water, otherworldly atmosphere—on you all the time, you can see him on the periphery of your vision. But when you glance at Aemond, he looks away. You’re wearing flip flops, a black NSYNC t-shirt, and bright pink shorts that Baela insists are of the very short variety. Aemond is staring a little extra hard today. Shelby alternates between glaring at him and at you.

Jace putts next. He misses the ball twice. On the third try, he hits it into a nearby pond. Golden koi fish scatter beneath the rippling sheen of the water.

“Loser,” Aegon declares mildly. “Criston, why the fuck are we in New Jersey?”

“Because you’re playing three shows at the MetLife Stadium in East Rutherford,” Criston says as he putts; his green golf ball sails through the loop de loop, bounces off a wall, and then rolls straight into the cup, a hole in one. “One Direction did it, Taylor Swift did it, and now you’re going to do it too. And if you don’t make it too unbearable for me, I’ll even take you to the beach while we’re here. Okay?”

“Okay,” Aegon agrees. He slurps on his Slush Puppie. “Oh, Aemond, I need the Netflix password.”

“You forgot it again?!” Daeron says. Jace, groaning softly, lies down on the ground in a patch of shade. Baela gets a bottle of Orajel rinse out of her purse and starts pouring it into his mouth.

“Get your own account,” Aemond snaps at Aegon. “I think you can afford it.”

“Bruh, that’s not the point! I don’t know where I left off in Grey’s Anatomy!”

They keep bickering. You stop listening. You can only hear the sounds of rustling leaves, squawking seagulls, the whistling of the warm August wind. You can only feel the weight of Aemond’s half-fascinated, half-resentful gaze on you. He wouldn’t believe me, you think. If I really am pregnant, he would never believe that it was an accident. He would never believe that I was that guilelessly, unambitiously stupid. Hell, I did it and I barely believe it.

You steal a glimpse of Aemond—black shirt and black sunglasses, white shorts, Adidas sneakers—and he turns away, pretending to pick dirt off his golf ball. Interestingly, he will talk to you about things not related to that night in Tokyo; perhaps it would be too suspicious not to, a neon sign for the rest of the band to read. But he never allows himself to be alone with you. And he never touches you, not even a grazing of hands or an absentminded bump as he passes you in aisles or hallways.

Bump, you think miserably. An inauspicious choice of words.

“We should watch Se7en,” Aegon is saying now. “Comet fam movie night.”

You mutter: “We’re not watching Se7en.”

“What’s Se7en about?” Rhaena asks.

“You wouldn’t like it.”

“What’s in the box?!” Aegon shouts dramatically—quoting the beautiful yet doomed David Mills, a name he once borrowed to schedule a Zoom meeting with you—and then cackles. It’s his turn. He clobbers his golf ball and sends it flying through the loop de loop; it pops over the barrier and disappears into a bush. Startled squirrels dart out of the leaves.

“Loser!” Jace slurs as he lies sprawled across the ground, vindicated.

“Stop spitting blood everywhere,” Aemond says. He putts next, and badly: poor depth perception. “You’re getting it on my sneakers.”

“Watch it, cyclops.” Jace points to his own stitches, bruises, surgically replaced teeth. “I let you have this one. Now we’re even. But next time I won’t be so charitable.”

“You’re not even,” Aegon tells Jace, abruptly severe. He whips off his aviator sunglasses, crouches over Jace, glaring and thunderous like a storm. Baela observes this warily. “Not even close.”

Jace is intrigued. “No?”

“No. Your face will heal.” Then Aegon pokes him in the jaw and Jace screams, tears slithering down his puffy, mottled cheeks. Cregan yanks Aegon away before Baela can scratch his eyes out. Criston repossesses Aegon’s blue raspberry Slush Puppie as punishment. Luke wins the game, five under par.

Comet’s first shows in the United States this tour start just like the last few in Asia: Jace is iced, painted with concealer, thoroughly medicated, numbed into semi-consciousness. He does lines of coke in the bathroom under Cregan’s supervision. He can’t perform without it. Criston tried to negotiate a month off for Jace, but the label’s message was clear: get him on stage, we don’t care how you do it, we don’t want to know about it, here’s a blank check, figure it out or we’ll find another manager who can. Now Criston watches Jace with his arms crossed over his chest, his dark eyes wounded and anxious, his shoulders slumped beneath the weight of what he believes is failure.

The story released to the press is that Jace fell down a flight of stairs but is recovering smoothly. He can barely sing; his mic is turned up, and during Jace’s verses Cregan or Luke layer their voice with his. He wobbles and flubs his way through Night 1 in East Rutherford. You spend the show staring up at the stage without seeing it. Baela and Rhaena are with you, but you aren’t really with them; you feel like if they reached out to touch you, their hands would find only translucent emptiness like a mirage. Shelby is flocked by fellow influencers that she’s invited in from New York City. Aemond is somewhere, somewhere: lurking in shadows, brooding, avoiding, musing, suffering, jotting down starlight-colored judgments in his black-paged notebook.

Per tradition, the band and their entourage coalesce in Jace’s suite after the show. Jace himself, the gracious host, promptly collapses on a couch and lies there senseless as the party spins around him like the planets of a solar system. Baela is perched dutifully beside him, holding ice packs to his jaw, wiping away drool the color of one of Aemond’s Brambles. A tattoo artist is inking a goldfinch, New Jersey’s state bird, to the top of Jace’s right foot. Criston is across the room and speaking—rather tensely, it seems—with cigar-smoking label executives. Shelby is snapping photos with her friends; they take turns posing each other out on the balcony, adjusting elbows and wrists and knees, swiping away stray flecks of mascara, rearranging hair, recommending plastic surgeons. Aegon is typing WhatsApp messages—mostly emojis, from what you can see—to Miley Cyrus. At Luke’s prompting, Aemond begins sharing his comments to the presently sentient members of Comet. He puffs on one of his Benson & Hedges cigarettes as he reads aloud. He kindly skips over any criticisms of Jace’s performance.

You can’t stand hearing Aemond’s voice; not because there’s anything wrong with it, but because there isn’t, because you can’t stop remembering what he said to you in that florescent-white bathroom at Club Camelot in Tokyo, because he uses his words on so many people who aren’t you, because sooner or later your time with Comet will be over and you’ll only ever hear him again through Spotify songs and YouTube clips from before the accident, because he will one day be a ghost who haunts you, rattling doorknobs and chilling pockets of air but never speaking. You escape to ask the bartender: “Can I get a Coke?”

“A rum and Coke?”

“No.”

“Like…white powder coke?”

“No, a Coca-Cola. With nothing else in it.”

“Okay, whatever,” the bartender says, perplexed. He fills a glass with ice and dark liquid that pops and fizzes with carbonation, then slides it across the counter to you. You meander out into the hallway where you can be alone, where you don’t have to pretend to be okay.

The carpet is gold but frayed, the walls adorned with faux marble columns and scuffs from recklessly handled suitcases. Even the hotels are worse in New Jersey. You sip your soda—nonalcoholic, huh? you think, then push it aside—and roam past suite doors and vending machines until you reach the cove of elevators. There’s a full-length mirror hanging on the wall there, gilded, gaudy. You frown at yourself, a reflection that suddenly looks a bit like a stranger. You’re wearing a short seafoam green dress, gold earrings and sandals, and an eerily vacuous expression. You turn and move your hair aside so you can peer over your shoulder at what’s been indelibly penned there since Rome: the tiny comet, the lyrics that encircle it.

I wanted to remember this band forever. To remember Aemond. You can feel your stomach drop as it grows heavy with dread. The pulsing music from Jace’s suite has followed you down the hall, Sugar by Robin Schulz and Francesco Yates. I think I might just have more than a tattoo to remember him by after all.

One of the elevators dings and opens. A man lumbers out, towering, broad, monstrous. You gape up at him: brown threadbare coat, heavy boots, unruly dark beard, grey eyes like a bleak winter sky. There is a miasma that colors the air around him with smoke and alcohol, sweat and earth.

“Hello there,” he says, politely enough. His voice is such a baritone rumble that it’s difficult to understand. He has a British accent, but not like Aegon’s, not like Aemond’s. He reminds you of someone you can’t quite place. “I’m looking for a certain young gentleman. I’m hoping you can point me in his direction.”

“Sure,” you reply, trying to disguise your shock so you don’t offend him. He could be someone important. He could be an eccentric producer or a consultant. Or a drug dealer. “Who…uh…who was it you were hoping to speak with…?”

He smiles: sharp canine teeth yellowed by nicotine, glinting eyes like silver coins. “Cregan Stark.”

“Okay,” you stammer. Drug dealer?? “Okay, okay, I’ll…uh…I’ll go get him.”

You hurry down the hall and into Jace’s crowded, smokey suite, clinking glasses and flirtatious titters in dim lighting like late twilight. You return your empty drink to the bartender, then tap Cregan on the shoulder and inform him that someone out in the hallway is asking for him. He doesn’t seem surprised to hear this. Drug dealer, you think confidently. Cregan gulps his vodka shot and follows you out of the suite. He steps through the doorway. He turns towards the stranger. And then he stops dead. His eyes go wide. The blood drains from his face. And Cregan—immovable, inscrutable, unflappable Cregan—shrinks until he is a child again.

Immediately, you know you’ve made a mistake. You reach for him. “Cregan, wait—”

“My son,” the monstrous man sighs. And of course now you’ve realized exactly who the mirrorlike grey of his eyes reminded you of. “My son.”

You can’t stop him. How could you stop him? Faster than you can think, he has crossed the space between you and entombed Cregan in a stifling embrace. Cregan stands paralyzed, his eyes shifting, searching for escape. Tentatively, appeasingly, his hands slowly rise to hug the man in return.

“Criston?!” you shout. But within the suite, he cannot hear you over the music and the berating of smoke-veiled, bejeweled label executives.

“Did you forget about me, huh?” the man asks Cregan gruffly. And as he steps back he grips one of Cregan’s shoulders: not like Criston would, not like a father, like a vice, like a bear trap. He shakes Cregan once, not too hard. “You can fly your private jet all over the world but you can’t call your own father back? Huh? Huh?!” He shakes Cregan again, harder.

“Criston!” you scream. “Security! Somebody!”

Nobody can hear me. Nobody is coming.

You sprint into Jace’s suite, seize Criston by one hand, drag him out into the hall. On the blurry periphery of your vision, you can see Aemond getting up off the couch to follow you. The second he spots the monstrous man, Criston is roaring. “No no no, get away from him!” He pushes between Cregan and the giant, terrifying, wrathful. The man dwarfs him. Criston doesn’t seem to know it. “You can’t be here. We’ve been over this, you’re not allowed to be here—”

The man tries to reach around him to clutch at Cregan’s shirt. Aemond pulls you away from the scuffle. Criston hits the man in the solar plexus; he is momentarily stunned, wheezing. By the time he straightens up, Criston—louder than you, bellowing and fierce—has summoned security. They are swarming the man and escorting him back down the hallway towards the elevators. Aemond goes to Cregan. Criston looks at you. You’re quivering, penitent.

“I had no idea…he asked for Cregan…I would never have…I thought maybe he was a friend of the band…”

“He’s on our no fly list,” Criston says. His voice is tired yet patient. “But you wouldn’t know that.”

You try to apologize to Cregan, but he isn’t listening to you. He’s listening to Aemond. Aemond is speaking to him, low and calm, too quietly for you to hear. “I’m okay,” Cregan says unsteadily. “I’m fine.”

“It’s alright if you’re not,” Aemond tells him.

And you know that right now you are unnecessary, intrusive. Criston goes downstairs to figure out how Comet’s security guards in the lobby didn’t catch this and—presumably—to ensure that the invader is properly dealt with. Aemond slings an arm across Cregan’s shoulders and leads him back to the party where he is cared for, welcome, valued, safe. You hide in your own suite and try not to think about the dates on the calendar—missing blood, summer days ticking down towards zero—as you steep in a hot bath and attempt to scrub everything you’ve done wrong, today, yesterday, ever, off your skin. Then you change into an oversized Backstreet Boys t-shirt and your favorite Cookie Monster pajama pants.

You try to sleep but of course you can’t, surrounded by a silence that only gets louder. When you hear the swipe of a keycard and the creaking of your door, you don’t know who to expect: Cregan, Criston, Rhaena, Luke, Baela, Jace, Daeron, Shelby, Aemond, ghosts. The clopping of his Crocs gives him away, neon pink to match his tank top. “I’m really not in the mood for anything resembling sex.”

Aegon replies as he kicks off his Crocs: “Did I ask, succubus?” He crawls into the bed, throws an arm casually across your waist, rests his head on your belly as your fingers thread through his chaotic blond hair, fond and tender. He burrows into you, into your softness and your warmth and your truth and your mysteries. Sometimes you feel like you’ll give until he falls into you like a trapdoor, the bones of his hands tangling around your spine, his blood vessels spilling into all of your rage-scarlet cavities, hollows of the flesh, hollows of the soul. “You’re sad.”

You stare up at the ceiling. “I have a lot on my mind.”

“Yeah, but I don’t know what. That’s the strange thing. Usually I can tell.”

“You’ve been gone.”

He looks up at you, confused. “I’ve been right here.”

“You know what I meant.”

Aegon doesn’t argue with you, doesn’t try to defend himself, doesn’t make promises both of you know he could never keep. He only lays his head down on your belly again and pulls himself closer to you, closer, closer, melting into your melancholy, dissolving into dreams.

~~~~~~~~~~

“I was eleven when he broke my arm. Thirteen when he cracked my skull for the first time. Then I got big enough to hurt him back.” Cregan looks out over the waves: blue currents, white froth, sunbeams like glinting blades. As Criston promised, Comet is spending an afternoon in Seaside Heights. You and Cregan are sitting on the sand together twenty yards from the others. “I grew up in a two-bedroom cabin with no electricity or running water. We had a metal wash tub outside, ate deer and squirrels and rabbits, never had clothes that fit, never saw a doctor except when what was wrong might kill us. We had a woodstove and chopped down trees to burn in the winter. I had eight siblings, six of whom are still alive. Barnett overdosed. Courtland drove his friend’s Nissan into a brick wall. I’m not sure it was accidental.”

Your words are soft like a whisper, like gentle hands. “Cregan, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not…” His voice breaks. He stops for a while, composes himself, begins again. “It’s not something I talk about. Not because I’m trying to forget it. I can’t forget it, I’ll never be able to, I understand that, believe me. There’s just nothing to be gained from talking about it. I never feel better afterwards. I always feel worse.”

“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.”

“I know that. Don’t you think I know that?”

You wait, watching him. There’s something he needs to say. Down the beach a ways, Baela is doing yoga, her bare feet sure and agile in shifting sand. Rhaena, Luke, and Aemond are flying kites in the breeze: black dragons, green dragons. Shelby is, predictably, filming them from where she stands on Aemond’s good side. Aegon and Daeron are swimming so far out that you’re beginning to worry about sharks. Criston is parked under an umbrella with an unconscious Jace, reading Memoirs Of A Geisha and eating a sandwich full of something called pork roll.

“After Comet happened, I got all of them out,” Cregan continues. “My mum, my siblings. Good houses in safe neighborhoods. Security in case Dad makes an appearance. He does, every once in a while. He’s locked up, he’s free, he’s locked up again. He has nothing else to do but haunt us. I’ve been waiting for him to die since I was old enough to understand what a graveyard is.” Cregan looks at you. “Does that make me a bad person?”

“No,” you answer immediately.

“The thing is…” He holds out one large hand, palm down, like he’s resting it on a table. Then he shakes it. “Nothing ever feels stable. Nothing ever feels safe. No matter how much money I see stack up in accounts, I lie awake at night wondering what I’ll do if it disappears. So many people rely on me. I can’t stop worrying I’ll end up back in that cabin somehow. I can still hear drops of rainwater seeping in through the gaps in the roof. I can still smell burning wood.”

“The fact that you feel this way, given your history, is completely logical…even if the fear itself is not. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah,” Cregan says. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Do you think it would help if we sat down and looked at the numbers and did some math? Because I suspect that even with a hundred dependents, you’d easily be able to float them for the rest of your lifetime just using the money you already have. And there will be royalties from Comet’s songs forever. Maybe if we can show you exactly how improbable your worst case scenario is, that fear will begin to fade a bit. Not go away, not completely, maybe not ever…but I think you’ll be able to quiet it down.”

“I’ll give it a try. If you recommend it.” Cregan lights a cigarette and takes a drag. Criston glances over and then pretends he didn’t notice. “I have a daughter,” Cregan says; and you can’t stop the shock from hitting your face like a fist. He smiles faintly, wistfully. “I know. I’ve worked very hard to make sure she is kept away from…” He gestures broadly. “All of this.” Fame. Debauchery. Tabloids. Reddit threads. “I was way too young. And her mother and I…we were never really together. It was contentious for a while, but we’ve sorted through things. I support them financially, obviously. And when I’m not on tour or in the studio, I disappear up to Lancaster for a few weeks at a time and no one is the wiser.”

You study him as wind tears in off the Atlantic Ocean, as seagulls swoop and screech overhead. “I’m sure she’ll appreciate how you’ve protected her once she can understand.”

“I don’t know how to be a father. Not a good one. But I try. I don’t just show up for movie nights and birthdays. I take her shopping for school supplies. I put her back to bed when she has nightmares. I take her to the dentist, to the park, to the library. She really likes pigs, so I adopted a few from a farm animal rescue and we learned how to raise them together.”

“You caring about being a good parent puts you ahead of a lot of people already,” you say. “Nobody in Comet knows?”

“Just Aemond. Once, years ago, her mother needed something and I was out of the country. I had to let somebody in on the secret, somebody I could trust. I chose Aemond. I chose right.” Now Cregan is amused. “He’s the one who suggested the pigs.”

“Of course he did,” you say; and you can’t help but smile. “How old is she?”

“Six and a half. Do you want to see a picture her?”

“Absolutely. If it’s alright with you.”

Cregan pulls his iPhone from his pocket, swipes around for a while, and then turns the screen so you can see. She looks like him, a lot like him, but with round cheeks and long dark lashes. And Cregan is beaming as he says: “Her name is Iris.”

“So you didn’t have to do the Maury paternity test thing.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “No. I knew from the second I saw her she was mine.”

“She’s lucky to have you.”

Cregan shrugs, pensive, evasive. “I don’t know about that.”

“I do.” And he believes that you mean it; you can see it on his face. Aemond is watching you and Cregan, you notice now. He glances over, pretends he didn’t, glances again. You gesture to the crashing waves and say to Cregan: “If Aegon gets attacked by a shark, will you jump in and punch it or something please?”

Cregan chuckles. “Yeah. That’s my main job here, I think. Stopping people from dying.” And then, seriously: “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. I haven’t done anything that warrants it.”

“No. Really.” Cregan reaches out, takes your uninjured hand, squeezes it briefly before releasing you. “Thank you, Stargirl.” Then he stands and walks to the water’s edge, letting the surf rush up over his ankles, for just a moment feeling nothing on his shoulders but the sunlight.

Aemond gives Shelby his kite and, as she glares bitterly, makes his way over to you. He takes off his sunglasses so he can see you better and hooks them on the waistband of his swim trunks: black, of course, his usual color. You’re actually wearing black today too, a flowing coverup over a pink swimsuit. You feel very much like hiding. When Aemond speaks, there is perhaps a hint of envy, green like leaves of poison, gleaming like snakeskin. “What were you and Cregan talking about?”

“Fatherhood.” And then you realize how it might sound.

There is a split second where Aemond looks startled; then he remembers Iris. “Right. Not so easy for people like us to navigate.”

People like us. Celebrities, boy band members, haunted men. You scramble for a nonchalant way to feel out the subject with him. “How does Louis Tomlinson handle it?”

“He’s a saint,” Aemond says. And you think: Patron saint of baby daddies? “Freddie was very, very unplanned. The mother was a nobody, a rebound. And a lot of people assumed she did it on purpose to try to keep Louis. Or to get eighteen years of a luxury lifestyle out of him. Or to just get fame in general. Personally, I believe it was all of the above.”

“Right,” you say, sweating heavily beneath your coverup.

“But none of that is the kid’s fault, and Louis is a good enough guy to realize it. So he plays nice with Freddie’s mother and they don’t go to war through tabloids anymore.”

“So, uh…” How can I put this? “You’re good with kids too. Cregan told me you had the pig idea.”

And the look that crosses Aemond’s face, the look: caustic, incredulous, night-dark, self-loathing. “Are you insane? Have you met me? I terrify kids. And I should, but not just because of the eye and the scar. What the hell do I know about being a decent father? What do I know about being a decent anything? I’d have no idea where to start. I’d fuck it up even if I tried desperately not to. I’d end up with kids like Aegon: addicts who hate themselves, people who are irrevocably lost.”

You say meekly: “I think Criston is something like a father to you. He could be a role model.”

“I’m not half as good a man as Criston is.”

Change the topic, change the topic, before Aemond gets suspicious. And there’s something else you’ve been meaning to ask him. “Aemond…after you almost murdered Jace…when we didn’t know if or how he was going to be able to perform until he healed…did anyone ask you to come back to Comet and fill in for him?”

“No,” Aemond says. And he’s thunderstruck by the thought, appalled, petrified.

“You don’t think that it might have been a good idea? That it might make sense?”

“No,” he says again instantly.

“But…in Tokyo…when Daeron made that speech at the last show…I think the crowd’s reaction was pretty powerful, don’t you? People still care about you. They love and respect you. And I think…maybe…it might help you with what you’ve experienced. To get back on stage—even just one last time—and prove to yourself that you still have what it takes. To know that if you do leave Comet, it’s your choice, not anyone else’s.”

“They love who I was,” Aemond says. “Not who I am now. And that’s easy to do. They don’t have to look at me.”

“Goddammit, there’s nothing wrong with how you look, Aemond!” you burst out. “You look fantastic. I never get tired of looking at you. I want to look at you all the fucking time. I’d hang life-sized portraits of you on every wall in my apartment in Kansas City. That’s how much I enjoy looking at you.”

He thinks you’re joking, he thinks you’re trying to make him feel better. You can’t stop him from thinking these things. And yet still, as he turns away, he is smiling: just a whisper of a curl at the corner of his lips, secretive, fragile.

As Comet is leaving the beach, you stop at a souvenir shop on the boardwalk to buy your keepsake for this tour destination. You settle on a pink frisbee that has I love the Jersey Shore! embossed on it in large, abrasive letters. You think your parents’ Australian cattle dogs will enjoy fetching it when you get home. Home feels so much closer—both literally and figuratively—than it did just a few weeks ago.

Criston is browsing through the t-shirts. “Hey, what size is your mom, Aegon? Medium?”

“How the hell would I know? Probably.” He holds up a pair of red, white, and blue bikini bottoms that say Firecracker across the ass. “You think my dad would mind if you sent her these?”

Criston is blushing. “Aegon, stop.”

“You could get her a bikini top too. Oh look, that one over there is red, it matches. And it says MILF across the tits. So that’s pertinent.”

“Stop!” Criston cries, distressed, and flees the store.

Halfway through the hour-long drive back to the hotel, Aegon insists that Criston stop the Escalades so he can get a hoagie from a Wawa. Aegon has never had a hoagie before. He says he cannot truly experience America without one.

At the ordering counter, Jace—slightly less bruised and swollen today, and thus in better spirits—taunts Aegon: “Are you sure you need all that bread? You’re going to be wearing a muumuu on stage by the time we get to the Midwest.”

“You know, just because you said that, now I’m going to get two hoagies…”

On the television mounted inside the Wawa, CNN is reporting on a group of tornadoes that just struck Wichita. And it occurs to you that tornadoes don’t have trajectories to calculate like hurricanes or airplanes or comets; they are climatological sharks. They strike quickly, indiscriminately, and then they’re gone again. They aren’t named. They aren’t enshrined. They don’t even have a belly to cut open and retrieve pieces of your loved ones from. If they take someone, they’re just gone.

While the rest of the band is in line to order their food, and Aemond is scrutinizing the dried fruit and nuts selection, you sneak through the other aisles.

It’s time. I have to find out eventually. I have to know.

You pluck a pregnancy test—cute, pink, nausea-inducing—off a rack, purchase it with truly impressive speed at the checkout counter, and race to the bathroom. It’s surprisingly difficult to piss on a tiny stick of doom, especially when your primary hand is in a splint and only partially useable. Eventually, you manage. You put the cap back on the pregnancy test, set it on top of the toilet paper dispenser, and stare at the metal door of the stall. The Wawa speakers are playing The Fray’s Over My Head.

It won’t be positive. It can’t be positive.

You think of pregnancy test commercials you’ve seen: happy couples rejoicing, happy single women getting negatives. How are you supposed to react to bad news? Nobody ever tells you. Do you scream, sob, beg for forgiveness, schedule an appointment at Planned Parenthood? Do you kick the bathroom stall door down in mindless feminine fury? Do you throw yourself off a balcony?

There’s no way it will be positive. It was one time. Just one goddamn time.

And who knows if that will ever happen again with Aemond. This does not improve your mood.

You pick up the pregnancy test. It is unequivocally positive.

You shove it into the small rectangular trashcan for pads and tampons, things you won’t be needing in the immediate future. You get dressed, leave the stall, go to the sink and wash your hands. Then you grip the cool, slick, white porcelain and gaze at yourself in the mirror under nowhere-to-hide florescent lights. What do you feel? Everything, nothing, things you can’t name yet. You’re a raw nerve, you’re completely numb.

The bathroom door swings open. Shelby enters. She squares up with great purpose. Your eyes roll to her, slowly, with no tolerance left, not a drop of it. “Stay away from Aemond,” she demands.

“Make me.”

She is in disbelief. “I’m sorry, what?”

You turn all the way towards her. “Fucking make me, Shelby.”

“I knew you wanted him,” she says, she seethes. “I saw you in those paparazzi photos from Reykjavik and I knew you were already twisting your claws into him.”

You hold up your hands to show her; your thoughts are fuzzy, dazed, without inhibition. “I have no claws whatsoever. If I did, you’d know about it. Believe me. You’d be able to look down and watch your heart beating through the gashes.”

“You don’t belong here. Some Midwestern farm girl running around in flip flops and Cookie Monster pajama pants? You’re trash. You’re a user. You’re a nobody. And if you’re trying to steal a taken man, then you’re a whore too.”

“I’ve been called worse things by better people.”

“I can make them hate you,” Shelby says indignantly. “Comet. The world.”

“Good luck with that, Malibu Barbie. Nobody even knows I exist.”

“Stay away from Aemond,” she says again, trembling with her futile bleach-blond rage. “We’re meant to be together. We have so much history.”

“And yet no future.” You smile sweetly, breeze past her, step on one of her perfectly pedicured feet with a thoroughly unpretentious flip flop. By the time you return to them, the band is almost ready to leave Wawa.

You’re not hungry, but Aegon coaxes you into taking a few bites from his hoagie. You’re not able to focus on what people are saying, but you hear Aemond mention that he wishes Comet had time to visit a planetarium in some nearby town called Toms River. You think about what it would be like to lie side by side with him under the stars, under the sky where comets appear again after vanishing for centuries. You wonder if there’s anyplace where you and Aemond could ever be truthful with each other.

At night you can’t sleep. There is no shortage of reasons why. You wander from your bed to the gold-carpet hallway to the vending machines, where you stare brainlessly at the options. Am I supposed to not be drinking caffein? Did I get any Vitamin D today? How much sugar is too much? You buy a bottle of apple juice—surely a safe bet—and head back to your suite.

As you walk by Aemond and Shelby’s door, your steps slow. Some nights you can hear them in there arguing: Shelby reiterating all the reasons why they’re perfect for each other, clearly a rebuttal to an accusation you weren’t privy to. Some nights you hear muffled casual conversation or episodes of Cosmos. Some nights you hear nothing at all. Some nights your imagination colors in the gaps before you can stop it: his hands on her, his mouth on her, things you know you have no right to dread and yet you do. But tonight, Shelby is momentarily removed from the scene. You can hear the distant pattering of the shower, and then Aemond alone in the living room gathering up plates and glasses. He’s singing something very quietly, so quietly it takes you a while to recognize it. It’s not even a Comet Donati song. It’s Through The Dark.

You sit down in the empty hallway, your back to his door. And you lean your head against it as you listen to Aemond singing softly to himself, doubt sinking into you the same way that trapped blood fills a bruise: Maybe it wasn’t as good for him as it was for me. Maybe he doesn’t talk to me because he doesn’t want to. Maybe I don’t belong here anymore. Maybe I’ve invented a history that we don’t really share. Maybe he didn’t mean it when he said he loves me.

“What am I going to do?” you whisper, scalding tears brimming in your eyes, shivering hands settling on your belly. In a few months, you’ll be showing. “What the hell am I going to do?”

[lolasimms]

a lots gonna change pt.7

Summary: Married life isn’t great, infidelity ensues, and things change

next chapter

"I'm sorry... what?" You laugh, surely she couldn't be serious, you were starting to believe that delusion and craziness was following you around now.

"I'm not lying y/n, she and I have been seeing each other for a while now" Amelia mutters, unceremoniously as she takes peeks into your home. You immediately become protective and stand closer to the door, in case she suddenly went into rampage and tried harming you or even worse, harming Lila.

"Amelia I have to ask, do you really expect me to believe you?" She sighs aloud and then crosses her arms over her chest in defence at your words.

"Why wouldn't you, y/n... maybe you don't know Ellie as much as you think you do."

"She's my wife, I'd like to think I know her quite well" you defend, you were starting to get irritated, just who did she think she was to be coming into your home and questioning you.

"Y/n we need to sit down and talk about this, I'm coming to you as a woman. I realised what she and I have done is wrong and the only way I can repay you is to confess" her eyes were pleading, her brown orbs staring deep into you and you had to try your hardest not to crack.

"Amelia I can't do thi-" you're cut off when she begins rambling.

"Y/n I have photos, texts and call logs, I can prove it to you please just let me show you!" Her voice was now raising, and you couldn't bare the thought of any of your neighbours coming out and seeing any of this commotion.

"Fine, come in"

-

Ellie was having a great morning, the two of you had made love, she and Lila had taken a walk to the park and then she was off to the golf course with Vic and Page. With Amelia off of her back, she and y/n's relationship strengthening and her time off at work, she had never felt better. Not to mention the fact that she had absolutely smashed Vic and Paige at golf today.

"We getting drinks or heading to your place?" Paige questions, as she places her club back into the trolley.

"We can have drinks at my place, I'm pretty sure y/n opened up a bottle of moscato" Ellie says, placing the trolley into the golf cart.

"Honestly I'm down to get tipsy, moscato sounds nice" Vic laughs and gets into the cart, as the two women follow suit.

-

"This was one of the hotels we frequently stayed at, she was strict about phones but once in a while it was dominating to be able to capture such sweet moments between us" Amelia reminisces on the intimate times she had spent with your wife . Tears were now flowing freely down your face, and you felt like your world had stood still. At first you had no reason to believe her, she was probably some weirdo that go a kick out of ruining lives you thought, but what would she benefit from lying? You asked yourself, but these photos... these photos of your wife, the woman you so strongly loved, the woman who you shared a child with, laid in bed with a stranger who wasn't you had solidified it. Ellie had been cheating on you, and it had finally started to make sense. The next photo however had done it for you, the both of them stood in-front of a mirror as she held Amelia in her arms, a faint smile on her face, that's when a sob broke out of you and all prospects of self dignity had broken.

"Look Amelia, if you think I'm blaming you I'm not, sure I hold a small level of resentment because you fucked my wife, but she's the one who made a vow to me, this ring symbolises... well it symbolised monogamy and she couldn't even uphold that" you say as you stand in front of her, as she awkwardly sits on the sofa. Amelia wasn't expecting this, in fact she expected a slap to the face. She knew for a fact that if this ever happened when her and Ellie got married she would've killed the bitch so for you to show such empathy towards her made her feel somewhat guilty.

"Y/n, I'm sorry" Amelia trails off, as her eyes fixate on the fireplace in-front of her, you hold your breath, not sure if you could handle another blow to the heart right now but nod, an urge for her to keep going.

"I- I really don't even know what to say I should've stopped once Ellie told me she had a family but I was too selfish and-" the sound of the front door opening and the faint murmurs of what you assumed were the voices of Ellie, Paige and Vic catch your ear and you are left feeling like you could throw up. Amelia too, looks frightened as she shifts worriedly from her chair and looks at you in fear. The sound of their voices grow closer, and then subside as soon as they reach the living room, and are met with the unexpected guest. Ellie frantically looks from Amelia to you, as Vic and Paige stand their silently and uncomfortably. You were assuming they knew about Ellie's affair, making you heart break all the more.

"I should probably go, bye y/n" Amelia mumbles as she stands up and looks at you, you nod in acknowledgment and she walks past Ellie who is frozen in the entryway and gives her one last look before she makes her exit. You don't bother looking at your wife, the thought of even having to communicate with her makes you want to drop dead.

"Y/n what did she say?" Ellie walks towards you, kneeling in front of the couch you are sat on, she tries to touch you but you retract your hands from her arm.

"What do you think she said... huh?" You mutter as the waterworks return.

"Vic, Paige you guys should go, I'll catch you later" Ellie looks behind her as she orders her friends to leave. You scoff at the level of pathetic that she is, she could freely engage in an affair and have her friends know about it but when it came time to face confrontation they had to be gone?

"No! They can stay, they knew anyways so let them stay" Vic looks to Paige and shakes his head.

"Y/n, we'll go you guys ca-" you cut him off

"Shut the fuck up Vic, the past five months the two of you have come into my house and had the audacity to play nice when you knew she was cheating on me?"

"Y/n it's not their fault just let them go" Ellie pleads as she tries her best to get you to look at her, you refuse to comply.

"No! Its fucking disgusting, especially you Vic. I trusted you, I chose you to be my daughters God father, I fucking trusted you... and you- you knew this whole time" you were now uncontrollably sobbing, struggling to catch your breath as you pointed your finger at them. Ellie tried desperately to touch you, console you but all you would do was swat her hands and pull away.

"Vic and Paige get the fuck out, I'll talk to you later" Ellie calls over her shoulder and they quickly scramble.

"Y/n please, baby I neeed you to listen to me" Ellie begs as tears begin to fall down her face.

"You cheat on me and you're fucking crying? You betray me and you get to shed tears?" you yell, not caring if it wakes up your daughter, you were too riled up and you couldn't stop now.

"Y/n I don't... I don't know what I can do to make this better I- I tried to stop it bu-"

"But what Ellie? You're too selfish... you're too much of a self centred cunt who can't appreciate everything she has?" You stare into her tearful eyes, awaiting a response that seemed would never come.

Tell me, where did I go wrong... huh? Was I not good enough for you? Did you not feel loved by me?" The words fall out of your mouth in a sputter, as saliva bubbles from your heavy breaths. Your nose was running and the tears wouldn't stop, the lump in your throat was beginning to physically pain you.

Her silence was angering you, she just sat there, refusing to say anything, refusing to acknowledge her faults and mistakes. And to be quite honest you didn't even think an apology would fix anything, you just wanted to be left alone. You lift yourself off the sofa, removing the wedding ring that had once been a symbol of love. It was a symbol of monogamy, a symbol of togetherness and a symbol of your future, a future that was now tainted in infidelity and betrayal. You drop it on the floor in front of her and she immediately begins to panic. As you walk up the stairs, she follows you and frantically begins begging ; "I'll change", "I'll do better", "I love you", "I don't deserve you", "We'll keep going to therapy" but you tune her out, as best as you can and head for the bedroom.

Once you've made it to the bedroom, you're standing on your toes, reaching for your suitcase.

"Put the fucking suitcase down, what are you doing?" Ellie yells as she tries taking the heavy object from your hands. You try your best to pull it back but her grip is deathly tight. You resort to grabbing necessities instead. You start with your pyjamas, underwear, some work clothes and your jeans and throw them on the bed. As soon as you turn to gather your shoes, Ellie is snatching the clothes and putting them back in the closet.

"Stop fucking touching my shit, STOP!" You yell as you get all up in her face, your patience was wearing thin.

"No! You're not leaving me, please baby I promise we'll work it out" for the person who had done the cheating, she seemed to be way more emotional than you and you can't help but roll your eyes at her.

"Shut the fuck up, we're not working anything out, Ellie. Go fuck with Amelia for all I care" you angrily grab your clothing and stuff it into a duffel bag as she continues to sob. Your next action however surprises Ellie, as she watches you exit the room and make your way to Lila's. She follows you inside and her heart jumps when she sees you opening the child's dresser and pulling out items of clothing.

"What the fuck are you doing, are you trying to take my daughter away from me?" She yells, and Lila immediately begins to awaken from her sleep.

"She's my daughter, you don't even fucking care about her" you spit as you pull out rows of dresses and onesies from the closet.

"Yes the fuck I do, don't accuse me of shit like that" she booms angrily as she forcefully, pulls you away from the closet. She drags you to the outside of the room and you've finally had enough. Without much thought to it, you land a hard slap to her face. The action leaves a tingling sensation on the tips of your fingers and depths of your palm and Ellie is stood their taken aback. A red mark on the spot your palm had landed beginning to form.

"I'm leaving, and I'm taking my daughter with me, and you are not stopping us" you spit and return to the child's bedroom.

-

Ellie stays far away from you for the remainder of the afternoon and you complete the minimal packing and get Lila ready to go. You descend down the arched staircase with the toddler in your arms and a heavy duffle bag in your hands. As soon as Ellie hears you she's rushing to the staircase and your daughter finally acknowledges her presence.

"Momma!" She squeals in delight and you quickly grab your keys and unlock the front door. Ellie follows behind you and have to try your best not to scold your daughter who's hands are out trying to reach for her mother.

"Let me at-least say bye to my kid y/n" Ellie begs as you settle Lila into the booster seat and place the duffel bags on the car floor next to her. You ignore her and shut the car door, as you journey to the drivers seat.

"Will you fucking talk to me, hear me out?" She pleads for a final time and your response is to simply slam your car door shut in her face. Tears start pouring again as you drive away from your home, the place that had once been a temple of happy memories and domestic bliss, now ruined with thoughts of Ellie's infidelity.

"I want momma!" Lila whines from the backseat and you tune her out.

"Mommy I want momma!" She's whining and you feel like your head was about to burst, the headache in addition to her sulking was going to be the death of you. "We're going to see Aunt Dina, baby, don't you want to play with JJ?" You force the addition of enthusiasm into your words to sell her, but she simply frowns, only wanting her mother. You locate your phone with one hand on the wheel, planning on calling your only friend.

You didn't know what was going to happen, would it always be like this? A constant battle between Lila choosing you or Ellie. Would she pick her over you? Would you have to go to court over this? How would you explain this to everyone... Joel, Your mom, Nara? You hated her, you hated Ellie so much and you hated that she had destroyed you so easily, why did she have to cheat on you? What had you done? Where did you go wrong?

taglist;

@moonlightdivine @maybe-cece @macaroni676 @sawaagyapong @katiemars @ellieseater @dakota-dream @joliettes @hebrokeimup @bratydoll @wakasaaa @catostrophiclesbian

[sparklypinkflightsuit]

Star Crossed: Chapter Five

Pairing: Detective David Loki x Reader

Warnings: Swearing, Cheating, Intimacy Issues, Slow Burn, Sexual Themes, Smut, Investigative Inaccuracies. I think that’s it?

Summary: Loki can’t keep himself away from you.

- Chapter Four Here -

———————————

18+ only beyond this point

———————————————

The next few days, Loki promised himself he would try to keep away from you, and threw himself into his work.

The day after he spent the evening with you, he went to the golf course to question Melanie. She admitted to the emails, saying how Carter was this attractive older man who frequented the golf course, they struck up a relationship but it quickly faded and he stopped coming around. She said she hadn’t seen him in a few weeks and they’d ended things on sour terms.

Loki thanked Melanie and said he’d be in touch if he needed anything else.

He spent a few days trying to track down the women in the photos using Rodger’s facial recognition technology, and interviewed the few he could find, all of whom admitted to having a brief sexual relationship with Carter, but none knowing where he was or having seen him in some time.

Loki was quickly growing frustrated at the constant dead ends, and even more so that he hadn’t seen you in a few days.

Just as Loki was about to give up for the day and go home, he got a call from the forensics team leader, Marco.

“Marco, what have you found, give me some good news.” Loki asked, hopefully.

“Hey boss, we found three sets of prints in the vehicle. One is the fiancés, one we can only assume is Carters and the third belongs to a Mrs Taylor Johnson. She was booked in 3 years ago for shoplifting, nothing since then, but the address we have listed is 92 Fitzpatrick Way, might be worth checking there.” He confirmed.

“Marco, you’re the man. Thank you.” Loki hung up and left the station, he knew it was late but he had to follow this lead, as it was the only solid one he had in a while.

He drove the 20 minutes to 92 Fitzpatrick Way and pulled up outside the house. The lights were on inside and he could hear a man’s voice bellowing. “What did I fucking tell you about that goddamn console. Turn it off and come and eat your dinner!” The stern voice echoed.

“Fuckin’ A.” Loki sighed to himself, he knew this would be an awkward conversation.

He knocked sharply and heard the voice say “Who the fuck?” Before the door flew open. An angry man with a red face in a white tank top stood in the doorway.

“Can I help you?” He said.

Loki smiled and pulled out his badge, “Hello sir, I’m Detective David Loki from the Conyers Police Department, I’m hoping to speak to Mrs Taylor Johnson, does she still live here?”

“Yeah she still lives here. What’s this about?” The man asked angrily.

“We’re conducting a missing persons investigation sir, and we think she may be connected somehow. We have to rule out all possibilities. May I speak to her?”

“She’s not home right now, she went to visit her mothers for a few days.” He said, his anger calming down somewhat.

“Do you know when she will be back?” Loki asked.

“She didn’t say. Would you like me to call you when she’s back, Detective?” The man offered.

“Please.” Loki handed him his card. “Thank you sir, have a good rest of your evening.”

Loki left feeling slightly deflated, but at least this was something.

He went home and spent the night frustrated and bored, unable to take his mind off of you.

He thought about how your eyes lit up when you laughed, how you bit your lip when you were worried or nervous. Loki felt himself growing hard thinking about you biting your lip, and how good you felt against him when he kissed you. His breathing shuddered and his heart rate sped up as he tried to push the thoughts away, palming himself once over his trousers to relieve some of tension before he stood up and went to take a shower, hoping that would help.

Forcing himself to sleep that night was difficult, and when he eventually did, his dreams were plagued with you and Carter, happy together again, and Loki being discarded into the background. He woke up sweating the next morning, his mood worse than usual.

Loki went to work and tried to find what he could on Mrs Taylor Johnson.

He found that she was 25, married young and had 3 children with her husband, the man he had met yesterday. Her mother lived about an hour away in the next town and Loki had managed to find an address.

He drove to the little town and parked outside Mrs Johnson’s mothers house.

He knocked on the door and a woman opened it, looking surprised to see him.

“Hello ma’am, I’m looking for Taylor Johnson, her husband told me I might find her here?” Loki said, holding up his badge.

“Oh, she isn’t here. Is she missing?” Her mother asked, not overly surprised.

“No, no. Probably just a misunderstanding. Sorry to worry you ma’am.” He grunted and was about to walk away when she called him back.

“Officer! She might be with her boyfriend. I’m not sure how much her husband told you, but she’s been seeing someone else.” She said, looking ashamed for spilling her daughters secret.

“Do you know the boyfriends name, ma’am?” He asked, hands in his pockets as he turned around to face her.

“Yes sir, his name is Carter, can’t recall the last name.” She nodded.

“Thank you ma’am. That’s all I need for now. Have a good day.”

Climbing back into his car he sighed heavily. Still no sign of either of them but now at least he had a solid lead. Find Taylor and he’d find Carter.

Loki made the drive back to Conyers, his mind plagued with the idea that he’d lose you the moment he found Carter, but he knew he had a duty to uphold and had to do everything in power to find him. His mind raced and he kept thinking about the dream he had, we’re you were in Carters arms instead of his. Loki realised that was not something he was willing to deal with, so instead of heading to the station, he drove to your house.

He quickly closed the distance to your front door and knocked impatiently, blinking hard a few times.

You threw the door open, surprised to see Loki standing there.

“David-“ Loki grabbed you in his arms, pressing his lips against yours hungrily. You gripped his shirt in your fists and pulled him inside. Loki pushed the front door shut without breaking the kiss and pushed you up against the wall, a sudden desperation taking over.

He grabbed you by the back of your thighs and lifted you up so you could wrap your legs around him as he pinned you to the wall. His lips moved to your neck and he sucked marks into your skin. He groaned as his body moulded into yours against the cold living room wall. “David..” you whimpered.

“Hmmm?” He grunted, still kissing your neck.

“What happened to waiting?” You breathed, head thrown back against the wall as you savoured his lips against your jugular.

“Couldn’t stay away. Need you.” He mumbled, moving his lips back to yours. Your lips moved together passionately, as Loki ground his hips into yours.

Loki pushed harder against you to pin you up against the wall while he discarded his jacket and unbutton his shirt. You pushed his hands out of the way and took over unbuttoning for him. While you did this Loki lifted your dress up over your hips and tore the sides of your underwear so he could discard them. You gasped in surprise as you felt Loki’s hand on your bare ass, massaging you with strong fingers. You finished unbuttoning his shirt and tried to remove it, getting as far as his shoulders. Loki pulled the shirt off of his arms, leaving him bare chested in front of you.

You took a moment to admire him, his broad shoulders and toned muscles, how his chest was slightly hairy and how ruggedly handsome he looked, his eyes dark with lust.

Loki stared back at you in the same way, admiring how flushed and beautiful you looked, your pupils blown and panting against the wall.

“Do you want me to stop?” He asked, leaning his forehead on yours.

“Don’t you dare.” You rasped. This spurred Loki on even more, and he pulled your dress up over your head and threw it on the floor. He kissed your neck and collarbone and made quick work of removing your bra. His left hand held you up by your ass and his right hand came up to palm your breast gently. You moaned loudly at the contact, and Loki connected his lips to yours again.

You snuck your arms inbetween your bodies and began to unbuckle and unzip his trousers, tucking them down as far as you could reach. Loki removed his hand from your breast to remove his trousers completely, and then kicked his underwear off.

You were both completely naked now, and completely vulnerable. Loki took a moment to admire you and gave you one last kiss before he put you back down on the ground.

“What are you doing?” You whined, hoping he hadn’t changed his mind.

He silently took one small step back, eyes never leaving yours, and sunk to his knees.

“Oh my god.” You breathed, not sure if you were ready for what was about to happen.

His big hands traced from your stomach down to your thighs and he pushed them apart slightly. He placed gentle kisses to your core before flattening his tongue against you and lapping up your growing wetness. Your fingers tangled in his hair as he lifted one of your legs over his shoulder.

“David, Jesus… where did you learn to do this?” You moaned.

He chuckled softly into you sending vibrations through your body, you gasped loudly. He continued this for several minutes before you gently tugged on his hair, pulling him away and to his feet.

“I need you.” You panted, “do you have any.. you know?”

David frowned, “No, spur of the moment kind of thing and it’s been a while.” He admitted, standing in front of you as he peppered kisses along your neck and face.

“Ok, I’m clean, and I’m still on the pill, if you want to-“ you were cut off by Loki scooping you up in his arms and carrying you to the bedroom. He laid you down gently on the bed, his demeanour changing from rough and desperate to gentle and loving. He took each movement slowly, making eye contact with you where possible.

He climbed on top of you and cupped your cheek gently. “Are you sure?” He asked. You nodded. Loki gently spread your legs and positioned himself. Slowly, inch by inch, he pushed himself into you, moaning softly as he did so. The arm propping himself up over you, bulging and veiny, turning you on even more. The stretch of him fully seated inside you caused you to moan loudly. Loki gave you a worried look but you smiled back at him and encouraged him to move.

He slowly pulled out and back in again, finding a rhythm. His free hand wandered your naked body, memorising your curves and how soft your skin felt. His eyes didn’t leave yours until he began to pick up speed.

Your legs wrapped around his waist and you began your own rhythm, bucking into him. Loki kissed your neck and collarbone in an effort to stifle his moans and grunts. You felt so good to him, not just how tight you felt around him but just being in your presence felt good. Loki hadn’t felt this good in years, and the realisation that popped into his head caused him to slow to a stop, leaning back to look at you.

“Are you okay?” You panted, stroking his messy hair back out of his eyes.

He was quiet for a moment while he looked into your eyes, hesitant. “Y-yeah, I’m fine.” He blinked hard.

You were now worried, so you pushed him off of you and onto his back, you leaned over him propping yourself up on your arm.

“No you’re not. What’s wrong?” You asked, brows furrowed.

He chucked sweetly at you and thought it was adorable that you worried about him. He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

“I promise I’m fine, you just take my breath away, that’s all.” He lied.

You smiled down at him and pecked his lips.

You and Loki continue until you were both spent, and you lay in each others arms in the afternoon sun. You both felt amazing in that moment and all the other worries seemed worlds away from you now. But the reality of it was that your fiancé was out there somewhere and you still had to deal with that, and Loki was still the lead detective on this case, and he was falling in love with you. So no, he was not fine.

————————————

- Final Chapter Here -

[scary-grace]

I have to tell you that, as a New Hampshireite, any American Thranduil is is now automatically from my state or ay least New England after reading Kairos, and any immigrant Thranduil living in the states would live here as well (He would thrive in our "do not fucking talk to me I don't know you who are you" culture, fits right in).

You are also VERY correct about him being a Philips Exeter kid, when I tell you I chuckle every time I think about it... My piece of wisdom for this is that if Oropher (old money and keen on people knowing that) had to choose a place in NH to live, it would be Bedford. That's where all of the obnoxious wealthy people with lake houses on Winnipesaukee or beachfront properties on Cape Cod who take weekend golf trips live, and Oropher reeks of that. Personally I find the idea of him dragging a very reluctant teenage Thranduil to the green extremely funny; Thranduil's just dragging his feet the entire time. He'd fucking hate golf.

You're so right! During a discussion with Bard in Chapter 12, Thranduil has this exchange about golf:

The look on Bard’s face says exactly how he feels about this. “Like what? Golf?” Golf. Thranduil cannot imagine anything more mind-numbingly dull than playing eighteen holes of golf. “Or sailing,” he says, and Bard snorts. “Perhaps croquet.”

And of course his hatred of golf is born from experience. First of all I think he's just too tall to play golf comfortably, and then as far as ways to interact with his environment go, that's probably the least interesting. I'm sure Oropher saw it as a fun activity or (in the best possible interpretation) a way to bond with his son; meanwhile, Thranduil was probably wondering what he did to deserve that kind of punishment.

As for New Hampshire!Thranduil, I'm so glad you like him! It's always an honor when people who grew up in/live in New England are happy with the way both he and the location are portrayed. All the details in your ask made me smile. I always appreciate learning more.

Thank you for the ask! The next chapter of the fic should be up within the next few hours.

[canirove]

The Princess & the Football Player | Chapter 8

Previous chapter | Next chapter

Masterlist

"What the fuck were you thinking about, Eleanor? Going out alone, without telling anyone, and with him?" David says, pacing around the room.

"Roberta knew" I say, my eyes fixed on the floor.

"Roberta" he scoffs. "She's lucky nothing happened to you."

"She didn't want to help me at first, it's all my fault."

"Of course it is all your fault! Again, what were you thinking? This could have ended so bad, Eleanor. So bad!"

The moment the taxi stopped in front of my hotel, David was waiting at the door, and I barely had time to say goodbye to Declan. He just opened the door, grabbed me by the arm, and led me to my room. 

"We took precautions."

"Precautions? A hat and some sunglasses? Please. This is real life, not a movie. You know better than this."

"I'm sorry" I whisper. 

"Eleanor, you can't do this again" David says, sitting next to me. "You can't. This time we've been lucky and already stopped these photos from being published, but imagine that it had happened. That someone had recognized Declan. He is playing the biggest tournament of his career so far, this could ruin it for him. For the whole team. You are the future Queen of England!"

"I... I'm sorry. I just... I wanted to be alone with him. We both wanted to be alone together. David," I say, finally being brave enough to look him in the eyes. "I like him. A lot. This isn't a summer fling like with Damiano, this is serious."

"I know it is" he sighs. "You wouldn't be this reckless if you didn't like him. A lot."

"So... What now?"

"Do you want to see him again?"

"I do, yes."

"And what about him? Does he want to see you again after what happened today?"

"I don't know. I guess. Before you dragged me out of the taxi, he asked me to text him."

"Have you exchanged numbers?"

"Just Instagram dms. I didn't want you to see a new number and start lurking."

"Clever girl" David chuckles. "You can do it now if he wants to see you again. I promise your privacy will be respected, but don't do anything stupid. I had enough seeing Damiano's... You know."

"That was all him, I sent nothing or asked him to send it."

"I know, I know. But just in case. I don't think it would benefit Declan's career either."

"He isn't like that. He's... Normal. He may be a football star and all that, but when you talk with him, he is just a normal guy from Kingston with a very loud laugh and who loves playing golf for some reason. And when we are together, he also makes me feel normal. With him I'm not Princess Eleanor, heir to the throne. I'm just Eleanor” I shrug. “He's even made me like my name, you know? When he says it, it doesn't sound so regal or serious."

"Damn... You do Iike him" David laughs.

"I do" I say, feeling my cheeks get hot. "Will you help us if he wants to keep seeing me?"

"I will" he says, taking my hand on his and giving it a little squeeze. "But you have to promise me that you won't escape and do something this stupid ever again."

"I promise, David."

"Ok, then. Text him and tell him there is nothing to worry about. He has to focus on the next game."

"I will" I say, finally smiling. "Thank you."

"You're welcome" David says, kissing my head. 

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━      

"No dungeon, then?"

"No dungeon" I chuckle.

"Thank God" Roberta sighs. "Imagine Mason having to go visit me there."

"Mason? What are you talking about?"

"Well..." she says, playing with her coffee cup. "After meeting the team the other day, he might have slid into my dms."

"He what? How?"

"He asked Declan if he could ask you for my username, but they found it on your profile because you have tagged me on a photo. You know that Mason knows about you two, right?"

"Yeah, yeah, Declan told me. But you had not said a word about this! It's been days!"

"I know, I know. But you were so busy with your escape plan and then so excited about finally having green light from David to see Declan, that I didn't want to ruin the moment" she shrugs.

"You wouldn't have ruined the moment, Roberta. But tell me more!"

"He's super nice and funny. At first it was a lot of teasing and jokes about oh, imagine best friends dating best friends and all that. But, I don't know. I feel a bit like you do. He makes me feel normal, not like I'm the heir of a textile empire and a royal descendant" she says with a shy smile.

"I can't believe this is happening to us" I laugh.

"I know! Falling for a football player while on holidays in Canada? That wasn't on my list of things to do this year."

"It wasn't on mine either” I chuckle. “Are you going to meet or something?"

"We want to, yes. And we were thinking that you and Declan could join us too, have a double date after the next game. If they win, of course."

"They will win, I'm confident."

"Then we should start thinking about what we are going to wear for that double date!" Roberta says, clapping her hands with excitement. "Shopping trip?"

"I guess" I smile. I can't say no to her when she gets this excited. 

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━      

Like I predicted, England won their game and made it to the next round, Declan being named man of the match, which made me feel very proud of him. But it also took a big weight from my shoulders. After everything that happened with our kind of first date, I feared it would affect him on the pitch. Thankfully there was nothing of that.

"We must play it cool, ok?" Roberta says as we walk towards the changing room.

"Cool?"

"Yes, cool. We can't let people notice that we like some players better than others."

"Ok" I chuckle. 

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━      

"Congratulations, man of the match" I say to Declan when I see him.

"Thank you, your Royal Highness" he says with a big smile. "Did you enjoy the game?"

"I did. It was the best of the tournament so far, but it won't be the last."

"Let's hope so."

"Eleanor, should we take that photo now?" Roberta asks.

"Yes, sure." 

"After you, ladies" Declan says.

"You weren't playing it cool" she whispers while everyone gets ready.

"What?"

"You and Declan. You were smiling at each other like two idiots in love. If I hadn't intervened, everyone would have noticed."

"What? Nah..."

"Yes, they would have. So you're welcome, princess" she says, sticking out her tongue before looking at the camera with her best smile. 

[runningfrom2am]

the sea around us; chapter five

TW: emetophobia, vomiting

*:･ﾟ✧*:･

I excused myself from everyone as they were talking about what to do now that JJ has blown our chances at "laying low", deciding to walk home. I grabbed my cooler backpack with my twelve-pack in it, which I didn't even end up touching, and trudged down the road.  JJ didn't plan on shooting anyone, I know that about him. He would never. The fact that he would hold a loaded gun to my brother's head though, did catch me off guard. I felt sick, oh god, I have about fifteen seconds before I start hurling my guts out on the side of the road- I don't know if it is the copious amounts of alcohol I consumed or the image of my brother with a gun to his head that's making me this nauseous.

I stop and lean away from the road as I start throwing up, holding my hair back with one hand, and resting the other on my knee. After a couple of minutes, I see headlights coming towards me. Awesome. I wipe off my mouth on my arm and stand up, I think I'm done puking my guts out now anyways. I keep walking, reaching into my bag and cracking another drink, hoping to rinse out my mouth and then finish it to keep myself from fully settling into sobriety and realizing the weight of the situation. Of course, I understand how serious what just happened was, but I can tell it hasn't really hit me yet.

The car rolls to a stop next to me as I'm spitting out the swig of Twisted Tea I used to wash the taste of vomit out of my mouth, and I look up as I hear a familiar voice.

"Hey, Snowy, you alright?" Topper. Sarah is in the passenger seat with him, arms crossed, looking straight at the road ahead of her.

"Hi Topper," I say, giving an awkward wave. "You didn't happen to see me hurling my guts out just now, did you?" I try and joke, knowing that of course, they saw.

"Uh, maybe just the tail end. Would you like a ride?" Sarah sighs and leans her head back against the seat as he says this. I've never had a real problem with Sarah personally, but I can understand why she'd be pissed at me now.

"I should be fine, only about five k's to the chateau," I say, a ride would be sweet, but I don't want to intrude, especially after the fight we just had with them.

"I don't know what a 'k' is, but I know where you live and at this rate, you'll get there around six am, Snowy. Hop in. Please." Topper pleads. Despite what happened, he cares for me. I haven't spent heaps of time with him, but he's Kegs' best friend, and he knows how much I mean to him.

I nod a little and get in the back, sliding across the seat so I'm behind Sarah. "Where's Kegs?" I ask quietly once we start moving. "I thought he was with you."

"He went to Erin's," Topper replied, looking at me in the rearview mirror. I take another sip of my drink and nod. Of course he's at Erin's.

"Hey, uh, Sarah?" I say quietly, trying to get her attention. She just hums in response, letting me know she's listening. "I... I'm really sorry I called you a liar. I'm not going to use the excuse that I was drunk, but I am wasted so..." I trail off, I need to get back on the point. "I don't think you were lying. From your distance, I'm sure that's exactly what it looked like. If I didn't panic, it would have been about four seconds before you would have been right, anyways..."

"It's fine," Sarah replied flatly. "I was looking out for you, Kegs just wants you to be safe. And happy." Of course, she knew he would react that way, but why wouldn't I be safe with JJ?

"Why wouldn't I be safe with JJ, I'm with him all the time."

"He just thinks you'd be better off if you hung out with us more. A less risky lifestyle than with the pogues." She explains and I nod softly, even though she can't see me. Classic Kegs, always thinks he knows what's best, and that popularity is the most important thing.

"We literally are pogues. We factually live on the cut, we have one bathroom for six people, for fucks sake. He's just good at golf and went to private school back home, and is likable. I never had that. I'll never be him.." I reply, but I am truly thankful that she cares. Sarah turns to face me, and she has a genuinely sympathetic look on her face.

"I do think you're pretty cool, Snowy. You're welcome to hang out with me and my friends sometime, I can't imagine Top and Rafe are really your scene." Sarah smiles at me and I return it with a slight nod. I doubt I'll take her up on it, there's no way I would fit in with her and her friends, but it was still nice of her to offer.

"Hey, can I interest you in a nice, almost room temp Twisted Tea?" I ask, changing the subject as I hold my bag up to her if she wants to take one. Sarah laughs as she grabs one.

"Thanks, Snowy."

*:･ﾟ✧*:･

When I get home, I hardly get the door shut before my mom starts shouting at me. "Juliette, are you kidding me right now? Keegan just called me and said your friend tried to kill him!"

I sigh and set my bag down, kicking off my sand-filled shoes. "Yeah, he left a key part out of that story." I try and explain, but apparently, she's not having it.

"It doesn't matter, Juliette." He could have been killed tonight and you don't care?"

"Of course, I care, Mom. I- He was literally drowning John B! His head was under the water for so long that he passed out, and Kegs just held him there!" I mean, John B didn't technically actually drown, but that definitely would have happened if JJ didn't step in. "He wasn't listening to me! He wouldn't stop! JJ had to do something."

"He didn't have to try and kill him. I cannot believe you are defending the kid who tried to kill your brother! What is wrong with you?"

Clearly, this isn't going anywhere, so grab my bag as I walk past her to go to my room as she grabs a glass off the counter and throws it at me, just missing as it smashes against the wall. I lock myself in the room that I share with the twins and sigh. I turn around to see them both staring at me from their bunk bed that is on the far wall. They look terrified, tears have stained Deck's cheeks, and Anna just looks shocked. We can still hear our parents talking outside, having a heated discussion about what they're going to do.

"You two should be asleep," I say, walking into our closet to get changed into some pajamas.

"We heard Mom yelling," Deck says quietly as I remove my shirt and bathing suit, facing away from them.

"Did JJ really try to kill Keegs?" Anna asks me and I shake my head.

"He wasn't going to hurt him. He just needed to get his attention." I explain, pulling a new shirt over my head and closing the door so they don't see me change my bottoms.

I come out once I get changed and go sit on the bottom bunk with Deck as he clings on to me, and I hug him back. "Snowy, that was scary."

"I know," I whisper, giving him a kiss on the top of his head.

"Can you sleep here with me?" He asks and I nod, laying down and pulling Deck down with me gently.

"So, was Pope there?" Anna asks me from the top bunk, leaning over the side so I can see just see her face in the dark, as he hair dangles down below her.

"Yes, Pope was there, Anna. Now get back to sleep." I chuckle, holding my little brother as she lays back down and keeps asking me questions about him. "Goodnight, Anna," I say in response, so she knows I won't be answering her anymore.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･

A/N;

Just a short chapter this time, but it felt like the right place to stop.

Business as usual, please let me know what you're thinking! I hardly have any readers so now is a great time to get your suggestions in since I am super active in writing this and I'm more than willing to incorporate different ideas :) Shoot me a message or leave a comment!

Also, I left a little poll so please share your thoughts!

Thanks for reading!

-R

[dolphindive85]

We Need A Girl- Chapter 4

Her agent had called Hannah up and asked her if she wanted to come to a golf course with SteveO, Johnny and Chris. She’d said yes straight away. In the time in-between seeing them she’d played a few shows, and got very, very drunk after two of them. She had a pale green bruise over her cheekbone from dancing enthusiastically on top of a bar, and into a hanging bottle of tequila. When she got the call, Hannah was sat with her guitar, absent mindedly smoking a joint and jotting down ideas. She had taped an ice pack to her face to try and ease the bruise. Her phone rang, and she reached out for it, holding her joint in her mouth. “Hello?”

“Hannah, this is Marcus.”

“Oh! Hi Marcus how are you doing?” Hannah sat up straighter, taking the cigarette out of her mouth.

“I’m well thank you. I’ve had a call from Jeff Tremaine”

“That’s great!” Hannah cut in.

“He was hoping you’d be free later today to come to a shoot at a golf course. He said you did well last week. He wants to keep working together. And I’m sending him a tape of your music.”

“OK, wow. Well yeah this afternoon for sure. What do I need? Where do I need to go?”

“They’ll send you a car. And he said something about clothing- you’ll be in camouflage so they’ll dress you. It sounds like you’ve done really well so far. Just remember to keep smiling, be agreeable. Be easy to work with and it’ll keep going your way.” Marcus urged.

Hannah smiled a little, grateful that news of the cargo shorts and deep scowl hadn’t made it back to her agent. “Yep. Thank you Marcus, great.”

After she hung up she rushed to get ready. Hannah ran a comb through her ratty hair, which had been up in the bun she’d slept in. Down, it was long, clean and knot free, for now. She looked at her appearance appraisingly. Un-taping the ice pack from her face Hannah had found the bruise looked exactly the same, but now it had red tape marks framing it. Mascara. Mascara could help. Hannah curled her lashes, rushing and clicking the curler hard. She applied three coats of mascara to each eye. It was crazy, she thought, how much of a difference that made. She sped through cleaning her teeth and spritzing herself with perfume- mostly looking to diffuse any lingering weed smell. She just had time to tie on her shoes when she heard a knock at the door. 

When she opened it, she was greeted by a grinning Ehren who led her out to the dilapidated van that shuttled the crew from one mischief to the next. “This is gonna be awesome” he sniggered. “I’m all cammo’d up, there’s more in the back for you. You’ll be in the same thing as me again, we take equality seriously here.” He said, with faux sincerity.

“You mean I’m not a golf cheerleader today? Fuck I was gonna really do it right this time. Been working on my pep and high school spirit all week.”

“Well that’s good to hear” said Johnny, waving at Hannah from the open shotgun window. 

“Morning ma’am. Oof that’s a shiner you got there,” he indicated her cheek. “Do I need to beat someone up? Or are you playing too rough again?” he grinned at her.

“Oh, you know, sometimes I just… dance too beautifully and live too passionately.” said Hannah, gesturing vaguely. Johnny tilted his head back and laughed. Hannah wanted to make him laugh again and again and again. Actually, she wanted to reach out and touch his smile. She grimaced as she realised, too late, that coming to this a little stoned was potentially going to be her undoing. No face touching, she chided herself, climbing into the car. Regular people don’t do face touching at work. 

Hannah was tactile at the best of times- an arm brusher, prone to resting a hand on a friend’s shoulder or reaching out to play with their hair. But those were female friends. Female friends who weren’t employing her to do the job that could get her music radio play, and her bank account less depressingly empty. She had been given the impression that some workplace touching could further her career from agents and representatives before, but she felt determined that wasn’t how she was going to do this. She liked these guys, and wanted them to see her as a full person, not a set of big boobs in a tank top. She winced internally at the rising memories of eyes that couldn’t break away from her tits, and lingering hands on her waist- always just to ‘help her out’, of course. She pushed them back down. This wouldn’t be like that. She just wanted to fit in with the boys here, and maybe even have everyone forget she was a girl altogether. Hannah’s eyes flicked to Johnny  again, eyes closed behind his aviators. Maybe not everyone. 

Hidden in the bushes, air horns in hand, Johnny put a finger to his lips. They waited, breath held and hands clamped over their mouths for the right moment to strike. In the quiet tranquility of the green fields, the HONK of the horns rang out like gunshots. The golfers visibly jumped, swinging wildly and missing their perfectly lined up rounds. 

Clearly furious, one of the golfers approached the trees, swearing blindly and looking for the source of the sound. “Fuck!!” whispered Dave and the group huddled together, barely suppressing their giggling. Their camouflage apparently working, the golfer shook his head and turned around, still cussing, and took long strides back to the course. “Shhhhh!! Shhhh!!” urged Johnny, his finger to his lips, watching intently as the man took back up his pose, seemingly hoping that his journey over to the bushes had been enough to dissuade the culprits of the noise. Hannah couldn’t help but feel keenly aware of how close his body was to hers as they stood crouched together in the trees. His finger still held in the air in a wordless command of silence, Johnny waited. Hannah wondered what it would feel like to have him put his finger to her lips instead, and felt her stomach knot with desire. The man swung, and Johnny, right on cue, honked his horn. This time, the golfer turned, and, picking up his friends club, threw it with full force into the bushes. Hannah felt Johnny’s hand move quickly to her shoulder, pressing her down into a crouch. He needn’t have- the club caught in the mess of branches and the group dissolved in giggles again, bending over. Hannah bit her knuckles to stop her laughter escaping in its usual cackle. Johnny’s hand lingered on her shoulder, and she wanted to melt into the pressure of it. She shook her head slightly, trying to clear the fog of feelings and, admittedly, weed. Johnny was technically her boss now, right? And he barely wanted her on the show. She needed to prove herself to him, not lose focus by fantasising about his hands and where she wanted to feel them.

One golfer fully lost it, teed up, and hit a golf ball at them. Johnny moved quick as a shot, getting himself and Hannah out of the way. His firm grip guided her body behind a tree, and his own body slammed into hers, his hand still tightly around her arm. The hard contours of his body against her made Hannah draw in a sharp breath, stiffening. Johnny seemed to register the alarm in her body, and moved away quickly. “Sorry,” he said, jumping back, hands releasing her and raising in surrender. Cheeks flaming, Hannah accidentally squeezed her own airhorn, causing the already incensed golf ball thrower to curse and start striding over to where they stood. She clamped her hand over her mouth, as if that was where the sound had emanated from. Dave doubled over with giggles as the elderly man waved his finger furiously at the camera. “Woah man,” said Hannah a little dazed, “We can’t air all the swearing, we’re gonna have to beep you out if you carry on like that.” 

The man blinked at her.

“You fucking idiot c-“

“HONK” Hannah blared her horn, cutting him off mid-profanity. She found the camera “I mean,” she said with a shrug “We just can’t show that kind of filth on TV.” 

She couldn’t help but feel a little giddy when Johnny sank down to his knees laughing, holding onto Dave’s shoulder for support. She probably only could have felt better if it had been her shoulder he’d been hanging from.

[bindtorturekillme]

Your Eyes, Vacant and Stained

Ch.10 - 3.8k

Pairing: Frank Iero x Gerard Way

Frank crossed his arms and leaned against the counter behind him. Waiting.

More silence. He crossed his ankles and rolled his eyes, unable to prevent himself from chewing on his bottom lip as he never got the response he wanted.

Ugh… This is why we should’ve never split up in the first place…

Warnings 

Gore, Death, Murder, WORK-IN-PROGRESS, not completed (and chapters unknown) but I know the ending, trust me guys I will write it, I just need people to love this idea with me, Zombies, Gay, mcr??

Support my AO3 with part ten otherwise, enjoy ♥

Chap.1 | Chap.2 | Chap.3 | Chap.4 | Chap.5 | Chap.6 | Chap.7 | Chap.8 | Chap.9 |

The closer the two got to their destination, the more eerie the desert became. Frank had noticed as they drove that the zombies roaming quickly dissipated. The video of the melting body clumps Gerard had shown him days before was still plaguing his thoughts. Not seeing anything like that anymore made him question whether it was even real.

Frank rolled his eyes and sighed at himself, earning a sidelong look from Gerard, who was walking tall with his shoulders back while Frank hunched a bit. The weight of the bags and weapon, plus the claustrophobic heat that blistered onto his skull, made him feel heavier than normal.

They stayed silent for most of the walk, Frank was too hot to think anyways and didn’t mind. Gerard was the one to break the silence once the building was so close they could make out a large parking lot first, in front of a three—maybe four—story building with lines of large windows going across each floor. The parking lot had a fair number of cars in it still, but it was terrifyingly quiet.

“Hey,” Gerard chuckled, pointing at the large green sign that used to say the exit name, but half of the sign was missing, and it was littered with bullet holes. “That’s my last name!” Gerard flashed a toothy grin at Frank as Frank moved to look at the sign, South Way, it said on two separate lines.

“South?” Frank smiled at himself as Gerard hit his arm, causing Frank to stumble sideways and release a mischievous giggle.

“It’s Way, you ass. Come on,” Gerard had stopped them momentarily to point out the sign, but he continued walking almost immediately. Frank trudged slowly behind him.

The closer they got to the exit, the more of the structure came into view. The design made it look as though three different buildings were placed one after the next, then stuck together. Each section of the building was a different color, and each had their own style of windows. Eventually, as they got closer, huge nets that went up another two or three stories began to appear behind the building and—

“Is this another FUCKING golf course?!” Frank dropped one bag and his axe in frustration before running off the road and climbing up the dirty mound that elevated the parking lot. The duffle he had slung over his back stuck to him grossly as he clawed his fingers into the hot dirt.

Gerard smirked as he watched Frank attempt to climb, lighting a cigarette casually before grabbing the bag Frank dropped (which was technically Gerard’s) and his axe before slowly following behind. He took deep drags of the cigarette as he worked his way around the dirt to climb up it without dropping to his hands and knees.

As Gerard pulled himself up onto the burning asphalt of the lot, he saw Frank not too far over splayed out on his stomach, hands and feet out like a starfish, his face straight down into the concrete.

“How’s it goin’, bud.” Gerard squatted beside Frank, Frank’s mouth watered at the scent of the tobacco, he wanted a taste, but he wasn’t sure if he wanted it from the stick or from what held onto it.

Frank threw up his thumb without saying anything. Gerard puffed the smoke out of his nose in a weak laugh as he patted Frank’s shoulder.

“I can carry this stuff but let’s get inside.” Gerard straightened, turning his attention to the building that was so obviously another golf course. “Maybe they still have wi-fi…” Gerard yanked out his phone and tapped a few things before holding it out towards the building.

Neither of them had gotten service since before they broke down and, although Gerard was decent at staying calm, cool, and collected; he was significantly worse at staying that way when it came to his brother.

Frank had made a mental note during their walk to count how often Gerard checked his phone for service. It was one hundred and eight times. They had only walked for a little over an hour before spotting the South Way sign.

Frank listened as Gerard finished the cigarette, stamping it out with his foot before inhaling deeply and wetly coughing into his arm.

Frank turned his head to lay his cheek flat on the ground, watching as Gerard hacked a bit before spitting away into the dirt.

“I’m not one to mention people’s vices…” Frank started, but Gerard cut him off.

“Then don’t.” Gerard walked past Frank without sparing him a glance. He moved straight towards the building, leaving Frank to cook on the ground.

But Frank didn’t move right away either. Instead, he laid there, staring at the now vacant area that Gerard was previously inhabiting. Despite their current situation, Frank was unable to deny how beautiful the scenery was out West.

Is Utah still considered ‘out west’ or is this just Midwest now…

He argued with himself for a while, attempting to decide on his own where the line is to divide the West and the Midwest as he got lost within the clouds that did nothing to hide the sun away even for a few seconds.

He wasn’t sure when, but at some point Frank fell asleep. Or maybe he passed out, he wasn’t entirely sure. When he came to, it felt like his eyes had never closed. His vision blurred back in as the blackness around the edges receded slowly.

Gerard was crouching over him, giving him minor relief from the sun, but the ground still radiated up into his face.

“When I walked away, you were supposed to follow.”

Like I don’t know that? Frank mentally rolled his eyes, closing his real ones as he groaned.

“Come on,” Gerard got up, planted one leg on either side of Frank’s hips, wrapped up under his armpits and peeled him off the asphalt. Tiny pebbles stayed embedded within Frank’s cheek and forehead as Gerard wobbled a little at Frank’s deadweight.

“Just leave me here to die…”

“I’m not letting you die in the parking lot of a fucking golf course, Frankie, now get your feet under you and MOVE.” Gerard pulled Frank up onto his feet before taking his arms back and shoving the axe into Frank’s chest.

Frank wobbled as he regained his balance, hands absently wrapping around the handle to hold the axe to his own chest. Hearing Gerard call him Frankie again had twisting in his groin as he grew slightly hard. It didn’t help that Gerard could practically throw him around like he weighed nothing.

God, you are such a bottom… Frank groaned out loud, wiping the rocks out of his skin as he followed Gerard to the building.

This course was significantly different from the one they were previously staying at; it had a much larger community area around the front and the side, blanketed by fake grass with a random scattering of now overturned picnic tables and chairs. Wrapping around the entire building looked like a mini-golf course, the netting behind the building was for the range, the full eighteen holes started beside the mini-course on the opposite side from the highway. It spanned out as far as the eye could see. The florescent green grass and plastic looking trees being framed by the brown mountains and dirt ground made the course look so… fake.

Once inside, the strange, modernized style of the building made sense. Walking into the far-left side first, they were greeted with the typical ticket stand style booth sitting center as soon as they walked in. Mini-golf balls and putts were stacked in brightly colored, random arrangements. Behind the booth were more tables and chairs, sturdier than the ones just outside, and these were all neatly put together. Looking untouched by the sudden onslaught of the walking dead.

Frank’s stomach twisted uncomfortably as his gut made him feel like he needed to puke.

“I don’t like this, Gee…” Frank had his axe at the ready, it was much too quiet. But Frank quickly realized giving Gerard his own nickname during Frank’s suddenly intense fear was a bad idea because Gerard didn’t hear the anxiety coating Frank’s tongue. Instead, he eyed Frank up and down from over his shoulder, his face was stoic, but Frank could see something in his eyes that burned like fire.

Frank felt like he was naked, as Gerard continued to stare, seeming to undress him with his eyes.

“Are you scared?” Gerard’s voice had a darker note to it than usual, Frank felt his heart beat in his cock as it twitched harder.

Frank felt the handle of the axe grow slick with sweat as Gerard continued to watch him grow more uncomfortable. But Frank decided to shake his head slowly, watching as Gerard turned and straightened out to peer down at him.

Frank used all his power to pretend he couldn’t see that Gerard was also growing hungrier for the taste of him again as Gerard’s dick got noticeably hard in his obnoxiously tight jeans.

Gerard took a step closer; Frank felt his temperature rise a little. Even though they were in a completely open room, Frank felt like prey being trapped in the corner. And he wasn’t sure he entirely disliked that idea…

“We should look for the wi-fi password…” Gerard drawled, watching Frank closely. Frank was confused about the mood shift from being hot and bothered to the wi-fi again. “There’s probably a manager’s desk, probably an entire room…”

Ooooooh… Gerard stepped closer, making Frank gulp. There are ulterior motives…

Frank bit back a smile and hoped if he bit hard enough the pain would turn him off a little but that didn’t happen. Frank couldn’t help himself as Gerard smiled at him, he was so close now Frank was able to smell the faint scent of the cigarette on his breath. All he wanted was to feel their mouths moving together again, to feel the wet heat from the two of them being too close and wanting each other too much without even touching.

But Frank really wanted to touch him, especially now with them being a handful of inches apart and all he was craving was to taste the leftovers from the old cigarette.

“Come on,” With one last look up and down, Gerard turned on his heels and began to walk to the center of the building. Frank shook himself back to reality before following closely on Gerard’s heels. This area was concealed behind a single, tiny door that just read LOBBY in bold, red lettering.

The center area looked almost like a hotel lobby; a large desk sat in the center of the large room. Behind the desk was a fake waterfall spanning up two flights, where either side was framed by a large set of stairs that wrapped up to the second floor. The second floor was lofted, allowing the lobby to have a high ceiling. The loft had a glass railing, it was impossible to see what was upstairs with the waterfall in the way.

“This is…” Frank started, unable to take his eyes away from the over extravagance that seemed so… unnecessary for a golf course. They both dropped their bags in front of the desk, silently agreeing the only thing they needed was their weapons.

“Yeah…” Gerard replied, ignoring the fact that Frank trailed off. Gerard checked behind his shoulder, seeing Frank was distracted and pushed on. Frank checked behind the desk, not realizing Gerard was still walking.

The desk seemed to be mostly empty. It looked like a couple of piles of papers had been scattered across the surface, some had landed on the ground but none of them had any information that mattered to Frank. A lot of them looked like excel sheets full of numbers and names.

He sifted through the pages, unsure of what he was looking for. The desk was completely empty. No keys, cables, phones, or a computer.

How were they even checking people in…? There’s no way they did this –

A loud bang cut off Frank’s train of thought, making him jump. He whipped around to face the archway Gerard had disappeared through earlier.

Followed by silence, Frank forgot about the desk and its contents to find the sound. The silence grew as he entered the restaurant, the floor had switched from tiles to a dark red carpet that matched the dark red and black theme of the inside.

This room was also strangely still set up and undisturbed by the apocalypse that seemed to become suffocating for Frank. Every seat was flipped upside down, each table holding four hanging chairs. The hostess stand looked neatly put together, not a single menu or utensil pack was out of line.

A large bar occupied the back center of the room, the barstools were still standing but all six of them were tucked neatly underneath the bar. A rectangular window with no glass sat to one side, beyond the open window was unmistakably a kitchen yet he couldn’t see a door in from this side of the bar.

To the right of the bar, the opposite side of the window into the kitchen, was one long wall that spanned to the end of the room. The entire wall was filled with different types of slots games, since they were all powered off it cast a heavy shadow around the corner. An endless void that loomed over Frank, even the large windows letting in the sun didn’t seem to reach this far back.

Following the wall past the window was a corner that Frank didn’t hesitate to follow. The hallway he found himself starting down was even darker. The looming sense of dread filled his stomach and his mouth dried up. Even if he wanted to try to call Gerard’s name, it wasn’t going to come out.

The end of the hall was impossible to see, making feel like an endless void that wanted to eat him more than the cannibals outside did. He could make out three doors down this hall before it grew too dark; two were bathrooms, made obvious by the gendered signs on each, while the last had an EMPLOYEES ONLY sign on it.

The sign reminded Frank of the first time he’d met Gerard, Mikey and Ray. How he felt safer with them than he had felt since waking up in that hotel. This reminder helped to wash away some of the dread that was creeping up from his stomach into his throat. Although his mouth remained dry, the hints of acid coming up made him swallow whatever his mouth could gather.

The subtle squeak of Frank’s shoes came back as he pushed through the door that led into the kitchen. It was lighter in here, he could make out the huge gas stoves, the long prep tables, ovens that could fit three of him inside. The squeaking became annoyingly obvious as he went deeper, a few walk-in cooler doors shined as he walked past.

He was certain the sound came from back here, the bang sounded like stainless steel and the kitchen was basically just stainless steel.

It wasn’t long before Frank found the culprit of the sound, a large pot was turned over on the ground between a couple of tables. Frank felt a minor sigh of relief as saliva filled his mouth again. Looking up, there was a long rack hanging from the ceiling that held numerous pots and pans.

Although it wasn’t impossible that the pot dropped by itself, Frank was suspicious of Gerard’s intentions behind sneaking off and now hiding from him. Absently, Frank bent over and collected the pot, he was too short to reach up and hang it from the rack again, so he settled with placing it on top of one of the stove burners.

“Okay, Gerard. I get it,” Frank swung around and scanned the very empty room. A huge dishwashing line took up the majority of the very back of the room. “You figured me out. I sometimes get horny when I’m scared.” Frank threw his hands in the air, “I’d rather know you’re not a zombie before I let you do anything.”

Silence.

Frank crossed his arms and leaned against the counter behind him. Waiting.

More silence. He crossed his ankles and rolled his eyes, unable to prevent himself from chewing on his bottom lip as he never got the response he wanted.

Ugh… This is why we should’ve never split up in the first place…

Frank waited a little longer, not breaking the silence again until he pushed off the counter and made his way through the kitchen. “Gerard…?” Frank found another walk-in cooler door, more prep tables with slicers and knife blocks decorating them. Behind a locked, cage door was a small liquor room. In the limited light, Frank could still make out that hardly anything in there had been used.

His mouth watered, missing the taste of whiskey, especially when it was being tasted from Gerard’s tongue—BANG.

Frank jumped, nearly losing his balance as he rammed his hip into a table next to him. The bang came from where he was, quickly making his way back around, he immediately saw the pot he picked up earlier now on the floor again on almost the other side of the room.

Either there was a very strong ghost, or Gerard was having fun fucking with him.

He hoped (and assumed) it was the latter. Huffing, he picked the pot back up and placed it onto the stove again.

“First of all, rude.” He said out loud, knowing Gerard was listening. “Second of all, I saw you come back here, you can’t scare me.” Truthfully, Frank only assumed Gerard came back here. That was when Frank realized Gerard could be in the bathroom, or even behind the bar.

Frank made his way through the kitchen again, slower this time, checking around the opposite way from the liquor he found. Rounding the other corner he was greeted with a short hallway, only two rooms were down here. One room was labeled EMPLOYEE BATHROOM, the other labeled MANAGERS OFFICE.

As Frank mindlessly gulped, he unknowingly swallowed the last of his spit before his mouth dried from fear. He cursed himself for hoping he would find Gerard behind the door, because at least Gerard was a physical being. He wasn’t sure if fighting a ghost was even an option…

But, as he pushed open the door to the manager’s office, and flicked on the light, he was greeted by an empty room. At least, it looked empty. Frank quickly confirmed this after checking under the desk. The room was much too small to hide anywhere else.

The back and forth of Frank’s relief and fear was making his stomach feel sick, without thinking Frank stomped out of the office and into the bathroom next door. Which was, of course, also empty save for the toilet, sink, and paper towel dispenser.

The next BANG that sounded from the kitchen didn’t scare Frank this time, instead it pissed him off. Gerard saw this as a game, he was toying with Frank at a time when they should both be careful about how loud they were being.

With a growl, Frank flicked off the lights to the bathroom and office and stalked back into the kitchen. He stomped up to the pot on the ground again, whipping his head back and forth, peaking around each corner attempting to see any sort of movement or see even the tiniest of squeaks.

“I know you’re having fun, and you somehow think I deserve this, but—” Then, the tiniest of squeaks did come. It came from a door in the back next to the end of the dishwasher line, where a mountain of clean dishes were stacked uncomfortably high.

This door crept open slowly inward, exposing another dark room. It was less like the endless voids Frank had found in the corners of the rooms while making his way in here. This was a portal into another world. Frank couldn’t make out what anything inside the room was but there was no movement. And, once the door creaked open to its full extent, that previously deafening silence enveloped the room again.

Frank set the pot onto a prep table instead this time, caring far more about what he was seconds away from discovering. He moved slowly towards the now open door, being conscious to walk in a way that prevented his steps from being so loud.

He reached the doorway and peered in, allowing his eyes to adjust. Tall shelves full of different boxes and cans, lots of dry goods. Frank clocked it as the pantry. The shelves seemed to reach the ceiling, and they were stocked full. Frank felt the wall beside him, attempting to find a switch for the light. But as his eyes adjusted, he noticed a string hanging high above attached to one shitty light bulb that didn’t even have a cover.

Of course… Frank flicked his eyes around again, if there were zombies in here, he knew they wouldn’t be silent. Even the one in his hotel room that he didn’t see right away had been making sounds, it was just muffled from the pounding hangover.

He took one step in, listening. Then another, still silent. Three steps in and he felt confident he was alone. Four steps and he reached out for the string on the light only to be startled again when the door behind him slammed shut, thrusting him immediately into darkness. The string forgotten as he shrunk into himself.

“Gee—” Was all he was able to get out before his face and stomach were slammed into the wall next to him. His sweat soaked hands caused his axe to go flying, clattering somewhere between the shelves.

Warmth cocooned Frank as Gerard covered him with his own body, with Frank’s cheek squished against the wall, Gerard gradually snaked his hand around Frank’s waist. Starting at his waist, Gerard’s fingertips played under the hem of his shirt, teasing Frank’s depraved skin. Gerard moved his hand up under Frank’s shirt to caress his chin before clasping his fist closed around Frank’s throat.

Stealing his breath without warning, and Frank fucking loved it.

“You think I’m going to wait for you to let me do things to you…? I remember how you acted on the truck that night…” Gerard’s free hand went to Frank’s cock that was fighting for freedom under his jeans. “I think it’s time for payback…”

Gerard nipped the sensitive area behind Frank’s ear, licking up his lobe and he squeezed Frank’s dick, eliciting a desperate groan from Frank.

Gerard let out of soft chuckle as Frank pushed his hips back into Gerard’s stiff dick that dug into him. “I knew you liked it…” Frank choked on another groan as Gerard squeezed his throat harder. “We’re going to have some fun…” Was the last thing Gerard said before beginning to unzip Frank’s pants.

[thewestern]

Chapter 19:1

That car was still parked there, half-a-way’s inside. They couldn’t back it out for fear that Baby, the fifteen-hectoliter fermentation tank there in the corner, would come toppling down and flood the alleyway. Here was a high-stakes game of Jenga. They couldn’t even rescue poor Bertha, whose spot on the wall remained barren. The Mick was surprised how nobody noticed she was gone. Not even the Twins, with whom he had a corrective interview re the keys. Didn’t hardly punish them though, nor revoke their closing duties. Just asked as polite as he could muster to fucking please be more fucking careful closing up next time. They got the fucking picture.

Now that you've become a man, looking very mean

Got a nice shiny sports car, keep it very clean

As for what happened to Billy Wolff, what do you mean What Happened to Billy? Like, as in consequences? Nah, player. On the contrary, after exfiltrating himself from the brew kettle, Billy calmly explained to Kitty and the Mick how it would behoove them to keep this whole thing on the down low. To his credit, a lesser man would have played the, Do You Know Who My Mom Is, card. Homie don’t play like that. Because this wasn’t homie’s first rodeo, which is to say Billy’d been in similar situations many times before. For a fact, it wasn’t even his first time crashing his car through someone’s wall. In some ways Billy felt most himself with his back up against the wall, regardless of whether he’d just crashed through it. He steadied his heart rate, calmed his tone, and broke it down for them.  

Trust me, you don’t want to call the cops and make this a whole thing. We have people that deal with these situations discreetly and generously for all parties heretofore. You know what I’m saying. They’ll take care of you. However, if you insist on making it a thing, they’ll fuck your shit up for real. That’s not a threat. It’s just a fact.  

Don’t ask him what it was, tell him what it is

Don’t ask him what it was, tell him what it is

That was two days ago. Since then, the Mick hadn’t heard bupkis from Billy or his people. Mostly so that the homeless folks that frequented the alley wouldn’t feel tempted to use the protruding car as a toilet, Mick covered up the stern end with a tarp from Hank’s closet. (Some business guys kept golf clubs in their office. Hank had camping equipment. And for what it’s worth, the Mick wouldn’t have given a shit about a bunch of bums fucking in Billy’s car, were it not parked partway in his workplace.) Apart from that, all he could do was work around it. Today he and G were prepping a shipment of their winter seasonal. Yeah, they had some fucking tunes going: Phish. Clifford Ball. 16 August 1996 - 17 August 1996, Plattsburgh Air Force Base, Plattsburgh. All was not lost.

Grace was currently piloting the forklift, navigating around the tightly-quartered stockroom with an ease worthy of her name. If you’ve the good fortune to be a white collar candy ass (hey, no shame in that game), and you’ve seen a forklift operating at your local big box retailer and thought to yourself, that looks kind of fun … well, then you’d be right. It Is fun. Now, you can imagine the novelty diminishing, driving that train day in and day out for forty-odd years. Not to mention it’s murder-one on your fucking back. And the two-day certification course you got to get renewed every thirty-six months is hella boring. But, fortunately for Grace, fulfillment was only a small part of her scope of work. Having a machine to aid her in the heavy lifting was like a special treat. Especially one you get to scoot around in like a go-kart. You know they say it’s only a matter of time before these types of monotonous tasks of men and women working with machines are automated off every factory floor on the face of the earth. Won’t that be a shame. 

Grace was hard at work stacking palettes of Home Invasion Holiday Ale, which featured more of the Mick’s provocative can art. A so-called Nativity Crime Scene, depicting Santa Claus coming down the chimney with care, only to be confronted by a responsible gun-owning citizen in a stocking cap and slippers, standing his ground with the AR-15-style rifle that he keeps by his bedside for home defense purposes. (AR-15-style, because AR-15 isn’t any specific gun, a detail which a lot of folks are confused about. It’s just a Style of rifle. Like doggy style. You don’t have to go out in the yard. It’s just the style. And the AR-15 is shorthand for any lightweight semi-automatic modeled after the Colt AR-15, which suppose then would be sort of the Kleenex of weapons systems. One of the reasons everybody knows about AR-15, is their enduring popularity among civilians. And not just school shooters either. Lots of Sportsmen and Sportswomen like ‘em, one of the main reasons being that they’re fully customizable with all manner of aftermarket components. That’s why they call ‘em Barbie Dolls for Dudes. It provides them a much-needed outlet to express themselves. Via accessorizing. Bump stocks, angled foregrips, holographic scopes. Don’t skimp on those holographic scopes now. A quality one can cost more than the whole platform. Worth every penny too. Get you some backup iron sights as well, god forbid in case that fancy new scope of yours craps out in the field of battle. Runs out of battery or something. If you can’t reliably aim your rifle, you’re combat ineffective, kimosabe. Out of the fight.) Fucking freeze fat man! It was the Mick’s hamfisted attempt at doing a social commentary. Some people say don’t be edgy. He doesn’t know any other way. (Part of the backstory the Mick created for this beer label was that little does this guy know, Saint Nick has something special just for him in his sack. A Blackout Defense Zero Trigger, the fastest on the market. Although the one that comes stock on his Daniels Defense DDM4 is plenty quick enough to blow Santa’s head clean off. How’s that for irony? If that don’t get him top of the Naughty List.)

HIHA was also the Mick’s homage to one of his early beer influences, Saint Bernardus Christmas Ale, of Belgium. Christmas Ales are a big fucking deal over there. All the breweries make one, and they make for the giving season’s perfect aperitif. Just picture, strolling the cobblestone streets, beneath some Medieval-ass Architecture, basked in the moonlit glow of a winter’s eve at Christmastime. Having a gay pint on a cafe terrace in the old towne square. Ain’t it a proper fucking fairytale. 

Stylistically Belgian Christmas Ales (ou Bieres de Noel) are somewhat derivative of Scotch Ales, which were imported by the boatload around the turn of the previous century into Brussels (by way of Antwerp, probably), where they were then rebranded as Christmas Ales. They’re of a dark amber hue and an alcohol content in the high single or even low double digits. (Saint Bernardus classifies Christmas Ale as a Quad or Quadrupel, a stronger and darker variation on the more common monastic ales, Belgian Dubbels and Tripels.) Crucially, they differ from their Scottish predecessors in that they are Delicately Spiced. But don’t you dare ever ask a Belgian brewer how, you nosy bastard, you. You’d just as soon ask a magician how he pulled the hare out of that dern hat, or sawed his lady in two, wouldn’t you? Alls you need to know is that basically, they taste Like Christmas, which was what the Mick was going for. And he fucking nailed it too, bang on. He went and fermented the Christmas Spirit. Not bad for a non-practicing Jew. 

Very similar to how the Mick followed in the clog-shaped footsteps of his Belgian forebrewers, Phish was in many ways inspired by the Grateful Dead. Yes (and), artistically, in the sense they were both improvisationally oriented. But also commercially — or anti-commercially, as it were — in the manner with which fans consumed their music. (It is the music Business, after all.) For a fact, in large part owing to their improvisatory natures, they are both considered preeminently to be Live Bands. Meaning that their music is best experienced in a concert setting, wherein the virtuosity of each unique performance can be properly appreciated for the musical snowflake that it is. This opposed to the studio recording, which is the same every time you hear it. Which is exactly how come a major pillar of the fan culture for both bands formed around the grey market trading of bootleg tapings of live shows. So those concerts may be enjoyed in the comfort of your own home or station wagon. 

Now, normally, the suits at the record company would strenuously discourage such infringement on their artists’ copyright material. (For the same reason they’d boot you out of a movie theater if they caught you sitting in the back row with a camcorder, like George Costanza. Likewise, Billy and the Mick had both separately been sent cease and desist letters for torrenting episodes of the premium cable television show, Entourage.) The Grateful Dead, meanwhile, were of the mind that once they performed a show, they were done with it, and the Deadheads could have it. (That was Jerry’s belief system, anyway. He always had a more Eastern way of looking at things things. Mickey was perhaps a bit more pragmatic when he said that, truthfully, it would have been too logistically difficult police this flurry of illicit activity. They’d have had to hire a bunch of rent-a-cops, and of course they had a checquered history with private security. [See Angels, Hells.] They didn’t want to be that anyway. Meter maids. Confiscating cassette machines and issuing citations. So they let the bootleggers be. And it turned out that in return, those very bootleggers, they gave them back the world, in Mickey’s words. Because between all the taping and the trading and the obsessing over which version of what song was best, it became this proto-viral phenomenon. Part in parcel to what made the Deadheads such a devoted bunch. What’s more, as Bobby let slip to David Letterman and his studio auidence, if they ever did make a studio record that was worth a shit, those same folks’d rush out and buy that besides. [Those albums mostly hold up quite splendidly, apart from Built to Last. Ain’t that ironic. But even she has some hidden gems on her. Perhaps it should come as no surprise how Hank loved Standing on the Moon. Another good wedding song.]) So, before they signed to a major label, the boys took care to include a proviso in their contract that allowed for fans to carry on with their pirating ways without incurring threat of penalty. Phish followed suit by not filing suit against their fans, and took the collectivist ethos a step further by going to battle with BIG TICKET, the live entertainment monopoly that gooses its fat fucking margins by colluding with venues to pass on costs to everyday concertgoers with outrageous service charges and other bogus fees. 

Grace was being specially careful, having been a bit spooked by recent events as she was. Also, Thad and Lulu had sent her an online video compilation of Forklift Fails as a morbid Congrats for earning her safety certificate. We’re talking tidal waves’-worth of wares crashing down upon poor defenseless laborers below. The twins could always be counted on for a pick-me-up. Or for to forward the email chain equivalent of saying, You Want To See A Dead Body? (It probably goes without saying, but they shared an email address: twin freaks at hot mail dot com.) Lucky for Grace the little canning area and loading dock weren’t hardly large enough an operation for incurring much bodily harm. (The brewhouse proper on the other hand was a death trap, as Kitty could attest.) Suppose that would change if they ever did move into that fancy new production facility. Grace for one doubted the handshake agreement with Jaime would hold up. That guy gave her the heebie jeebies. His red-hot assistant, however, could come get some.

Saint Bernardus is an abbey brewery, which is different from a Trappist brewery. (It’s sort of a not every rectangle is a square, situation.) At the latter, all the beer making and packaging and other grunt work that would usually be left up to Grace is done by real live Trappist monks. It counts as their works. Some monasteries bake bread. Others train German Shepherds. (Or Belgian Malinois, the far superior breed. IYKYK.) It doesn’t make a damn bit of difference what they do according to the Cesarean Order, just so long as it pays for them to sit around the rest of the day long, deep in prayer. Also, it has to be done with their hands. Saint Benedict was very strict about that. Only manual labour. So then there are no Management Consulting Monks. 

Abbey breweries, for their part, although they usually maintain some monastic affiliation, are operated on a day-to-day basis by unordained brewers. Saint Bernardus, for example, has a contract to brew on behalf of the nearby Saint Sixtus Abbey. Now, let’s pause a second there. Because, in the vernacular of American craft beer, the term Contract Brewing opens up a whole other can of worms. Some of the most famous craft brands, including one many consider to be a Founding Father of the American Beer Revolution, began as contract brewers, which in laymans’ terms means that they outsource the actual brewing of the beer. Alls they do is sell the stuff. Listen, it’s a provocative approach. Because making the beer is without a doubt the hardest part of being a brewer. But it’s kind of false advertising though, isn’t it? Like, for example, if you named your company after the city it’s incorporated in. Say, Philadelphia Brewing. And your flagship beer was called Ben Franklin Philadelphia Ale, or some bullshit. But then that beer was brewed by some other company in Rochester, a good half-a-day’s drive from Philly, where Ben Franklin wouldn’t have been caught dead.

Hey, suppose you can’t knock the hustle. Rest assured, though, the fellas at Saint Sixtus weren’t trying to pull a fast one when they licensed their name, recipes and famous yeast strain to Saint Bernardus. (For their part, the Bernie Bros were previously a holy cheesemaking brotherhood before selling out to secular interests.) It was just that the Second World War was awfully tough on everybody in the Low Countries. And going through a trauma like that makes you want to focus on what’s really important. So, the monks at Saint Sixtus put their funny bald heads together and reevaluated their priorities. As established, the Trappists have only two of them (priorities), and they’re handed down by almighty god himself — Prayer and Work. (Ora et Labora.) Delegating part of the latter allowed them to spend more time on the former. 

Larry tried to convince Hank to go the contract brewing route, presumably so he could also spend more time in prayer. Hank rebuked him and hired Russ. Not only would the New Frontier brew its own beers, it would self-distribute them too. Again, the significance of this decision requires context, but please, save yourself the self-flagellation that is trying to understand the byzantine nuances of the three-tier system for alcohol distribution in America. Settle for the cliff notes, and even then, don’t strain yourself to pay attention. Just allow the information to wash over you, like a hot four-beer shower.

Okay. The business schoolhouse rock version is this. That the alcoholic beverage industry works as follows. Ahem. Check one-two. What were we talking about? Right. Three tier system. There are the two tiers that everybody knows. First, it’s Manufacturing. Those who make the hooch. (Breweries, distilleries, fucking vineyards.) And then Retail. Those who sell it. (Bars, liquor stores, that new brunch place with the bottomless mimosas. You get the idea.) For the longest time, that was all there was. And, as industries are wont to do, things started consolidating, insofar as the manufacturers were creeping in on the retail sector. That’s called Vertical Integration. Lots of bars would be contractually beholden to a particular brewery to exclusively sell its beer on-premises, if they weren’t owned and operated by a brewery outright. That type of arrangement is what’s known in the liquor business as a Tied House. At the close of the nineteenth century, most of the popular Saloons of the day were tied houses. And these saloons were thought among the teetotaler types to be dens of ill fucking repute. For a fact, the most powerful Prohibition lobby was the Anti-Saloon League. It’s true these saloons turned all the way up, on a Tuesday and every other day that ends in Y. People drank an awful lot in those days. Part of the problem with the perceived Plague of Saloon Culture was that dammit if there wasn’t one on every cotton picking corner. Because, when the deep-pocketed manufacturers got involved in retail, they were in fierce competition for market share in the industrializing American cities. It was an all-out turf war. Fighting for hearts, minds and livers.

(Of course it’s more complicated than that, how come prohibition came to pass. For one thing, the temperance movement, which took root out of the same fertile soil of emerging Evangelicalism from whence the abolitionist cause had sprung in the pre-Civil War period, became closely aligned with the fight for women’s suffrage. See, these saloons were men-only type of joints. No Girls Allowed. (Fine print: unless they’re prostitutes.) It wasn’t only that the wives didn’t want their husbands out day and night, drinking themselves stupid and screwing whores and the like. It was also because, being how it’s where the menfolk spent all their time, these saloons became places of power. And these uppity women didn’t like being excluded from all their political maneuverings. Hence the synergy with suffrage.

But then that’s not all either. Racism and a rising tide of anti-immigrant sentiment of course played a role. Firstly, all the big breweries were owned by Germans, fresh of the U-boat. Krauts were none too popular at the time, what with the Kaiser running amok all over the Continent. But also the saloons themselves catered special to the immigrant populations, to the extent that prohibition was thought by some to be a tidy means of ethnic cleansing. Enter the Ku Klux Klan. (Du, Du, Duh.) After the Volstead Act made prohibition the law of the land, the KKK fancied themselves to be vigilante enforcers. Sort of like an Old West posse, that would take the type of extraordinary measures — ones the real cops could or would not — they felt were necessary to shut down the moonshiners and the bootleggers. Measures such as dragging Catholic families out of their beds in the middle of the night, planting evidence of stills and burning down their homes.

So, there you have it. Like any good wedge issue, it can piss off different groups of people for different reasons. Abolitionists, suffragettes, the dang Klan. Strange bedfellows indeed.) 

Eventually the party poopers prevailed and prohibition won the day. But as we well know that didn’t last. About damn tanked the global economy it did. Nonetheless, when it came time to repeal, certain regulations needed to be put into place, so that we didn’t go straight back to our old Salooning ways. So, the twenty-first amendment to the US Constitution granted the individual states broad latitude to prevent manufacturers regaining control of the retail channel. What most of them did was insert that third tier — Distribution — in betwixt t’other two. Like a buffer.  

Did it work? Well, it depends on who you ask. A distributor, or literally anyone else. The former will claim the Distribution channel provides a value add to the marketplace, or some bullshit like that. Anyone with sense can see it’s a bastion of corruption. Rent-seekers’ paradise, this veritable rats’ nest of favors and kick-backing is. These distributors, so-called, are nothing but the same old bootleggers. But now they got a police escort. 

Because graft doesn’t go away, like some grime you mop up. It’s more like a gas. It fills the space it’s in. Case in point, whatever statutes barred manufacturers from vertically integrating across retail, didn’t prevent them from taking controlling ownership stakes in distribution concerns, many of which are granted near monopolistic reign over their respective territories. The New Frontier’s region was equitably divvied up into a duopoly of two distribution firms, one majority-owned by Wolffenbeir Inc., and the second by its slightly-larger macro brewing competitor. (Mayor Larry himself, it should come as no surprise, was granted a five-point interest in the Wolffenbeir-affiliated distributor. Of course, there couldn’t be any paper trail linking the two. That would be untoward. Thus, the LLC Lawrence used was formed under the name of Matilda Mockingbird, his own long-suffering Mary Todd. For her fucking troubles.) 

Rather than bend over for those crooks, Hank did what he did best — said fuck it and found a loophole. So long as they sought agreements with other craft brewers in the area (Hank called it a distribution co-op, and members eagerly joined up … he was the first craft brewer in the city, but by no means the last), they’d be free to distribute among themselves. 

[maddiwrites]

Breathe With Me

Pairing: JJ x Reader

Summary: After finding out who hurt you on that horrific night, JJ helps you through another panic attack and makes plans to protect his girl.

Note: This was requested a long time ago after a chapter of my rewrite was posted! Instead of doing JJ x OC, like requested, I changed it to JJ x Reader so that people who don’t read my rewrite can enjoy it too. Hopefully this is okay with ya’ll. 

Word Count: 3.5k

WARNINGS: Sexual Assault!!! This chapter has descriptions of sexual assault. Please do not read if this is TRIGGERING!!!! 

National Sexual Assault Hotline: 1-800-656-4673

Masterlist

It was another regular day on the island. Hot and crowded with tourists. With everyone working, you decided to tag along with JJ and Pope to delivery groceries for Heyward’s business. Usually this meant going to Figure Eight, your least favorite place to be. Normally it didn’t creep you out too much, but because of a rather recent incident, you didn’t like being there.

Right after your dad went missing, you spent a lot of time with Kie as she lived out her Kook Year. Avoiding the Pogues and John B and surrounding yourself with stuck up assholes and their expensive drugs and alcohol helped you forget about your own family crisis. You would do anything to take your mind off your dad’s disappearance even if it meant getting high on whatever was offered to you. You didn’t ask twice about what it was. You figured if the rich people we’re doing it, it couldn’t be that bad right?

One night you did a long line surrounded by Rafe and a couple of his buddies. Pretty much everything after that was a blur. Your memories are fuzzy, like a puzzle piece you can’t piece together. The last thing you remember is your black hitting something soft, like a mattress or a pillow. You thought you heard the zipper of your shorts being pulled down but figured it was Kie helping you change into a pair of pajamas. 

The next morning you woke up practically naked with a blanket covering your bottom half and your bra pulled down to your stomach. You began to panic and ran your hands down your side, flinching at the tenderness by your hips. The skin was yellow/green and getting ready to bruise. Your breathing became shallow and your throat tightened up. You fumbled around the room you didn’t recognize for your clothes and slid them on, not caring what was backwards or inside out. You stumbled out the door and tip toed down the long staircase of the large house you were in. Figure Eight, you thought. 

You didn’t go home first. You went to Kie’s house. Because your body ached. Because you wanted to cry but didn’t want John B or the other boys to hear you. Because you were afraid to be naked around anyone but another girl. The second she opened the door, you sobbed into her arms and told her what you think happened to you. Kie tried to get you to go to the police or even the hospital, but you couldn’t fathom the idea of anyone knowing about what happened. Not even a stranger. Because you were embarrassed. You blamed yourself for this happening to you. You were high as fuck, trying to forget about your family troubles. You were the one to make yourself weak and vulnerable. No one else. Someone just took advantage of the position you put yourself in.

Kie didn’t pressure you. She wanted to support you in whatever decision you made, despite wanting justice for you and sending whoever the sleaze bag was to jail. She sat on the toilet and talked to you as you showered slowly. You spent most of the time staring at the wall and feeling ever inch of your body. You felt so dirty and no amount of soap or scrubbing could make you feel any cleaner. 

You stayed at her house for a couple of days until John B eventually texted her because he was worried. You both decided it was time for you to go home, but you never told them what happened. You were afraid of what John B and even JJ would do if they found out. And the last thing you wanted was for either of them to get hurt or in trouble.

John B didn’t notice something was off as much as JJ did. He could tell you were being more quiet and reserved than usual. Your usual style of crop tops and jean shorts changed to sweats and baggy t shirts. You slept with your door locked and didn’t touch a single can of beer since you came home.

Moving on from that night was a slow and gruesome process, one you don’t know if you’ll ever fully recover form. Luckily for you, JJ was a great distracter. He was an amazing story teller, he could make you laugh with a small hand gesture, and his laugh could draw you in for hours. No one was surprised when the two of you eventually started dating. Not even John B, who was a little apprehensive about it at first. 

To JJ, everything came to light when another make out session became heated. Like that morning, it became hard to breathe and your mind wandered off to what could have happened to you that night. In a blink of an eye, you were back in Figure Eight with someone pulling your zipper down. You could physically feel the bruises on your hips again and your skin burning. 

A panic attack emerged and JJ was left confused and lost. Fortunately for you, he was quick to realize something was seriously wrong and helped you through it. He breathed with you and talked you down. When you were calm, you explained what happened. At first he was pissed. Pissed at whoever could have done this to you and even a little bit at you and Kie for keeping this from him. He was ready to charge out of the house, grab John B, and find the sick son of a bitch who would touch an unconscious girl. But your cries stopped him. He’s never heard pain in your voice like he did that night. It physically cracked his heart into a million little pieces and he dropped every instinct he had and stayed with you instead. 

Since then, he’s been the most supportive and protective boyfriend. At every boneyard party, he would keep an eye out for any Kook that decided to show their face on your turf. He took note of anyone looking at you in a weird way. He carried the gun he stole from Scooter in his backpack for protection. He was serious about using it too. No one touches his girl and gets away with it.

Luckily, nothing happened between JJ and any Kook. No one made a move to talk to you or tease you. Kooks kept their usual distance from you, which not only made you feel better for yourself but because you didn’t want something to happen to JJ. You know the rules of the game of this island. Nothing bad ever happens to Kooks. They don’t know consequences. 

When Pope docks his boat, he asks if you would come with him to drop groceries off at the Thorntons. If he did it alone, it would cause two trips and he doesn’t want to waste time. 

As you go to agree, JJ steps in and shakes his head as he looks between you two. “I don’t think thats a good idea.”

“Why not?” Pope asks, completely clueless.

You subtly shake your head, silently begging for JJ not to say anything. Pope and John B still didn’t know and you want to keep it that way. Sure you would feel safer with JJ by your side, but you won’t be alone. You will be with Pope. And who would try to start something in the middle of the day anyway?

“It’s fine, J,” You tell him. You even try to joke. “I’m sure you’ll survive one hour without me.”

When you kiss his cheek, JJ turns to look at you with his brows pinched together with worry. “Y/N...”

“Seriously, J...” You say. “It’s okay. I’ll be fine.” You whisper that last part as Pope turns to get the bags. 

“You have your phone?”

You nod and pull it out of your pocket to show him. “Yes. I’ll call you if anything happens.”

As JJ walks in the opposite direction of you and Pope, you feel the tension in your shoulders get tighter. The sight of these homes gives you flashbacks. The worst part about all of this is you don’t even know who hurt you. It could’ve been anyone - a touron even. It would be easier to know who did it so you know who to avoid. 

Pope notices your change in behavior but doesn’t mention it. Instead he keeps a silent eye on you and studies your every movement. 

As you pass the golf course, you hear a couple cat calls and cheering from a group of teenagers. When you look up, you see Rafe, Topper, and one of their friends making their way over to you. You take a step behind Pope, hiding behind his body and keeping your eyes trained down on your shoes. 

“What do we have here?” Rafe whistles as he comes closer. He looks down at the bags in your arms and the beer in Pope’s hand. “Bring us something?”

“These are already paid for,” Pope glares at them.

“Oh, right, right,” Rafe nods as if he understands. Then he takes is golf club and swings it at the brown paper bag in Pope’s arms, causing everything to spill out of it. 

“Dude!” 

“Sorry, man!” Rafe holds his hands up in fake surrender. He leans down to pick up a beer bottle and tosses it to his tall friend. “Trevor, you feeling thirsty?”

The guy, better known as Trevor, cracks the beer open and takes a long sip. When he looks down, he spots you and eyes your figure up and down. Then he smirks to himself and a shiver runs down your spine. You don’t like the way he’s looking at you. Like a piece of meat or someone he knows too much of. 

Rafe catches his eye and smirks to himself. “Ah, yeah. I forgot. You and Routledge have some history.”

Pope looks over his shoulder at you and sees your chest rising and dropping at a quicker pace. You’re gripping the bags in your hands so tight that he can see your knuckles turning white. You look away from the group of Kooks at the golf course with a frown on your face. Something was wrong, Pope thought. 

“Yeah, you could say that,” Trevor chuckles. He looks at you again and tilts his head. “What? You don’t remember me?”

“Pope...” You feel like you’re choking. How could he know you when you have no idea who he is? You don’t like where this is going.

Trevor continues, “Can’t say I blame you. You were out of your mind wasted that night -”

“What the hell is he talking about?” Pope says, looking between you and Trevor. He wasn’t one to get confrontational or angry, but he didn’t like what he was hearing. He didn’t like how you were acting. Something wasn't adding up. He knew you’ve hooked up with Kooks before, but this one was different. 

“Almost as dead as her daddy,” Rafe chuckles. Something in Pope snaps and he pushes Rafe back by his shoulders. In retaliation, Rafe raises his golf club and smacks it against the middle of Pope’s back, causing him to fall down with a thump. 

“Pope!” You cry and drop the bags you were holding and kneel next to him. 

“Hey,” Trevor touches your shoulder to try and pull you away from the two fighting boys, but you flinch away from him. 

“Don’t touch me! Get away from me!” You cry.

Trevor immediately holds up his hands in surrender and takes a step back. Your outburst causes everyone to freeze in their movements, even Rafe and Pope. The wheels in Topper’s head start to move a little quicker too. He looks between you and Trevor and feels off about your connection. You looked terrified. And Y/N Routledge was almost never terrified. 

Even though you are outside, you feel claustrophobic. Your heart is beating so heavily against your ribcage that you wouldn’t be surprised if it were to break your ribs. Pope notices you’re two shades paler and having a hard time breathing. Tears are silently falling down your face and you continue to crawl away form the group of Kooks backwards. 

“Y/N...” Pope says quietly.

“We should go,” Topper says. He never hated you like some of the other Kooks did. Sure you never got along, but a small part of him thought you were cool. He knew something was extremely wrong and he couldn’t help but think it had to do with their friend, Trevor. He looks at Rafe who continues to stare at you with surprise. “Dude.”

“Yeah...” Rafe says slowly. “Trev, let’s go.”

The three Kooks scatter back to the golf course. You squeeze your eyes tightly and grip the fabric of your shirt, pulling it away from your body because right now it just feels suffocating. 

“Hey.” Pope crouches down near you and lightly touches your shoulder. His touch feels like an electric shock, making you flinch even further away. When you open your eyes, you’re back in some random Kook’s house on a mattress you’re unfamiliar with. “They’re gone. Hey, they’re gone.” Pope tries to be gentle with you, but he also wants to get you out of here and in a more comfortable setting. 

“JJ,” You manage to say. Your throat feels on fire. “I need J-”

Pope immediately starts fumbling for his cell phone and dials his best friend’s number. He bounces on the balls of his feet as he impatiently listens to the ringing. “Come on. Come on.”

JJ answers. “Hey! Sorry I’m on my way back now. You’ll never believe how much this lady tipped me. I swear I’m coming on every -”

“JJ, shut up and listen to me. Y/N...” He glances back at you and sees you’re hunched over with your forehead resting on your knees and your fingers through your hair. “She’s having a panic attack or something. I - I don’t -”

“Where are you?” JJ’s once elated tone has dropped to a more serious one. 

Pope tries explaining what part of the golf course they are near. 

“Okay. I’ll be there in five minutes. Pope, get her under some shade or something. And if you can, try to get her to look at you. She needs to open her eyes to see where she is.” Pope nods, forgetting that JJ can’t see him. “Pope!”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry. Okay, doing that now.”

JJ hangs up the phone so he can run faster. 

Meanwhile, Pope crouches down in front of you again and says, “Y/N/N, hey. Can you open your eyes?” Pope lightly taps your ankles. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s just me.” You slowly blink your eyes open and sniffle back the tears. Pope smiles when he sees he’s made some sort of progress. “Hey. JJ’s on his way. Why don’t we move you under some shade? It’s getting pretty hot out here. Can I help you up?”

You nod and let Pope help you up and bring you a couple feet away under a large tree. Your back rests against the bark and you try taking deep breaths to calm the swirling nausea in your stomach. 

It was Trevor. It had to be Trevor. From the way he looked at you, to the innuendo Rafe made. You knew in your heart that it was Trevor who had hurt you that night. 

A part of you always wanted to know who did this, but another part of you wished you never figured it out. Because now his face will haunt you forever.

About a minute later, you hear another set of footsteps quickly coming your way. You panic, your immediate thought going to Trevor. Would he come back? 

But then you hear your boyfriend’s beautiful voice. “Hey.” His tone is soft and gentle. “Hey, baby. Look at me. It’s JJ.” You open your eyes and meet the lovely blue one’s you fell in love with. He grins at you and takes your hands in his. 

“I’m so - sorry,” You sob, suddenly hating yourself for bringing this back up to your boyfriend and ruining Pope’s work routine. “I - I -”

“Hey,” JJ says and pulls your hands to his chest, palms down. “Remember what we did last time? Match my breathing, okay? Ready? Take a deep breath.”

Pope watches with awe silently from the sidelines. He’s never seen this side of either one of you. You so panic stricken and scared, JJ so intent with concern and intuitive. 

You follow JJ’s breathing until you feel calm enough to breathe on your own. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” JJ shakes his head. “Don’t be sorry. Do you want to tell me what happened?”

You look down at your hands that are folded in your lap. You want to tell him. Of course you want to tell him. But you’re afraid of what happens next. You’re afraid of how JJ will respond.

“Rafe, Topper, and their friend Trevor jumped us,” Pope answers for you. Like JJ, he’s also curious about what happened. Of course he was there for the physical breakdown, but he wants to know more about what you’re going through emotionally. 

“Did they hurt you?” JJ looks back at you and inspects every inch of your open skin for signs of scratches or bruises. 

You shake your head. “No.”

“Then...”

“I know who it was,” You say, your voice as soft as a whisper. 

“What? You mean. -” JJ’s head snaps back and forth between you and Pope. “Who?”

You dip your chin into your chest to hide your tears as they start to flow again. You take a deep breath and look back up at your boyfriend. “Trevor.”

“Who the fuck is Trevor?” JJ looks at Pope. 

Pope shrugs, “I don’t know. He was golfing with the other two Kooks.”

“Where’d they go?” JJ stands up, causing both you and Pope to follow him.

“No, JJ -” You try to pull him back to you but he slips his wrist out of your grip. 

“JJ!” Pope calls out to JJ who walks in the direction the other three disappeared to. 

“JJ, stop!” Your voice cracks which makes JJ turn around to look at you. “Please. I just want to go home.”

JJ freezes and bites down on his bottom lip, feeling conflicted. His head is telling him to run after the Kooks and beat every single one of their faces in until he finds the one named Trevor. But his heart is telling him to walk back to you and take care of you. 

“Okay,” he decides and wraps his arm around your waist. “Let’s get you home.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

After you fall asleep later that night, JJ tip toes out of your room and silently shuts your door behind him. You passed out early, exhausted from the panic attacks and crying. In the living room, Pope, Kie, and John B are waiting. You had no other choice but to tell John B what happened. Now that Pope knew, it felt wrong keeping it from your brother as well. Of course it caused an argument, but in the end, John B only wants the best for you and to protect you. Which is why they’re here now.

“Ready to go?” JJ looks directly at your brother.

John B holds up his car keys. “Let’s go.”

“Whoa, where do you think you’re going?” Kie grabs John B by the elbow and glares at both of them.

“Where do you think?” JJ says.

When Pope and Kie stepped out of the room to check on you, JJ and John B both secretly decided that when you fell asleep, the two of them would sneak out and find this Trevor person and give him what he deserves. 

“Don’t be stupid,” Pope says, looking between the two. “You know how this works. The two of you end up getting in trouble and he gets to walk away clean.”

“I don’t care. I’ll kill him -”

“You can’t,” Kie says.

“I’m not asking for your permission, Kie!”

“Where’s the gun?” Kie says. “If you’re going to do this, I’m not letting you bring the gun. Leave it here.”

JJ looks up at John B who reluctantly nods his head for JJ to give it up. The blonde sighs and reaches into the back of his waistband and pulls it out.

“This is a bad idea,” Pope says again even though he knows the other two don’t give a shit. In a way, he kind of respects it. He would go to if he didn’t have a scholarship to worry about.

“Keep an eye on her. We’ll be back in a couple hours,” John B says.

“You better hope you are. Because if you’re not, you’re only going to be making this worse for her,” Kie tells them.

Kie’s words have both John B and JJ rethinking their decision. But only for a split second. 

JJ nods. “Don’t worry. I’d never leave my girl behind.”

[gallusrostromegalus]

Just Some Proof I'm Writing This Fic:

The Fic has turned into a fucking Monster now, but I have the Tentative Chapter Titles for all of The Power Of Friendship (And This Gun I Found!)!! It's a Long Post, so the whole list is under the cut, but the Seasons are called:

Season One: Channel Island Caper

Season Two: Battle Royale With Cheese

Season Three: Make Lovecraft, Not Warcraft

Season Four: The Height Of Idiocy Is About The Same As This Tower

Season Five: Santorini Dreamin'

Season Six: It's The End Of The World As We Know It

Season One: Channel Island Caper

Episode 1: It's Not Like Any Of Us Were Going To College Anyway

Episode 2: There Was Definitely Room For Both Of Them On That Door

Episode 3: Parks And Desolation

Episode 4: A Very Particular Set Of Skills

Episode 5: How to Mine For Phish

Episode 6: We Can Have A Little Murder. As A Treat.

Episode 7: The Clown Pagliacci

Episode 8: Kink Shaming Is My Kink

Episode 9: Monster Mash (ed peas)

Episode 10: Does Anyone Know Where The Mountain Dew Is?

Episode 11: The Mortifying Ordeal Of Being Known

Episode 12: Friendship Speech

Episode 13: The Theological Implications Of Bugs Bunny

Episde 14: There's No Business Like Show Business

Episode 15: When Did Mötley Crüe Become Classic Rock?

Episode 16: Noodle Incident

Episode 17: This Episode Contains The Worst Joke You've Ever Heard

Episode 18: Dante's Disco Inferno

Episde 19: Ancient Egyptian Large Hadron Collider

Episode 20: That Belongs In A Museum!

Episode 21: My Husband With An Economics And Finance Degree Helped Me Write This Chapter

Episode 22: The Gods Have No Fury Like A Parent Scorned

Season 2: Battle Royale With Cheese

Episode 23: Maybe Next Time Use LoJack?

Episdoe 24: Ancient Egyptian Large Hadron Collider, Now With Pictures Because I Heard Y'all Were Stupid

Episode 25: Having Fun Ain't Hard, When You Have A Library Card!

Episode 26: Terms And Conditions Apply

Episode 27: Foresight is 50/50

Episode 28: Do You Do Children's Parties?

Episode 29: Ivermectin

Episode 30: Clown College Dropout

Episode 31: In Which You All Get To Learn About My Special Interest

Episode 32: IntricateRituals.meme

Episode 33: Ride Of the Valkyries

Episode 34: Math Problem

Episode 35: Because Things Went So Well With the Hindenberg

Episode 36: It's Like A Seder With Vincent Price

Episode 37: Feature Creep

Episode 38: Man's Best Friend

Episode 39: Above All, To Thine Own Self Be True

Episode 40: So Long, And Thanks For All The Fish

Episode 41: Midnight Bender At Bernie's

Season Three: Make Lovecraft, not Warcraft:

Episode 42: Breakfast Club

Episode 43: Monster Factory

Episode 44: Beautiful And Terrible As The Dawn

Episode 45: One Is A Genius, the Other's Insane

Episode 46: Mine Will Be The Shiniest Empire

Episode 47: He'll Kick Himself When He Remembers The Rocket Boots

Episode 48: Deus Vult, Motherfuckers

Episode 49: Frankenstein Has Some Regrets

Episode 50: Scooby Doo Hall Scene

Season Four: The Height Of Idiocy Is About The Same As This Tower

Episode 51: Who's on First, What's on Second-

Episode 52: Chess With A Pigeon

Episode 53: Master Of Ceremonies

Episode 54: The Steaks Are High

Episode 55: Fuck Around-

Episode 56: -And Find Out

Episode 57: Beach Episode

Episode 58: An Old Priest And A Young Priest

Episode 59: Nobody's-Getting-Any-Slumber Party

Season 5: Santorini Dreamin'

Episode 60: Ignoring The Most Important Dungeons And Dragons Rule

Episode 61: Two Wrongs Don't Make A Right, But Three Thefts Do!

Episode 62: (in)Human After All

Episode 63: Destroy Your Local Golf Course

Episode 64: GIRL'S NIGHT!!

Episode 65: You Can Keep Your El Dorado, And To Hell With Burgundy!

Episode 66: It's Constantinople, Not Istanbul

Episode 67: The Most Dangerous Game

Episode 68: 'What I Did On My Summer Vacation' Essay

Season Six: It's The End Of The World As We Know It :)

Episode 69 (nice): It's Just A Jump To The Left!

Episode 70: At Least David Bowie Isn't In Here, Fondling His Balls?

Episode 71: All According To Keikaku

Episode 72: A Stranger In Paradise

Episode 73: Oh Mama I'm In Fear For My Life From The Long Arm Of The Law

Episode 74: That Left Turn At Albaquerque

Episode 75: The Power Of Friendship (+4 ATK/+10DMG)

Episode 76: Ammemoarpigi

Episode 77: I Hate Ending Stories, So I'm Not Going To.

I seem to be clocking an average of 5K per chapter so this beast will probably be... 385,000 words (72% of a Le Miserables) when I'm done?

lol.

[barrysmanbun]

The Secret Train Ride: TSG Part Two

A/n: I may or may not have already planned out the next four chapters 😳 Also, ngl, I totally didn't edit this chapter

Description: You and Rafe make some new friends... and play a game of hide and seek?

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: Rafe Cameron x Reader, mentions of gun violence, smoking marijuana, no pronouns are used, original characters, swearing

Part One

~~

When Rafe sees you next he’s fuming. Livid. Furious. Fucking every word for angry that he can think of, because stupid fucking JJ Maybank pulled a gun on Topper. He wonders for a moment if you know what the two of you missed when you snuck out of the party, and then he decides that you most definitely do, since it seemed to be the buzz of the whole city. Whose side would you be on? Topper's or JJ’s? Did you think Topper deserved the gun to his head or was it too far? He doubts you’d be on JJ’s side since, from what he heard, even his little group of pogue buddies condemned his actions at the bonfire.

He remembers when the two of you got back to the beach just in time to hear the gunshot. By then you were already separated, and as the masses ran to escape whatever chaos was happening where the water met the sand he lost sight of you for more time than he was comfortable, but then you caught his eye once more as you were pulled towards the designated parking area by a friend.

He looked around, trying to find Topper and Kelce in the crowd, only to gain the sinking feeling in his stomach that his friends were involved.

His instinct was proven right when he broke through the other side of the people, getting a perfect view of the scene. John B laying in the water, Topper over him and JJ over Topper with a gun to the back of Topper’s head. It’s obvious that there had been a scuffle, and the pogues as well as Kelce and Sarah stand in a semi-circle around them. Somebody’s talking to JJ, and another to Topper, trying to break up the fight without physically getting involved.

Rafe steps forward to put himself into the fight on Topper’s behalf, but then JJ backs up and Topper stumbles away from the pair towards his girlfriend, hands raised.

The four of them left together and on the ride home Topper, Kelce, and Sarah filled him in on what happened from each of their points of view.

He thinks about his anger, and wonders how you would react to the situation, if you were in his place. He wonders what it would be like to see you angry. He can’t imagine it, with your gentle voice and laid back behavior. When he pictures you it’s in the garden, arms spread out on either side of you as you balance on the wall, a relaxed smile on your face. He tries to twist your expression in his mind, making you angry. He furrows your eyebrows and twists your smile into a sneer. You’re cute when you’re angry.

When he sees you next, two days later, he’s still angry at the whole situation, but when his eyes find yours and you give him a secretive smile and a wink, all emotions but calm leave his body. He’s not angry, he’s not nervous, he’s nothing but calm. Okay and maybe happy, because now the two of you have a secret, something that connects you and the thought sets his heart on fire, but mostly he’s calm.

Rafe wonders if you feel the same as you slowly approach him from the car you were standing next to with your friends.

“Fancy seeing you here,” You say, and it’s like finally getting a hit after being sober for too fucking long. He craved you, he realizes, and as your words sooth the tenseness in his shoulders and the bitterness in his memory he thinks maybe some of his anger was withdrawal.

He glances over your shoulder as you point your thumb at the golf course behind you.

“I’m meeting up with my friends for a round.” He explains.

You nod slowly, “I’m dropping off a friend, they work here. I’m actually glad I ran into you.” He smiles at your words, teeth and all, feeling that happiness rising in his chest.

“Oh really?”

“Yeah, I have… a sort of adventure planned.” You say, raising an eyebrow at him challengingly, “and I could use a companion.”

He makes a thoughtful humming noise, finally returning his eyes to yours now that he’s sure he can look you in the eyes and breathe at the same time. “A companion huh? Well, I can always tell Topper and Kelce that something came up…”

“Are you sure they won’t mind?” Your town is slightly worried, and Rafe smiles reassuringly.

“They won’t care, they don’t need me to play golf.”

He returns to his jeep, putting his golf clubs back in the trunk before pressing the lock button on the fob twice just to be sure. He walks back to your car, and you’re already in the driver's seat so he takes the passenger’s seat. He sends the group chat a quick text about not being able to make it.

As you pull out of the parking lot he asks, “So where will this adventure be taking us?”

You put on a British accent, puffing out your chest, as you say playfully, “A mysterious, far off land called North Carolina, to the Kingdom of Greenville.”

“Mysterious, far off land, huh?” He asks, amused, and you nod vigorously. “And why the kingdom of Greenville?”

Your expression turns serious, and your tone becomes conspiring. “So, there’s this cute little mom and pop’s restaurant in the back streets of Greenville, a real hole in the wall, and they make every type of burger you have ever heard of. Classic, cheeseburger, breakfast burger, burger subs, veggie burgers. They even have a ‘build your own’ with a shitload of different ingredients, and like 20 different cheeses. It’s epic, and you can’t find a place like that in Outer Banks.”

He thinks on that for a moment, but as much as he likes the thought of getting burgers with you, Greenville is a 3 hour drive. He voices this much to you.

“Actually it’s 2 hours and 40 minutes away,” You say in a haughty voice, and he looks at you surprised, but smiles when he sees the joking smile on your face, “Besides, we’re not going to be driving there.”

He frowns deeply. Greenville is inland, they wouldn’t be able to take a ferry, and it’s far too close to take a plane. “How will we be getting there?”

You smirk. “We’ll be taking a train.”

~

You climb out of your car in the parking lot of the train station, grabbing your bag and jacket out of the back. Rafe checks his pockets for his phone and wallet and then joins you at the front of the car and the two of you walk towards the door together.

“So why aren’t we taking your car?” He asks.

“It’s part of the experience!” You exclaim, adding a little pep in your step as you grow more excited at the thought of the trip, “It’s all about the ambiance, you know? Besides, there’s a killer view.”

The two of you enter the train station and Rafe lets you lead the way to the ticket lady. You ask for two tickets to Greenville, and before you can hand the ticket lady your money Rafe swoops in, paying for both the tickets and grabbing them before you can protest. Conveniently the two of you had made it to the train station with only 3 minutes to spare before the next train left for Greenville.

The two of you board the train, picking a compartment and settling in. The train is just about to take off when the door to the compartment opens. Standing on the other side are two young women who look like they’re in their early twenties.

“Could we join you two? All the other compartments are full.” The one on the right asks.

“Rafe?” You ask, pulling your bag closer to you to make room, “Is that alright with you?”

He nods, and the two girls enter the compartment, shutting the door behind them and sitting across from each other. The girl who had spoken before says, “Hi, my name is Isobel, and this is my girlfriend Lydia.”

You tell them your name and then turn to Rafe, prompting him to mumble out his name as well.

“So, where are you guys headed?” Isobel asks.

“Greenville! You?”

“Charleston.”

There’s a lull in the conversation before you pull a fucking joint out of your pocket right in front of the two strangers in your compartment.

“Wanna smoke?” You ask cooly and Rafe’s eyes nearly fall out of his head when the girls nod, taking the joint from you after you light it.

You chat while you smoke, Rafe staying silent and Lydia only chiming in every once in a while, until finally you say, “So, you guys wanna do something fun?”

Isobel smiles widely, “Well that depends, what are you suggesting?”

You look at Rafe, who looks guardedly curious, then back to Isobel. “How about a game of hide and seek?” Rafe’s eyes are drawn downward to watch as your lips pull into a mischievous smile.

“Hide and seek?” He asks incredulously “What are we, in 4th grade?”

“We are now!” You laugh, taking the joint from Lydia and stubbing it out before returning it to your secret joint compartment you have to be keeping in your pocket, because there's no way you’re just putting a joint into your pocket ashes and all.

You and Isobel jump up, Lydia slowly standing after her girlfriend. All three of you look to Rafe who sighs deeply before standing.

“So, whos’ the seeker?” Lydia asks.

You quickly touch your finger to your nose, Rafe doing the same the second he sees you do it. Lydia follows, leaving Isobel. She grins, eyes red-tinged from the weed, “Alright by me!”

After deciding she’ll count to 30, all three of you take off out of the compartment. Lydia goes right and you go left, pulling Rafe after you giggling all the while. You reach the end of the car quickly, entering an open room. You run through the door, shouting “Excuse me!” After you when you almost run right into an old man.

You enter the next car, another car full of compartments. The next car after that is different, this one obviously meant for employees only, and suddenly you’re yanking Rade towards a door. You open it, pushing Rafe inside then following after. The room on the other side of the door actually isn't a room at all, instead a small utility closet.

You still, taking in your surroundings. You’re unable to see anything with no window, but you can feel metal shelving behind you and to your left. Rafe can feel the same, only to his right, and he’s distinctly aware that your front is now pressing to his. He holds his breath as your chest rises and falls against his, breath slightly labored from running. He can smell your scent like he’s drowning in it, and his eyes slide shut as he takes it in. You’re both silent long enough for your breaths to even out. Once it’s quiet, you too realize how close you are to Rafe, and without thinking about it you sway closer, pressing your cheek to his chest. You listen closely until you hear the unsteady, rapid beating of his heart.

He holds his breath as you lean closer to him, resting your head on his chest. He imagines opening his eyes, bringing his hands to cup the sides of your face, kissing you, holy shit does he want to kiss you but your words ring in his ears:

“No… I don’t think you’ve earned it.”

How is he supposed to earn it? He’s not sure, but he knows he hasn’t yet, so instead he leans back, gripping the edge of one of the shelves behind him.

And then the door opens.

The both of you are startled by the noise and the sudden light, and whip your heads to see a startled man who is definitely not Isobel or Lydia standing in front of you. He’s older, maybe mid-thirties, and wears a dark green polo tucked into khaki pants. The name tag on his shirt reads ‘Bobby’ in cursive white thread.

He looks between the two of you, “I don’t think you’re supposed to be in here…”

“Uh,” You fumble for an answer, barely looking at the shelf before grabbing the first thing you see. You hold it up to the light, “Sorry, we just needed some-” You stop when you see it, blushing, “toilet paper.” You grab Rafe by the wrist once more, pulling him out of the closet. You rush back through the door leading to the other cart, both of you barely containing your giggles until after the door shuts behind you.

You both make eye contact and then immediately dissolve into uncontrollable laughter. “Did you see his face?” You ask Rafe in between laughs, and Rafe nods his head.

“He definitely doesn’t get paid enough for this shit.”

“Found you!” You both turn to see Isobel stands just behind you, Lydia at her side and a wide smile on her face. “What are you guys laughing so hard about?”

“Okay, so listen to this-”

~~

Part Three

[waitimcomingtoo]

The Proposal ~ T.H

chapter four: the party

synopsis: fake marriage, real trouble

Series Masterlist

That night, you went to Paddy’s room after dinner to watch movies with him. Tom was already in his room, sitting on the floor and fumbling with a projector. You waved to Paddy and sat on the ground, putting some distance between you at the boys.

“All set.” Tom patted the projector before taking a seat on the other side of Paddy. Paddy looked between the two of you curiously, noticing how far apart you were.

“Don’t you guys want to sit together?” He asked. You and Tom exchanged a knowing look before returning your eyes to the screen. You let out a sigh and walked over to Tom, kicking his legs open with your feet. Tom watched you curiously as he spread his legs out further to make room for you. You gave him a sarcastic smile before taking a seat between his legs and leaning on his chest. Tom blinked a few times as he processed what was happening. Something about the position seemed more initiate than your forced kisses. He slowly wrapped an arm around your shoulders and pulled you closer, letting his chin rest on the top of your head. You shifted uncomfortably in his embrace, not used to being that close to another person. His cologne wafted into your nose every time he moved and you could feel his heartbeat against your back. It occurred to you that before all of this, you and Tom had never even hugged. You decided for Paddy and the deals sake to just relax and stay in his arms, but a part of you felt weird. That being said, another part of you kinda liked it.

You spent the next morning playing more golf with Dom before he had to get ready for Paddy’s party. It was a close game, but he ended up taking the win in the end.

“Great game today.” Dom smiled as he went to high five you. “I should’ve known Tom would end up with a golfer.”

“You did great too.” You said as you avoided the Tom comment. “I didn’t realize you could work up such a sweat by playing golf.”

“It sneaks up on ya.” He agreed. “There’s a bathroom connected to Tom’s room. You can shower there. It’s nice and private.”

“Thanks.” You smiled at him. “I’ll see you at the party.”

You headed back inside and went straight to Tom’s room. You were dripping with sweat and didn’t want anyone to see you until you had showered.

Elsewhere, Tom was jogging around the neighborhood to clear his head. He knew everything that was happening between you for just for show, but that didn’t mean he didn’t like it. And to make matters worse, his family totally loved you. He’d be lying if there wasn’t a big part of him that wished you weren’t just pretending.

Tom finished his jog just as you were finishing up in the shower. He went into his room and shut the door behind him, immediately peeling off his sweaty t shirt. The music from his headphones kept him from hearing the sound of you turning the water off.

“Fuck.” You mumbled when you stepped out of the shower. “No towel.”

You continued looking around for a towel while you tried not to get water everywhere. His bathroom was completely empty of linens, but you figured he’d have some in his room.

“Tom?” You called. “Are you in the room?”

Tom couldn’t hear you over his music, so he remained silent as he peeled his sweaty shorts and underwear off. When you didn’t hear a response, you assumed no one was in the room and it was safe to go out. You left the bathroom right as Tom was walking towards you, resulting in your naked body smacking right into his.

Tom did his best to catch you, but you slipped right out of his arms and landed on the floor. You looked up to see a very sweaty and very naked Tom standing above you with a terrified expression.

“AHH!” You screamed and quickly covered yourself.

“AHH!” Tom screamed back and threw his hands over his dick.

“Why are you naked?” You yelled from the floor.

“Why are you naked?” He yelled right back.

“I was in the shower!” You shouted. “What’s your excuse?”

“I was about to get in the shower!” He shouted as well. “Where’s your towel?”

“You didn’t have any in your stupid bathroom.” You snapped at him. “Who gets naked outside of the bathroom?”

“Who comes out of the bathroom naked?” He shot back.

“I do when my half wit assistant doesn’t put any towels in his bathroom.” You sassed him.

“I haven’t been here in two years!” He protested. “Of course I didn’t leave a towel in there. Maybe if you gave me some time off now and then, I’d come home and replenish the linens in my bathroom.”

“Oh, so this is my fault?” You raised an eyebrow as you stood up.

“Pretty much.” He nodded.

“I...” You lost your train of thought as your eyes traveled down his body. He had sweat dripping down his defined abs, momentarily knocking every work you knew out of your brain. You swallowed a little as your eyes fell on his dick, which his hands were doing a poor job of covering.

“Why are you so ripped?” You asked as you shifted your arm to make sure you were fully covering your boobs.

“I work out.” Tom said quietly as he struggled to maintain eye contact. There were you, his boss that he’d been crushing on for two years, standing in front of him fully naked. The water dripping off your body didn’t help, and the fact that you were covered by nothing but your hands made it even worse. Tom gulped and let his eyes flick down just once. He was only human after all.

“Well, if you have that much time to work out, I must not be working you hard enough.” You quipped, desperately trying to change the subject.

“You work me just fine.” Tom mumbled. You made awkward eye contact upon hearing his words and quickly looked away.

“I’m gonna get dressed now.” You decided.

“I’m gonna get in the shower.” He nodded profusely and cleared his throat.

“Right. Good. Take a shower. That’s an order. From your boss.”

“Yes, miss.” He replied as he moved past you.

“Tom? Y/n? Are you in there?” Nikki’s voice suddenly came from outside the bedroom door. You and Tom looked at each other in a panic before scrambling to find clothes.

“Oh my God.” You whispered harshly. “This isn’t happening.”

“Forget the clothes!” He whispered back. “Get in the fucking bathroom now.”

Tom picked you up and threw you over his shoulder before running into the bathroom. He quickly slammed the door behind the two of you and pressed your back against the door as he listened for his mom

“Hello?” She called from the room. “Is anyone in here?”

You and Tom were pressed chest to chest in total silence as you impatiently waited for her to leave. Finally, you heard footsteps and the door shutting.

Tom let out a breath of relief and took a step back from you, accidentally getting a glimpse of your uncovered body. You quickly put your hands back over yourself and straightened up.

“As fun as this has been.” You said dully. “I’m leaving. Enjoy your shower.”

“Yes, miss.” He mumbled as you left the bathroom.

You shut the bathroom door behind you and covered your mouth with your hand. Your shy little assistant didn’t seem so shy anymore.

And he definitely wasn’t little.

Ten minutes later, Tom emerged from the bathroom with a towel around his waist. You looked up at him from you the bed and gasped.

“Yeah.” He nodded. “There was a towel in there the whole time.”

“But I looked everywhere.”

“You didn’t check under the sink.” He shrugged as he went to his dresser. Your body felt hot with embarrassment as he picked out his party clothes.

“I’m gonna get dressed now.” He told you. “Close your eyes.”

You rolled your eyes at him but did as he asked. You gulped when you heard his towel hit the ground, not daring to open your eyes until he gave you permission.

“Okay.” He said softly as he sat across from you on the bed. “You can open them now.”

Your eyes fluttered open and you were met with Toms gentle smile. His curls were still damp from the shower, and he was clad in his party clothes for later.

“Hi.” You said softly as you hugged your knees to your chest. You felt slightly intimidated by him at the moment and you weren’t sure why.

“Hi.” He smiled shyly. “Nice to see you found some clothes.”

“Shut up. I saw you too, you know. Your hands are barely big enough to cover all of that.” You said as you gestured to his crotch. Tom’s face went red and you once again had the upper hand.

“That says a lot.” He joked. “My hands are pretty big.”

“No they are not.” You scoffed.

“Yes they are. Look.” He said as he held up his hand.

“Maybe mine are just small.” You shrugged.

“I doubt it.” He shook his head. “Let me see.”

You wordlessly held your hand up and pressed your palm against his. His hand was objectively bigger compared to yours, enough so that he could curl his finger tips over yours.

“Well, would you look at that.” He chuckled. “I’m right.”

“Wow.” You nodded. “There really is a first time for everything.”

“Why can’t you accept that I’m right sometimes?” He asked you as he slipped his fingers between yours and closed them. You didn’t even notice you were holding hands as you looked into his eyes.

“Because I hate being wrong.” You told him.

“I think you’re wrong about me.” Tom pushed his limit with you. “I know what you think of me. You think I’m all shy and submissive. I’m really not.”

“Please.” You smirked. “You let me walk all over you like a rug.”

“Maybe I just like being underneath you.” Tom said lowly. Your eyes widened at him and you quickly withdrew your hand,

“I’m sorry.” He stammered. “I didn’t mean-“

“It’s fine.” You cut him off, wanting to leave the topic. “We should go see if your mom needs help with the party.”

You managed to avoid Tom for a few hours as you helped Nikki set up the party. Once the guests arrived, however, you had to remain by Toms side and play the part of his fiancée. You didn’t really care about lying to Paddy’s friends when they asked who you were, but Toms grandma asking you when she’d be getting a grandchild sent you over the edge. You quickly excused yourself and ran out the front door, not stopping until you were halfway down the block. Tom caught up to you just as you were catching your breath, not knowing he was the last person you wanted to see.

“Tom, please.” You panted. “I can’t deal with you right now.”

“I can’t just leave you out here.” He shook his head. “What’s wrong?”

You didn’t want to tell him the truth, which was that you were having serious doubts about the fake marriage. Seeing him in his childhood home and interacting with his family humanized him in a way that made it impossible for you to dislike him. He wasn’t just your assistant anymore. He was someone who was willing to put their freedom at risk to help you, and that terrified you.

“I’m fine.” You lied. “I just didn’t realize faking a marriage meant lying to your grandmother about when I was gonna push out her grandchildren.”

“We have to lie.” He reminded you. “My family are the first people the IRCC will go to to see if our marriage is real. If we tell them it’s fake, they could get in trouble for knowing.”

“I know, I know.” You sighed. “But they’re all so nice. I hate lying to them.”

“Then I’ll do all the lying.” He assured you as he rested his hands on your shoulders. “Let’s just go back inside and stand off by ourselves. You won’t have to lie to anyone, okay? No one will even know we’re there.”

You looked into his eyes and let out a deep sigh, allowing him to keep his hands on you for once.

“Okay.” You agreed. “I’ll go back in. Just keep your grandma away from me.”

“I promise, I won’t let her be in the same room as you.” Tom chuckled as he lead you back into his house. As soon as the two of you walked in the front door, everyone’s eyes were on you.

“There they are.” Toms grandma pointed at you. “Nikki just told us you two were engaged. When’s the wedding?”

“Oh, um...” Tom looked at you in a panic, but you were prepared.

“There won’t be one.” You said with a tight smile. “Tom and I are just gonna get married at city hall. We were going this week actually.”

“No wedding?” Nikki frowned. “But you have to have a wedding.”

The entire party murmured in agreement, making you want to die on the spot. Tom could sense you getting overwhelmed, so he slipped his hand into yours and took charge.

“We would love one, but we’re just so busy with work.” He explained, which was partially true. “Y/n doesn’t have the time to pick out a wedding dress and I don’t have time to plan everything. City hall is much easier for our schedules.”

“But this is your once in a lifetime chance to throw a party to celebrate your marriage.” Tom’s grandma protested. “You’ll regret not having a ceremony when you look back on it in a few years.”

“I can promise you, we won’t.” You mumbled under your breath.

“I don’t have anything planned for this Friday.” A priest in the back of the room piped up. “I could officiate your wedding.”

“Why the fuck is there a priest here?” You harshly whispered to Tom.

“He’s our neighbor.” Tom whispered back. “He always stops by for parties.”

“Of course he does. How convenient?” You grumbled to yourself.

“Thank you so much, Father, but we wouldn’t want to put you to any trouble.” Tom replied. “Besides, we don’t have a venue.”

“You can have it at our hotel.” A lady you hadn’t met you chimed in. “There’s a huge ballroom on the fourth floor. And it will already be decorated for the gala this Thursday.”

“Of course there’s a gala.” You couldn’t help but laugh at the ridiculous situation. “Who is that?”

“My aunt.” Tom whispered back. “She owns the hotel in town.”

“Of course she does.” You nodded. “Of fucking course she does.”

“I can cater it.” Sam spoke up. “And I’ll get my friends from culinary school to help me out.”

“Of course your brother is in culinary school.” You laughed again to yourself.

“Really, it’s okay.” Tom told the crowd. “We-“

“Ah, and she can wear Nikki’s dress.” Tom’s grandma clapped. “The dress is stunning, Y/n. You’ll love it.”

“Tom.” You growled out of the corner of your mouth. “Do something.”

“Thank you all. Really, thank you.” Tom said. “But we’d much rather have a small wedding just between us.”

“It can still be small. It’ll just be a family affair, plus whoever’s in this room.” Dom suggested. “And you can invite your friends from school. They’d never miss your wedding after not seeing you for two years.”

“Well.” You smiled suddenly, making Tom shudder in fear. “Isn’t this all just so convenient? It’s like the universe is telling us to have a wedding.”

You grabbed Toms arm suddenly and pulled him down so you could whisper in his ear, “I’m gonna kill the universe for butt fucking us this hard.”

Tom couldn’t help but laugh at your foul language before he quickly composed himself.

“Thank you all for offering to help us.” Tom announced. “But we’d really prefer-“

“Please?” Nikki interrupted. She had on the most hopeful smile you had ever seen, complete with her hands clasped under her chin. You chewed your bottom lip as you watched her, feeling torn over what to do. If you were getting married anyway, a small wedding couldn’t hurt right? If it made Toms mom happy, you figured you could deal with one ceremony.

“You know what?” You sighed. “Sure. Let’s have a wedding.”

“Yay.” Nikki ran straight to you and hugged you, bouncing up and down with excitement. You hesitantly hugged her back as you made eye contact with Tom over her shoulder. He gave you a small shrug, telling you he was just as thrilled about it as you were.

“I’m so happy.” Nikki said in your ear. “Welcome to our family.”

~

“Tom? Y/n?” Nikki asked as she knocked. It was a few days after the party and you had accidentally slept in. You quickly shot up in bed when you heard the knocking, eyes immediately going to Tom. If she came in, there would be no way to explain why your supposed fiancée was sleeping on the floor while you slept in his bed.

“Tom!” You said in a hushed tone. “Wake up! Your moms at the door.”

Tom didn’t move, even when his mom knocked louder.

“Tom!” You tried again. “Wake up. You have to get into the bed.”

“Hello?” Nikki knocked again softly. “Are you guys awake?”

“Tom.” You said a little louder. “Wake the fuck up!”

Tom stirred in his sleep but didn’t wake up, making you grab a pillow off the bed and throw it at him.

“Who’s there?” Tom mumbled as he sat up.

“Get in bed.” You whispered harshly.

“What?” Tom groggily replied.

“Your mothers at the door.” You whispered. “Get in the bed!”

Tom woke up enough to understand what you were saying and scrambled or get into the bed. You awkwardly wrestled with the sheets as you tried to make it look like he had been in the bed with you the whole time. Tom ended up getting behind you and positioning you between his legs as he let a hand rest on your stomach.

“Oh my God.” You whispered when you felt something on your leg.

“What?” Tom wondered.

“Your penis is literally stabbing me!” You whispered harshly.

“I’m sorry.” He rolled his eyes. “It’s morning.”

“Come in.” You called before giving Tom an angry glare. Nikki opened the door with a bright smile, which you and Tom matched.

“Good morning you two.” Nikki greeted. “I just wanted to tell you that everything is set for Friday. Ive been making phone calls all morning. Ah, I couldn’t sleep. I’m too excited. Only two days away!”

You and Tom exchanged a panicked look but never dropped your smiles.

“So are we.” You lied. “We can’t wait.”

“Me either.” Nikki gushed. “I just wanted to drop this off.”

Nikki stepped forward and handed Tom a list before explaining, “I made a guest list for Friday. Let me know if there’s anyone else you want to add.”

“Will do.” Tom nodded, praying for her to leave. “Thanks, mum.”

“All right. I’ll leave you guys to it.” Nikki blew you two kisses before leaving the room.

“That was a close one.” Tom blew out a breath of relief and handed you the list. “Here’s the list.”

You took it from him and began to read it over, eyebrows furrowing when you saw how many people were on it. Tom read it over your shoulder as his thumb absentmindedly rubbed your stomach.

“Wow.” You gulped. “Who are all these people?”

“Mostly family.” Tom answered. “But the rest are my friends from university.”

“Hm.” You pouted. “You have a lot of friends.”

“Oh, yeah.” Tom shrugged. “I guess so.”

You slumped in Toms arms, never taking your eyes off the list. Tom noticed you quieting down and squeezed you a little.

“Do you have any friends you want to invite?” He asked kindly, craning his neck to look at you. Your eyes flickered away from the list as you slowly folded in it in your hands.

“No.” You said softly. “I don’t.”

“I’m sure a few more people wouldn’t matter. We can invite whoever you want.” Tom offered. He was very aware of the fact that you hadn’t moved from your position on his lap, and he hoped you were aware too.

“There’s um...there’s no one I can think of who would want to come to my wedding.” You laughed weakly before staring at your lap.

“What?” Tom tried to lighten the mood with a smile. “I’m sure that’s not true. What about the people at the office?”

“No one at the office likes me.” You reminded him.

“That’s not true.” Tom shook his head.

“Yes it is.” You said as you looked over your shoulder at him. He could tell you were upset, so he sat up a little and wrapped his other arm around your waist.

“No, it’s not. Because I like you.” He smiled softly. “And I’m in the office.”

“You don’t like me.” You said softly. “You just put up with me so I don’t fire you.”

“If I didn’t like you, I wouldn’t be marrying you.”

“You’re marrying me so you can get a promotion.”

“That’s part of it.” He agreed as he took your chin between his fingers so you’d look at him. “But I wouldn’t want to be the editor if you weren’t my boss. I’m marrying you because I want you to stay here.”

You slowly turned back around when you heard him say this, shifting your position so you could full face him.

“You want me?” You asked quietly as you stared into his eyes. Tom nodded slowly as his eyes dropped from your eyes to your lips.

“Of course I do, darling.” He said softly. “I’d miss you if you were gone.”

Tom was close enough that his breath was fanning your face. He could feel the warmth of your hand gliding up his chest and coming to rest on his cheek. Tom sat up even more and pulled you closer to him, beginning to lean in as he shut his eyes.

Instead of feeling your lips against his, Tom felt a sharp smack against his face.

“Ow!” Toms eyes shot open. He put his hand on his stinging cheek and looked at you. You had one hand raised and one covering your mouth in shock.

“Oh my God.” You gasped. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know why I did that.”

“You slapped me!” Tom exclaimed with hurt in his eyes.

“I’m sorry!” You repeated. “I panicked.”

“Why?” He asked as he rubbed his cheek.

“Because you were about to kiss me.”

“You could’ve just told me to stop.” He grumbled, grateful that you couldn’t see his embarrassed flush since his cheek was still red from the slap.

“I didn’t want you to stop.” You said before you knew what you were doing. You put your hand over your mouth again and pulled away from him as he processed what he heard.

“What?” He asked. “You wanted me to kiss you?”

“I didn’t say that.” You said quietly as your eyes darted to the side.

“You alluded to it.” He insisted. You looked at him, speechless from embarrassment.

“Shut up.” You said weakly, feeling frazzled at your loss of words.

“You were the one that-“

“I said shut up.” You hissed as you pulled him into a heated kiss. Toms eyes widened before fluttering shut as he leaned into you. Years of pining after you made him hungry, and he wasn’t going to let anything stop him from taking advantage of this moment. He gripped your hips and pulled you into his lap, letting his hands roam wherever they pleased. Tom tangled his fingers in the hair at the nape of your neck as he slipped his tongue into your mouth. You put your ego aside for the time being and slid your hands up his shirt. You dragged your nails down his chest before pulling his shirt off all together. You had to pull away from the kiss for a moment to pull his shirt over his head, and he took this as an opportunity to pull yours off as well. Tom brought a rare smile out of you as he put his hands on your face and softly rubbed your cheeks with this thumb.

“So beautiful.” He whispered. “My wife.”

You responded by putting your hands over his and leaning in to kiss him again. Tom eagerly kissed your back before trailing open mouthed kisses down your neck. You moaned his name softly, so wrapped up in the moment that you didn’t hear the door opening.

“One more thing.” Nikki’s voice sounded in your ears, making you jump away from Tom. You were so startled that you fell right off the bed and landed on the floor with a thud.

“Oh! Sorry.” She apologized. “I just wanted to tell you Sam made pancakes. They’re ready when you are.”

“Thank you.” Tom stammered, sheepishly pulling the covers over his bare chest. Nikki gave him an apologetic smile before shutting the door. You popped up from the floor once she was gone and held your shirt over your body.

“Um, hungry?” You smiled weakly at him.

“Starving.” He gulped before pulling his shirt over his head.

“We should go eat breakfast then.” You pulled your own shirt on and stood up.

“I’ll go first.” Tom quickly got out of the bed. “I’ll um, I’ll see you out there.”

“Yeah.” You forced a smile. “Bye.”

“Bye”. Tom stammered before running out of the room. You let out a frustrated sigh before smoothing your hair and leaving the room. Before you made it to the kitchen, you bumped into Harry in the hallway.

“There you are.” He chuckled as he caught you. “You look a little frazzled.”

“Oh, um, yeah.” You forced a smile. “Just a rough start to my morning, is all.”

“What happened?” He asked. “Did mum catch Tom sleeping on the floor and not in bed with you?”

You let out a small gasp and looked at him in fear. Harry looked back at you with an innocent smile but eyes that told you he knew everything.

“How did you know he slept on the floor?” You whispered.

“Oh, you know.” He shrugged. “I just figured you wouldn’t be sleeping in the same bed as the assistant that you’re forcing to marry you.”

“What?” Your eyes widened. “How do you know that?”

“Don’t worry, sis.” Harry patted your back before walking away. “Secrets safe with me.”

Tag List 🏷

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[captainsimagines]

To Topple A Giant || Chapter One

Summary: You had made it your mission to destroy even the smallest evils. When the opportunity arises to finally take down your own family after years of gaining their trust, you reach for it. And so does Steve, the man who represents a symbol of everything you hate. 

Pairing(s): Steve Rogers x Reader || Avengers x Reader

Part 1 of 10 ~ Mini-Series

Trope: ‘Enemies to Lovers’; mainly angst, mutual pining, fluff, and eventual smut

Warnings: This story contains mature themes and discussions such as extreme canon violence, strong language, emotional angst, mentions of Endgame deaths and recoveries, sexual situations, and emotional/physical abuse. All trigger warnings will be listed before the chapter. This is purely fanfiction. 

Word Count: 4000+

A/N: Ooo, let’s hope this does numbers! I love myself some ‘enemies to lovers’ tropes. It’s been a while since I’ve written Steve fanfics. :)

~

Wakanda, 2018, 4:04 pm.

     The flash of bright white light temporarily blinded you, sending you back to the ground and cupping your face in self-defense. But as quickly as the initial crack, it was over. Eerily silent and loud at the same time. The birds whistled their same tune, some higher-pitched than others. The wind seemed to blow louder, rustling the leaves from the trees and landing all around you and your teammates. 

“Thor?”

You lifted your head at the sound of Steve’s voice and checked if the coast was clear. All that remained of the evil was a new blood-stained hammer - a hammer that Thor was watching intensely, as if the answer lay hidden there. It was the only remnant left and your mind was already wondering how to use it to bring that evil back to finish a fair fight. 

“Where’d he go?”

The birds stopped singing. 

“Steve?”

You whipped your head around at the sound of Bucky’s confused voice, watching as one of your best friends dropped his gun and looked up at Steve as his hands began to disappear. In a matter of seconds, Bucky - or what became of him - fell to the dirt below. No one spoke, and you watched as Steve tried to control his breathing as he took a knee to place his shaking hand over his best friend’s ashes. A life and mind brought out of the darkness to finally amend those knots he had twisted, now ceasing to exist. In the distance you could hear Okoye shout in turmoil and Rocket begin begging. 

“What’s happening?” you finally choked out, turning just in time to see Wanda lift her head to the sky, defeated and out of will, and succumb to the same fate. “No!”

You ran and fell beside Vision’s now gray and decaying body, reaching over and palming through Wanda’s ashes. You rubbed them between your fingers, inspecting them, and brought your hand to your chest. The pit of your stomach churned as you sat there, immobile and numb. 

“Sam!”

So many names were being called but soon everyone who remained fell silent. The trees were still guiding the wind, leaves falling into the ashes of your friends, a sign of a new and unwanted chapter. You felt Steve drop beside you, turning Vision around to see the damage to his body. You winced when you saw the gaping hole in his forehead. 

“What is this? What’s happening?”

Natasha ran to where you were seated, hand over her stomach as if she was ready to vomit. And once she took one look at Vision, that’s exactly what she did. 

You removed your hands from your chest to look at them, the ashes still there and practically mocking you into finally believing this as reality. “Did we just lose?”

Steve was moments away from a full-blown panic attack. He simply looked up at the trees, watching the way the sunlight still burst through with no disruption. “Oh god.”

You caught Steve as he tipped his upper body toward you, wrapping his arms around your waist and holding onto something real. He had to believe you were real. Anyone. And you were the closest person to him. You shut your eyes and held him, running your hands through his hair, wincing when you realized Wanda’s ashes were now on him.

You held him tight, praying to any God you chose to believe in at that moment, that Steve wouldn’t disappear too. 

Unknown Location, 2025, 1:07 pm.

     The air was incredibly musty, as if each person who struggled for breath in this room at one point or another left a piece of their soul floating in search of last minute penance for their sins. And the man in front of you was no different, choking on the purple blood that dripped down his neck and onto his now unbuttoned, white dress shirt. His chest was rising and falling, his breathing becoming less labored with each blink of the eye. His hands were tied behind his back and to the chair he sat on, a flickering light in the corner of the dark, concrete room somehow mocking this man’s last remaining seconds of life. 

“I’m not an evil person,” you started, kicking one of the legs of the chair to startle the poor man. But your guilt was minimal - it’s not like you wanted to do this - but knowing this man did exactly what everyone said he did, hands red and dripping with young blood, you selfishly took pleasure knowing this man would look at you when he died. “It’s just my job as third in command.”

You gave the man a small smile as you bent down to his level, head hanging in shame, slow breaths now pausing in between each intake. You looked to the other party in the room, handing them the gun in your holster, and walked out the room as the sound of two gunshots rang out. 

Left twist. Sting. Breathe. 

You washed away any smell from that godforsaken room, giving extra attention to the roots of your hair and under your fingertips. 

Scrub. Wash. Rinse. Repeat. 

The crack of your neck frightened even you, and you stood under the burning shower for a few more minutes before deciding the sting was enough. You changed into the most comfortable sweats you owned, surprisingly calm for such a gruesome morning you had, and took your time with your skin care routine. 

Circle. Wash. Dry.

Soft music played in the overhead speakers, the classical sounds vibrating from one wall to another and surrounding you with something tranquil - something still. There was nothing to expect from such a sound, only the next repeated chorus, no words or drops - just tranquility. You could barely hear yourself breathe but you were at peace - or mostly - and ready to sooth your growing headache behind the eyeballs with more than just music. You slipped on a pair of comfy, forest green socks and bent them at the ankle to achieve an even fluffier look. You applied your favorite perfume, lotioned up your hands, and donned your tacky friendship bracelet. 

One for you. One for Bucky. One for Peter. And one for Wanda. 

You hummed the whole way to the common room, waving at the morning staff as they fixed lightbulbs, covered holes in the walls, and swept the floors. One muffin and a cup of coffee later, you were resting with your head in Wanda’s lap as she filled your thoughts with your chosen sceneries.

      “I can make you see anything you have already seen, so yes.”

“A miniature golf course, Peter’s high school graduation, a field of all kinds of flowers, and Natasha.”

Wanda stilled her floating hand, smile faltering for a moment before she nodded. “Okay… okay, I can do that.”

     They were images well-drawn out, slow and steady to make the atmosphere similar to when you were actually there. They seemed to float across your vision, comfortable in their positions and radiating the same warmth you had felt the first time around. A moving picture. Wanda really had excellent control of this. 

     “I won!” Sam leapt into the air, pointing at a disgruntled Bucky, who stepped off to the side to not throw Sam over his own head. “I won!”

“How is it possible for you to get a hole-in-one each fucking turn?” Bucky groaned, moping in Wanda’s shoulder as she held him and struggled to keep herself standing from her own intense laughs. 

“I think we got a cheater on the loose,” Steve grinned, pointing at the ring Sam was trying to discreetly tuck back into his pocket. A friendly gift from T’Challa, no doubt. 

“Nuh-uh, give me the fucking proof, Wilson!” Bucky roared, wrapping his arm around Sam’s neck and tugging him forward. “I will not admit defeat if there was foul play involved!”

Sam escaped the hold, climbing onto the rock located to the side of the flag and a sign that read ‘do not climb on rocks’. 

“It just helped me calculate all things geometry, Barnes. We’re good.”

Bucky looked as if he was going to leap on him again, but before he could even finish that thought, Sam slipped on the wet surface and plummeted into the rushing little river. 

Laughter erupted and did not cease until you were escorted out of the fairgrounds by four security guards. 

     A flick of Wanda’s wrist and a new memory began forming, colors blending like an oil painting, dried and covered with a glossy varnish, ready to hang. 

     “Don’t trip on your way up, kid.”

Peter swatted Steve in the side as the super soldier left the room, leaving Peter alone in front of the full-length mirror. He adjusted his tie and tried to lay that pesky dangling strand of hair over the top of his head.

You got up from the couch and made your way over, wrapping your arms around Peter and resting your chin on his shoulder. “You’ll do great. We’re all so proud.”

“It’s just high school…”

You frowned and turned him to face you. “No, you should already be in your second year of college. This is seven years in the making. We are all so proud.”

Peter could feel the slight burn at the corner of his eyes but he swallowed it down, giving you a small smile and a hug. 

“And can you trip? Don’t you stick to all surfaces?”

Peter scoffed and pushed you away, his tiny smile never faltering.

     You could feel Wanda shift her legs underneath you, searching for the most comfortable position as she continued her work. You sighed, already feeling the therapeutic effects. 

     “They’re all so pretty!” you yelled cheerfully, running through the field with your arms extended to the sky. Bucky and Steve followed close behind, leaning down every so often to pluck the flower of their choosing and adding to the bouquet in their hand. 

“Which did Tony prefer?” Steve asked, snapping you from your pollen-filled, ecstatic state. 

“Aesthetic beauty, Rogers! Natasha was a sucker for anything pink and sunflowers.”

Bucky nodded, seeming to take that information into consideration as he plucked the yellow and pink flowers only. Steve chose the most healthy looking flowers, his hand struggling to hold them together as he reached the two dozen mark. 

“I think we’re good. These are good.”

You smiled at both super soldiers and admired their bouquets, leaning over to sniff their masterpieces. “Awesome.”

     Wanda sighed as she neared your last vision, debating on showing you your chosen moment instead of another one. This moment always hurt Wanda as she wasn’t there to witness it, but it was special to you. There were so many others to choose from, but you insisted this was the one you always wanted to see. And Wanda was always hesitant at first - but when she lifted her hand slowly and dropped the memory back into the front of your brain, she couldn’t help but smile. 

     “Are we ready?”

Everyone was practically bouncing on their heels, both excited and terrified. Time travel was new to humanity and you were to be one of the first to experience such a thrill. You were going to get everyone back. 

You squeezed Natasha’s hand once more before you walked back over to Thor and Rocket. You all nodded to each other, saying ‘goodbye’ and ‘good luck’ with your childlike expressions. 

“See you in a minute,” Natasha grinned, her cheeks reddening with a friendly blush as she looked over at Steve. Her hair was pulled back into a braid, a braid you had helped her make, and she was carrying an extra pair of socks in case of a long hike. 

Then a blast of color surrounded your body and the smell of peaches as you landed on Asgard filled your overstimulated senses. 

     You opened your eyes and smiled up at Wanda. You didn’t want to see old memories with your friend, but the most recent. It was like you were grasping onto that last memory of her, not wanting to change anything about her last smile, her last laugh, her last shred of existence. It was oddly calming, and so you hoped Wanda would understand. 

You thanked her again and proceeded to the kitchen. It was bigger than the one before, the soft forest green color of the walls a nice contrast from the blue ones before. You laughed to yourself and your conscience as you silently thanked the explosion that obliterated the horrid blue walls, quickly backtracking at your dumb thoughts. Still, you chose to joke about everything that happened before to avoid falling deeper into yourself. The kettle started howling, smoke circling around the tip. You poured your tea, dropped two cubes of sugar in, and added a little milk. 

It was quite bizarre how quickly you could bounce back from the morning you had. A very bloody, order-filled morning. When one order was given, you had to come up with a plan on how to not disregard the other. You had to listen to Fury and your father, gaining a few feet on each side without toppling the other. Still, it took a physical toll on you. But with Wanda’s help in easing your mind and the very sweet tea you nursed, your emotional baggage was pretty minimal. It sometimes scared you how easy it all was. 

Your morning carried on quietly as you sat on the concrete curb, happily sipping your tea in your sweatpants. You could hear Sam and Scott arguing about something a few feet away from you and Bucky taking his afternoon jog around the track. Quite distracted, the sudden ‘thwip’ and superhero landing of a certain teenager scared you enough to spill a little of your tea. 

“Goddamn, dude!” you whined, looking up at Peter as he tried to control his laughter. 

 “I’m sorry, I thought you saw me!”

“Excuse me for being distracted by the hot super soldier just over there,” you joked, pointing over at Bucky. 

Peter rolled his eyes and sat next to you, immediately reaching over to take the tea from you and take a sip himself. You let him, as you had no other choice, rolling your eyes anyway. 

“What are you doing here? I thought you had classes today?”

Peter handed back your cup, “Nah, I’ve only got classes every Tuesday and Thursday.”

“Ugh, that sounds great. I remember I scheduled my classes for every day of the week just to have more units,” you sighed, taking another sip of tea. 

 “Stupid.”

You pushed Peter’s shoulder playfully, both your laughter catching the attention of Sam and Scott. But as quickly as you had distracted them, they ignored you and went back to bickering. 

“I’m just here to see my friends, sue me!”

“Nope, you’re always welcome,” you smiled, holding out your wrist and bumping your bracelet with his. “How was your week otherwise?”

“Eh, nothing major. Just trying to navigate the world now that they know who's behind the mask.”

You gave Peter a look of sympathy, still mad at the sudden manipulation of the kid after such traumatic events. You had promised him you would protect him by any means possible, as did the rest of the team, but he seemed to be navigating the situation just fine. Staying away from reporters, scheduling his classes during the most isolated gaps of the day, and signing dozens of forms that promised to protect him, give him royalties, etc. After you had brought everyone back, it seemed the least the new management/orders could provide for you all. 

“We all have our days,” you muttered, handing your tea back to Peter. You two sat there for a while longer, enjoying the slight breeze and taste of sugar. 

An agent rounded the corner and spotted you, jogging up and handing you a yellow folder that was sealed in plastic. “For you, from Fury, from whoever before that.”

“Um, thank you?” you said as the agent walked away. You inspected the folder, turning it over in your hands and playing with the thin plastic. 

You lifted it up to Peter’s face, “Here, smell it and tell me if there’s poison.”

Peter scoffed, “I can’t do that!”

“Don’t you lie to me.”

Peter muttered to himself as he took the folder from you, sniffing it awkwardly. “Smells like paper, dude.”

“Cool, thanks.” 

You ripped the plastic off and unhooked the folder, dropping the single item onto your lap. Peter just sipped your tea and watched you open it. 

It was another envelope, but this one was white with custom-printed indents that swirled across the front and a big, red blob of wax smushed- with your initials- sealing it. You ripped it open and pulled the invitation from inside. You must have read it a thousand times, eyes rapidly scanning the small page with secret meanings. 

“You got invited to a wedding?” Peter asked, taking it from you and reading it himself. 

“Yeah, but this is so much more than that,” you said, snatching it back and standing up from the curb. You quickly went back into the compound, searching for the one person who needed to read it also.

You seemed to find everyone before you found the super soldier who wasn’t out for a jog, a line of somewhat concerned superheroes following behind you from room to room. Eager minds and yet, inflexible rib cages full of anxiety and worry, all ready (and quite not) to tackle the new evils of this new world. And whether they followed you blindly or with functioning minds, they were prepared. 

With the rest of the team behind you, you burst through the second floor with the invitation held over your head. Steve stopped mid-bite, milk dripping from his bottom lip as he stared at everyone in confusion. “Um…”

“It’s time-” you started, pulling the stool from next to him and sitting down. 

“Time for what?” Steve interrupted, his mouth still full of cereal.

“Time for this,” you motioned to the envelope you were handing him. “-to finally end.”

Steve read the invitation word for word, the wrinkles in his forehead becoming deeper as his mind worked. You couldn’t quite discern the feeling in the pit of your stomach, twisting and spinning into a tight coil, seeming to spread to the others as it grew in pressure within you. 

“All three?”

“All three,” you confirmed. 

Peter pushed through Bruce and Rhodey, “What’s happening? What’s gonna end?”

You looked over at Steve, his bowl of cereal now forgotten and soggy. 

His eyes were distant and rather cold, hands extended on his knees as if he was drying the accumulating sweat, shoulders building tension. 

“Steve, we can finally end this. We have to tell everyone. It won’t be enough if it’s just you and me.”

He wanted to explode, in both anger and anguish, to stumble over his intact persona and leave it behind - someone he hasn’t known for a long time. It ate away at him each day since Fury notified him of your selfish choice, burrowing into his now tarnished soul in the most sadistic way. But the prospect of finishing this chapter - a chapter that was unexpectedly halted when half the world disappeared - was considerably euphoric. A chance to move on. 

“Okay.”

Rhodey already had knowledge of your background, recruitment, and family but Steve’s initial involvement - the start of it - was still a mystery. You sat everyone down in the living room, making room for the others who arrived later, and clapped your hands together. “Story time!”

Steve groaned, face already pressed against a throw pillow. “Just tell them.”

You rolled your eyes at him. 

“You know whose spawn I’m from,” you began, snickers from your amused friends encouraging you. “To better transport their product, they sent me over to the states to attend college like the good little girl they think I am.”

Sam cracked open a beer and lifted his legs up onto the couch, sitting back with a massive smile on his face as he got comfortable for your story. He handed another beer to Scott. 

“Wait, product?” Scott asked, taking a sip from his drink. 

You smirked at him and tapped your nose twice, amused by his ‘O’ reaction. “Anyway, by then I already knew that I wanted out of the game. I didn’t like that life, I didn’t like the violence, I didn’t like my family.”

Steve knew that was an understatement, a cruel and restrained statement from your part, and he wanted to tell everyone just how justified you were in your words, how real you were being, and how much help you would certainly need for this. But like always, he remained silent. 

“But Fury got to me before I could leave. So, we made a deal. I would train as a field agent and he would promote me every other year to lessen suspicion on this whole ordeal. The deal being I would play both teams.”

By now, your whole team was intrigued. 

“I would do what I could for my father and still have my family’s trust, while feeding the information to SHIELD and our lovely star-spangled man over here,” you pointed over at Steve. He gave you a tiny but forced smile. 

“But after the collapse of SHIELD, my father only became more violent, more hard-headed, more suspicious. He- uh-” you stuttered, flashbacks suddenly filling your head. Wanda watched your eyes dart rapidly, sensing the rush of blood to your legs and tips of your fingers.

“He was power hungry,” Wanda said, immediately feeling your heart rate lower. Although you never actually said it, she could tell you were grateful for her intrusion. 

“Yeah, exactly,” you cleared your throat. “But Steve’s involvement all started when Fury asked me who would be the best front - the most reliable front.”

“So, with only Fury and the bad guys knowing - Y/N named me as her partner in crime,” Steve explained, head hanging low as if it was such a disgrace to do what you openly did. You knew his troubles with coming to terms with such an offensive role were multiplying daily, but you were now this close to stopping  every bad force involved. 

 “So, Captain America is the ultimate drug smuggler,” Scott spoke, somehow trying to comprehend the information all at once. You and Steve both nodded in confirmation and avoided the wide and questioning eyes looking back at you. 

“Yeah, he’s essentially the top boss.”

“Y/N-,” Steve interjected, but you beat him to  it. 

“And here we are! Him and I both invited to the wedding.”

Wanda stretched out her words, “The wedding?”

“Yes, the wedding - where three of the most famous and powerful drug lords south of the border will be attending and ready for our taking - including my father.”

Steve stood from his seat, posture straightening as he spoke to the group. “The invitation reads like a threat. No cameras, no plus-ones besides those listed specifically on the card, no speaking to reporters before or after. The trust Y/N has gained would unknowingly make us the contraband of the party.”

After going through more specifics about the whole situation, Bucky finally raised the question eating away at his mind this whole time. “Whose wedding is it, anyway?”

You grinned that stupid little grin Steve always prepared himself for. It was the grin you would display whenever you were going to make a serious matter a joke, or brush something serious off your shoulder as if it didn’t bother you. The sarcastic grin he always wanted to wipe off your face as you defied orders. 

“My lovely little sister’s.”

Rhodey stepped forward to take the invitation for personal inspection, “When is it?”

“A week from tomorrow,” you beamed. “Which means I got to get shopping for a wonderful little, red number!”

“Please, be more excited about this,” Steve groaned, sarcasm dripping off each syllable. 

You flicked your right hand up and in position to flash your charming little middle finger at him, a river of fluffed ego and delight flowing to your cheeks as he huffed and left the room in a stumbled march.

“So…” Scott’s voice ripped through the awkward silence. “We’ve been secret drug smugglers this whole time?”

~

Please let me know what you think! I listened “The Archer” by Taylor Swift and I was like... yes, I see this, lmao. Tell me if you would like to be tagged in later updates! xxMoni

[mctherofdragons]

In the Afterglow | 1 | F.W.

moodboard by @minty-malfoy​.

Summary: The reader is married to George Weasley, and for all intents and purposes, he is the perfect husband. But, despite her best efforts to resist, Fred presents temptation she never knew she’d fall for.

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Fem! Reader; George Weasley x Fem!Reader

Alternate Universe: No Voldemort AU

Rating: Mature, Future Chapters will Feature Explicit Content

Trigger Warnings: Angst, alcohol, cussing, mild sexual content

Author’s Note: I want to start off by thanking @oh-for-merlins-sake​ for being my sounding board for the past several days as I’ve prepared this fic! Also, to @sunflwrnarry​ for giving me an opinion on whether or not to go ahead with penning this. I cannot tell you how much this idea lives in my head ABSOLUTELY rent free. This might be my favorite fic I’ve written to date. PS: I have a taglist! Let me know if you’d like to be added for this story, all Weasley twins content, or for all Harry Potter content. Thanks loves!

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

August 15th.

Summer mornings always felt particularly comforting. However, the mornings spent on a beach vacation felt especially wonderful. Heading out onto the balcony, you smiled contently, taking a sip of the coffee you had just brewed. George, your husband, was inside still asleep. The night before had been quite tiring as you’d spent all day on the beach before returning to your hotel to play board games and drink. It was the annual vacation you, your husband, and his brother took. It provided days worth of laughter and a much longed for break from the daily grind of work. Occasionally, Fred would bring a lady friend along, but not this year.

You worked for the Ministry of Magic, using your academic skills to contribute toward the greater good of Wizarding society. Meanwhile, your doting husband and his brother worked tirelessly in their joke shop. They actually fared quiet well, despite never completing their classes at Hogwarts. George was able to spoil you to absolute bits. Your wedding had been charming, complete with a send off of blue butterflies before you entered the reception. Everything about your marriage to George was a fairytale.

You watched the waves lapping against the shore. The smell of sea salt and wet sand tickled your nostrils. You pulled your tan cardigan closer around your torso, noting that it was still chilly in the morning, despite it being August. The silence gave you time to reflect on the beauty of the past two years. It felt as though barely any time had passed since you kissed George at the altar, vowing your forever to him. You had developed a calm and comforting rhythm to your life together. It consisted of cozy mornings with your cold feet touching beneath blankets. Your nights would end with dinner together and then finding some sort of movie to watch. You never felt thrilled anymore, but in a way, that’s what you had always dreamed of.

Settling down comfortably in the deck chair, you opened up the novel you’d been reading. Just then, the deck door slid open and your husband walked out. His red hair was messy from sleep and his voice was still raspy, not yet fully adjusted to the morning. He bent to kiss you softly on the head.

“Morning, Mrs. Weasley,” he smiled, moving to lean against the balcony railing. He crossed his legs and took a sip from his coffee mug. His nickname for you always made you smile. You adored it, because you were still head over heels about the idea of being his wife. George was safe and strong. He loved you in the ways other men had failed to. His adoration was clear through bouquets of flowers that would show up on your work desk, lavish birthday presents, and the sweet nothings he whispered to you in bed. George was never pushy. He never spoke out of turn. In fact, you couldn’t even recall a time he had raised his voice at you. George was - as a husband - predictable.

“Mr. Weasley,” you chirped back, turning to the next page of your book. You two sat in silence for a while. George watched the waves crash into the shore, thinking to himself that this was bliss. Even if he wasn’t at the beach, he reasoned, it would be paradise because he was with you.

The sliding glass door opened again and Fred appeared. “Mornin!,” he announced, stretching.

Fred was quite the opposite of George in a number of ways. You knew of Fred’s romantic escapades, which often ended in him bedding girls in his flat. He sometimes had a short temper and still lived on the high of getting into bits of trouble - even as a grown man. His spirit was more untamed. Where George craved peace, Fred strived for adventure. You would be lying if you hadn’t sometimes thought about what Fred would be like as a lover. But then the guilt would hit you. He was your brother-in-law, for Merlin’s sake.

“How do you have this much energy in the morning?,” George chuckled, watching as Fred sat down in the other armchair.

“I just like the beach,” he shrugged, looking over at you. Placing your book onto your lap, you glanced over at Fred. His brown eyes twinkled back at you affectionately. You and Fred had always been close, even before you started dating George. It was Fred that you had befriended first at Hogwarts. But of course, where one Weasley was, there was the other. Fred was thrilled when you began to date George. He thought you were - as he put it - ‘a total fucking catch, George’. Fred had even helped George pick out your engagement ring. He was over the moon to have you as a permanent part of his life - for you to finally and officially be a Weasley.

You looked out at the beach, eager to get some sun and finish your book.

“Then, let’s go.”

_______________________________

George had made the choice to stay at the beach house, wanting to hit the golf course. He had begged Fred to join him, but his twin was craving some time in the sun and surf, so he declined. George grumbled a bit as he packed up his golf bag. He tried until the very last minute to get Fred to come play at least a round but it was to no avail.

You were lying on your back, trying your hardest to catch some color. The normally dreary days at home wouldn’t provide the tan you wanted. Fred was walking back up to your umbrella. He had gone down into the water for a while. You realized then that you probably should reapply your sunscreen, but couldn’t reach yourself.

“Hey, Freddie, can you get my back?” You had thought nothing of it. Fred had obliged, picking up the tiny bottle next to you.

Fred knelt down in the sand, sitting back onto his heels to keep from tipping other. He squirted a bit of the sunscreen into his palm, rubbing it together quickly to warm it up. You had to press your tongue to the roof of your mouth to keep from gasping as you felt his calloused hands hit your bare back. He was being painfully slow, moving to massage the sunblock into your shoulders. The man’s concentration seemed to have drifted from assuring you didn’t get burnt to making you feel good. Fred kneaded a bit and that time you couldn’t resist, letting a tiny gasp escape your lips. It was painfully obvious that you had been wound up tight due to work and it felt incredible to feel your muscles loosen up.

Fred’s fingers danced beneath the strap of your bathing suit and you felt your heart rate quicken. He took a moment to run his finger across the thin, damp strap. You swore you heard his breath stop for a moment. You shook it off, assuring yourself it was you who was making this into something it wasn’t. Just then, he slid his hands down to the center of your spine before getting dangerously close to the elastic of your bikini bottoms. Neither of you were speaking, and for some reason, you felt a familiar feeling between your thighs. Shit, shit, shit, you thought. Thankfully your head was laying in your arms, face down, or else Fred would no doubt see you blushing.

“Okay that’s good, Fred, thanks,” you said quickly, moving so his hands were no longer on you. You couldn’t tell if the sun had reached its brightest point or if you were sweating because of your brother-in-law. But either way, you rolled back over to stand up, leaving Fred confused as you headed out toward the water to distract yourself.

•·················•·················•  •·················•·················•

October 31st.

George was standing up front at the cash register of Weasley Wizard Wheezes, counting the nightly deposit. Halloween was always a particularly busy day as both old and young wizards alike grabbed their last minute bits of mischief.

You were sitting in the back room, giving Fred your opinion on his Halloween costume.  Each year, the Weasley twins put on the best Halloween party, complete with costumes, outlandish decorations, and overflowing fire whiskey and butterbeer. Getting an invite to the Weasley Halloween Bash was something highly sought after. Therefore, the twins always made sure their costumes were up to snuff. Fred was close to you, showing off his ensemble for that night. A black velvet cape was draped over his shoulders, complete with a white button up shirt and black pants.

“What is it you’re supposed to be?” You cackled, adjusting the middle button on his shirt, which he had overlooked. Fred swallowed hard as your hands touched his abdomen. You noticed how as you laughed, your eyes locked on one another. You diverted your eyes quickly, cursing the butterflies that were some reason threatening to burst in your belly. The redhead stepped back a little, doing a little twirl so that his cape swooshed.

“A vampire!,” he sounded exasperated, using his hands to gesture to himself. You cocked your head to the side, figuring he just didn’t have the makeup or fangs on yet. It was decided in your mind that once that was all done, the costume would look much better.

“It looks great, Freddie,” you finally conceded and he grinned.

“I’m going to vuck your vlood,” Fred joked, wiggling his fingers as he leapt closer to you. You shrieked, jumping back as he attempted to begin tickling you. Once you had both stopped giggling, Fred began to speak again.

“What are you and George going as?”

“Pirates,” you said excitedly, clapping your hands together. Fred rolled his eyes.

“I know you picked that out.” “I always pick. George is horrible at decision making, and if I’m being honest, his ideas are sometimes quite stupid.”

The bells on the back door jingled as George entered. “Oy, we getter get going if we want to set up for tonight,” he said to you, coming over to wrap his arms around your waist. A smile graced your lips as he planted a loving kiss on your cheek. He smelled like warm cinnamon - the perfect addition to fall.

_______________________ 

 You descended down the stairs, your heels clicking with each step. Fred was at the bottom of the stairs, busying himself with filling a tray up with some sort of side dish. He heard you coming and turned, his jaw going slack.

You were wearing black fishnets complete with thigh high leather boots. Your dress was candy apple red with a tight black corset. It left little to the imagination as it showed off the perfect teasing amount of cleavage and sat just below your bum. The look was complete by a black pirate’s hat and flawless makeup, which you were certain to spend at least an hour on. You had taken the time to curl your h/c hair as well, which lay perfectly on your shoulders.

“Aye, aye, captain,” George gawked, coming around the corner. His costume was a little less detailed, but none the less fitting to match yours. You giggled as he swept you up in his arms, giving you a few kisses on your face. “Please make me walk to plank tonight,” he whispered in your ear, giving your lobe a little nibble. You giggled, pushing him off a bit. “Now, now, sailor. We have company,” you gestured to Fred, who appeared to be blushing redder than your dress. You ignored it, pushing back any thoughts that began to stir in your mind. You had hoped, somewhere deep down inside of you, that Fred was just as taken by your look as George was.

Fred had doctored up his costume quite a bit, adding eyeliner smudged around his eyes, a bit of face powder, and some fake blood below his lip. He had gelled his hair to look more Victorian, too, which gave the perfect finishing touch. “You look awesome, Fred,” you remarked, giving him a pat on this shoulder. You began to help finish the snack table. The tension could be cut with a knife, you noted. There was something different between you and Fred ever since the beach. A lust hung in the air whenever you two were in close proximity. It was enough to strangle you, and the worst part was, you were convinced it was all in your head. It was bloody wrong, too, you had told yourself.

_________________________

 The night went off without a hitch. Ron and Hermione had shown up, dressed adorably as a cop and a robber. Ginny and Harry had come, too, of course, wearing their most ghoulish ghost bride and groom attire. Even Draco Malfoy and his wife Astoria made an appearance. Dozens of other witches and wizards had passed through the night, sharing in the imbibing and laughter of the evening. By midnight, the party had thinned out. For those in attendance with children, trick or treating was over now, which meant it was time to return home.

You had had quite a few shots of fire whisky, which had now left you sleepily sitting on the couch. George had gone up to bed due to the fact that the shop would still be open in the morning and it was his turn for the morning shift. You yawned, stretching out to lie down. Fred was still over and he sat down, pulling your boots to sit on his lap. This closeness normally would be nothing but platonic, but tonight the tension began to rise again. Maybe it was the alcohol, but you suddenly felt a wicked dizziness in your head. Your heart felt like it had risen into the bottom of your throat when Fred began to talk.

“You know, y/n, I’ve always thought you were very, very....gorgeous. Even when those stupid, snotty Slytherins would pick on you in school. Too beautiful for me, but perfect for George,” Fred was mindlessly watching a horror movie you’d put on the television. His words were slurred. “And tonight, I mean talk about a smoke show.”

“Thanks, Freddie,” you smiled, thankful for the compliment.

“Do you ever wonder...what if it would have been us?”

The question caught you off guard and you sighed a little, looking up at the ceiling. “Sometimes,” you had never admitted it out loud. But it was often that you did wonder - what if you had fallen in love with Fred instead of George?

“My feet hurt,” you allowed the words to tumble from your mouth. You were never one for a filter when drinking, either. It was just one more thing you and Fred had in common.

“Lemme help,” Fred whispered, reaching over to unzip your leather shoes from the top of your thigh to the ankle. He pulled each of them off, and then looked up at you. He placed on hand at your ankle and ran his hand up to your thigh, feeling the fabric of your fishnet stockings. Again, he ran his hand down your leg. He cleared his throat, clearing coming unglued by the feeling of your smooth legs and the course, patterned fabric of your fishnets dancing beneath his hand. Instinctively, you allowed your legs to open, tempting Fred to move his hand up further. But just as he moved his hand toward the inner part of your thigh, you swung your legs around and sat up.

You bent over quickly, grabbing your shoes and standing up. “You should go, Fred,” your throat felt dry. Nothing happened, you told yourself. You’re overreacting. He was just helping you take your boots off.

“Right, it’s late,” Fred said awkwardly, standing up and grabbing his keys off the coffee table. He didn’t drive, luckily, because it was apparent the he had also had a few too many beers.

[To Be Continued.]