#he might have been bullshiting those tourists

[redrose10]

Part 1

Here is part 1 of this new story that I’m working on. I was going to post it as one big chapter, but I’ve received feedback that multiple chapters are preferred so that’s the route I went. I really hope that everyone likes it! This first part is very very angsty.

Inn Keeper Yoongi x Female Author Reader

Summary: You have never experienced true love which is hilarious considering you write romance novels for a living. When you end up staying at The Interlude Inn located in Holly Falls you start to wonder if maybe the answer to your newest love story is sitting behind the welcome desk. Quickly, you find out that Min Yoongi hides a lot of pain and sorrow behind his shy smiles and quick glances.

Warnings: (may get updated) Swearing, character death, very very angsty for a while, mentions of physical and verbal abuse, bullying, a really mean letter, panic attacks, eventual light smut, eventual fluff

Word Count: 9,602

Tag List: @viankiss

You slunk down in your office chair hanging your head low. Your boss had just chewed you out after you presented her with a draft of your newest novel that you had thought you were just about finished with, but it appears you were going to have to start from the beginning.

“I’m guessing it didn’t go as well as you thought it would?”, your best friend and coworker, Nari responded.

“She said that it’s not believable and that I need to use my own personal experiences as inspiration. I can’t keep writing the same story over and over just changing the names and location. The reader will be able to connect with it more if it’s from experience. I have two months to send her the new story or I’m on unpaid leave until I submit something worth publishing. It’s such bullshit.”, you huffed.

“I mean she kind of has a point. Anyone can put a bunch of words down on a piece of paper, but unless there is real feeling behind it then those words won’t get far.”

You rolled your eyes, “Seriously? You too? And what personal experience should I use?”

“Y/N you’ve been in relationships before. Just use one of them or a combination of all of them.”

“Oh yeah, should I go with the one who cheated on me or the one who ghosted me after he got me in his bed, or the one that would loose his temper at the smallest thing I did to upset him? I’ve never had a good relationship experience.”, you chuckle self deprecatingly.

“Hey Y/N, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to rub it in like that. Maybe try writing something else. Not every story has to be about a relationship, good or bad.”

Running your hands over your face you sighed, “I just don’t know what to do any more. I feel so burnt out and unmotivated. I don’t think I could come up with another story if I wanted to.”

“Why don’t you take a break? You know, get out of town for a while. I’m sure our boss won’t mind, especially if it gets you to clear your head and write something decent.”

Pondering this theory for a minute you began to think she might be on to something.

“Where would I go though? I can’t really afford to travel far and I don’t want to be too distracted that I can’t get anything done.”

After some silence Nari jumped up, “Oh I’ve got the perfect place. It’s just a four hour flight out to the countryside. A little town called, Holly Falls. My sister and her fiancé stayed there several months ago.”

Thinking it over a little it sounded like a good idea. After some begging and promising your boss that you were going to get work done while on the trip she agreed.

Once you arrived at the airport you really wished you’d done a little more research about Holly Falls. After some digging and a conversation with a very outgoing Uber Driver you found out that eleven months out of the year the town is very low key and relaxed, but for one month it is a tourist hotspot thanks to the insane amount of blooming cherry blossom trees. According to your new Uber friend, people come to Holly Falls during this month to see the fields of trees blooming in all their glory. The normally quiet town embraces the crowds providing various festivals and parades and gimmicks to draw in the guests as well as their wallets. And of course you just happen to travel over there smack dab in the middle of it all.

The driver dropped you off in the middle of the fun so with your bag slung over your shoulder you started heading into different hotels trying to book a room. In the city you could walk into pretty much any hotel at any time and book a room. You had assumed it would be same in this small town so you had decided to wait to book a room until you could see them in person wanting to get the feel and make sure you chose the right fit. You imagine in any other month it would be much easier to obtain a place to stay here, but due to the large tourist presence every single hotel was completely booked for the entire month.

You were just about ready to give up and head to the airport to see about booking a flight home when an older gentleman came up to you carrying various handmade trinkets for sale.

“See anything you like miss? All of these are under $10.”, he asked.

Politely you smiled, “No thank you. Not right now.”

You thought he had left until you saw him dangling a hand painted sun catcher in front of you. The design a beautiful beautiful cherry blossom. Trying to bite your tongue and not snap at the elderly man you again shook your head. “Here have it for free. You seem to need a little cheering up.”, he smiled.

Reaching up you grabbed the delicate glass from him, “Thank you. I really appreciate it. I’m sorry if I came off rude. I’m just really stressed out right now.”

“Didn’t know about the cherry blossom season and now you can’t find a place to stay?”, he asked. “How did you know?”, you replied wide eyed. The elderly man chuckled while taking a seat next to you, “There’s always at least one person that gets stuck here with nowhere to stay because they didn’t know how crazy things can get around here this time of the year.”

“Mmh yeah that would be me this year. I need somewhere to stay for a couple weeks or I’m going to have to head back home.” “You know there might be somewhere that still has a room available. It’s just outside all of the hubbub. About ten miles just over that hill. If you get to Taehyung’s Strawberry Farm then you’ve gone too far.”, he said pointing in the opposite direction of the festivities. “Really? You think they’d have a room? I wonder why they wouldn’t be booked like every other place.”

The gentleman stood up from the bench you were both on, “Its worth a shot. It’s a little farther away from all the action than people like to be. Plus the owners are a little on the unique side.”

You were concerned at this statement. The last thing you wanted to do was end up being the story line of a true crime documentary.

He continued, “They are very nice people. A young man and his grandmother. They just tend to be very secluded and to themselves. It’s called Interlude Inn. You can’t miss it.”

You thanked him for the information and watched as he walked into a large group of people trying to sell the rest of his merchandise. Placing the delicate sun catcher in your bag you ordered another Uber to take you over to the inn. A familiar vehicle quickly pulled up in front of you with the same talkative man from earlier. You wondered how there weren’t any other drivers available, but you smiled as you slid in the back seat anyways.

“Leaving so soon?”, he asked.

You chuckled, “No I just need to find somewhere else to stay. Can you please take me to The Interlude Inn?” Suddenly the man stopped, turning to look back at you.

“Miss you don’t want to stay there. Surely there’s somewhere else around here you can stay.”

“Every hotel is completely booked. If this inn doesn’t have a room then I’ll have to just go home.”

He sighed, “Alright miss. If you insist.”

He began the drive to your location. His words about finding somewhere else stuck in your mind.

“Sir?”

“Yes Miss”

“What you said earlier. What is so bad about this inn?”

“Well, the grandma, I think her name is Mae, is very sweet. She’s done the best she can with what she had. But that Min boy, he’s a little odd.”

“Ohhh…Like serial killer odd?”

The man chuckled, “No not that kind of odd. He’s just very quiet and keeps to himself, but he is polite. He’s never seemed to have any friends and I doubt he’s ever had any kind of relationship. He comes into town only a few times a year, mostly when his grandmother needs something. He doesn’t acknowledge anyone, even when they speak to him directly. People usually only stay at the inn as a last resort during this busy season.”

From what you’re hearing he seemed like just a quiet introverted person who loves his grandma. You weren’t sure why everyone seemed so leery of him.

The car pulled up infront of the inn. The large wooden sign out front verified you were indeed at The Interlude Inn. Thanking your driver you grabbed your bag and made your way up to the entrance.

The Inn looked cozy and welcoming. It was smaller than you had imagined. There couldn’t be more than three or four rooms. Off to the side you noticed a little garden with various plants starting to bloom.

On the door hung a welcome sign adorned with hand painted lady bugs and butterflies. Turning the handle you gently pushed in the door being greeted by a heavenly aroma making your stomach grumble. The entrance room which also doubled as a living room had two couches, one on either side of a coffee table. A television hung on the wall above a fireplace. In the corner was a small desk which you assume would be where you could request a room.

Walking over you noticed a younger man crouching down so he was eye level with one of the drawers. He appeared to be about your age, mid to late twenties. Black hair with a slight curl to it hung over his forehead. Beautiful cat like eyes and his soft lips formed into a deep pout. You wanted so badly to reach over and squeeze his chubby cheeks, but you knew that was a weirdness you didn’t want to invoke. He was fidgeting with a drawer that seemed to be stuck and you could here the argument he was having in soft whispers,

“Come on you stupid thing.”

“It shouldn’t be this difficult.”

“Please, I just need a pen and then I’ll leave you alone for the rest of the day.”

You chuckled hearing him begging the drawer to cooperate. Reaching into your bag you grabbed one of your spare pens and set it on the desk, “Here I have a pen you could use.”

The young man let out a sudden squeal after you startled him. He jumped backwards and landed on his behind with a loud thud.

“Oh no I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I thought you had heard me come in.”, you apologized feeling terrible.

The poor guy sat on the ground trying to collect himself before bringing himself back to a standing position. That’s when you noticed his cheeks were a bright shade of red, making you want to squeeze them even more. The man didn’t say a word. His eyes were barely able to focus on you, instead they would move around the room before returning to you for just a second before he’d quickly look elsewhere.

“Ahh this must be the Min boy the driver was talking about?”, you thought to yourself. They weren’t kidding when they said he was quiet and reserved.

“Hi, I’m sorry again for scaring you. I was just wondering if you had a room I could rent for a couple weeks.”

The man just continued looking around the room.

“It’s okay if you don’t have any available. It was just recommended for me to come up here for a room since all the others are booked.”

Again silence. You were about to ask if he was okay when a door off to the left swung open and a very sweet looking elderly woman came walking out. She must be the grandmother that was mentioned. She was covered in flour so you assumed that’s where the heavenly smell was coming from.

“Yoongi dear did you get that pen yet? I need to label the jars of blueberry jam.”, she spoke. When she noticed you she jumped slightly, but not in a scared kind of way. More like an oh no how long have you been standing there while my grandson stares at you kind of way.

“Oh hi sweety, how can we help you?”, she asked. Her grandson, that you now knew was named Yoongi, was still standing off to the side. You had to intently stare at his chest to make sure he was still breathing because you were honestly getting very concerned for him.

“Yes ma’am, I was wondering if you had any available rooms that I could rent for the next couple of weeks?”

She smiled while pulling out an old and beat up note book to take down your info. You liked the old school feel. It was much different than the digital kingdom of the city where you lived.

“Of course dear. Did you need one bed or two?”

“Just one will be fine.”

“Okay and you said two weeks?”

“Yes please.”

“No problem. Just fill out your name and address here. Payment will be due at the end of your stay when you check out.”

Quickly you wrote down all the requested information before handing the book back over. You couldn’t help but notice that Yoongi still hadn’t moved, but his cheeks were still a bright shade of pink so you knew he was at least breathing.

The grandma spoke again, “Thank you so much dear. My name is Mae, but you can call me grandma, granny, halmeoni, MaeMae, just don’t call me late for dinner.”

Even though you’ve heard that joke countless times you still laughed. Something about this sweet woman warmed your heart.

She continued, “This is my grandson Yoongi. He can help you with your bags and show you to your room. You’re more than welcome to join us for dinner. It should be ready in about twenty minutes or so.”

You thanked her profusely and watched as she walked back into the kitchen. Yoongi walked around the desk without making eye contact. He reached for your bag that was currently sitting on the ground and you noticed a shake to his hand due to his nerves.

“Uh uh um y-you c-can follow me.”, he spoke before walking down the long hallway. He opened the door to small cozy room. A window sat overlooking the garden. A bed adorned with a lilac colored quilt sat against the wall. There was a dresser available for storage and a desk off to the side. It was perfect.

Yoongi laid your bag down at the foot of the bed. You wanted to ask him if he needed to lie down based on how terrified he looked. Instead you opted to try and get him to speak to you at all.

“Hi Yoongi, I’m Y/N. It’s really nice to meet you.”

You stuck your hand out offering a hand shake. It was getting awkward waiting for him to return the gesture, but just before you were going to dejectedly pull your hand back he reached up and took your hand in his.

With his cheeks back to bright red he quickly bowed and walked out of the room closing the door behind him.

Since dinner was going to be ready soon you opted to just lay in bed enjoying the comfort after a long day of travel. When Mae called you for dinner you entered the dining room surprised to only see her and Yoongi sat at the table.

“Am I the only guest?”, you asked suddenly feeling out of place.

“Yes dear, but don’t worry. We are so happy to have you here.”, she smiled pulling out a chair for you.

You nodded taking the offered seat while she filled up your bowl with some beef soup.

“So Y/N, what brings you to Holly Falls? I’m assuming it’s the cherry blossoms.”, she asked.

“Oh no I just needed to take a little vacation and clear my head. Having some work problems. My friend recommended this town to me. I didn’t even know about the cherry blossoms until I got here.”

“Well you’re going to love it here. There’s no more of a relaxing place.”

You smiled and accepted the second helping of soup. The two of you kept the conversation going talking about this and that. Yoongi never said a word. Out of the corner of your eye you noticed him sneaking little glances in your direction before quickly turning his head but you chose to ignore it, not wanting to embarrass him.

After dinner you offered to help clean up the kitchen which was greatly appreciated. Mae sent Yoongi out to the garden to collect some chamomile to make tea. As she rinsed off the dishes you would take them and dry them before putting them in their respective spots.

“Thank you for being gentle with Yoongi.”, she spoke breaking the silence.

You weren’t quite sure what she meant by that and apparently your face showed it because she continued,

“He really is such a caring and sweet young man. He’s just been hurt so many times and he’s so afraid of letting someone in for fear of it happening again. I worry what will happen to him when I’m no longer here. I don’t want him to be alone. He deserves the world and I hope that one day he finds someone that will give it to him.”

You wanted to ask questions, but felt it wasn’t a good idea to pry when you’ve only known this family for a few hours.

“He seems very sweet. I’d love to get to know him more.”, you responded.

“Oh please do. Go slow, but I think if you keep at it he just might open up to you. As soon as you went to your room he came to me and said you seemed like a very genuine person.”

You felt your cheeks heat up at the thought.

“Do you know if he has any interests or anything? Maybe something I could ask him about.”

She lightly chuckled, “Well he loves music. He has these notebooks that he’s always writing lyrics in, but he has never let anyone look at them. He likes basketball. He was really good when he was younger, but he doesn’t play it much any more. Oh! And you’d never guess it but he likes to knit. He’d be furious if he ever found out I told you that so you didn’t hear that one from me.”

You nodded in agreement before putting the final plate away just as Yoongi returned with the requested chamomile. He shyly smiled at you before nervously running out of the room. After enjoying a cup of tea you said goodnight and made your way back to your room for the evening.

The following morning you cranklily padded to the dining area. Mornings were not your thing. Thankfully you were greeted with the smell of coffee and fresh baked bread. Mae was nowhere to be seen, but Yoongi was standing at the counter chopping some vegetables for what you presumed was an omelet based on all the ingredients in front of him. You stood in the doorway thankful that he hadn’t noticed you yet as it gave you a chance again to admired his features. You smiled at how the tip of his tongue poked out in concentration as he focused on chopping an onion.

Silently you walked up next to him and smiled, “Anything I can help with?” The poor thing nearly jumped two feet in the air also letting the knife slip which sliced the tip of his thumb. When you saw the small amount of blood coming to the surface you panicked.

“Oh my goodness I am so sorry Yoongi. I didn’t mean to scare you like that. What was I thinking?”, you said grabbing his hand and pulling him over to the sink. He hadn’t said a word.

After thoroughly washing the cut and using a paper towel to dry it you asked if there were any bandaids. Shyly he pointed underneath the sink and you found a first aid kit.

“Okay this might sting a little.”, you said applying the disinfectant. You felt awful when you saw his body flinch. After the cut was securely wrapped in a bandaid you began apologizing again, “I’m so sorry Yoongi. This is not how I intended for this to go. Are you going to be okay? Does it hurt still? Is there anything I can do?”

For the first time since you arrived you saw a full blown smile on his face. He shook his head, “N-No thank you. I think I’ll be okay.”

“Well let me help you prepare breakfast. It’s the least I can do.”

After some hesitation he agreed so you cleaned up the work station and got a new cutting board before you got to work chopping the rest of the vegetables. When breakfast was over and you had helped clean up you decided to go back to your room for a while and try to get some work done. Unfortunately things weren’t going that great. You were still struggling to put together a decent storyline and after two hours of staring at your laptop you decided to give up and take a break.

Peaking out the window you noticed Yoongi working in the garden. He looked adorable in his overalls and dark green sweater. A matching green beanie on to give a little more warmth. You wondered if he had knit it himself. You grabbed your jacket and decided to head outside for some fresh air.

Not wanting a repeat from the morning you loudly made your presence known as to not startle him again. Only when you were sure that he had noticed you did you decided to say something.

“What are you working on?”, you asked crouching down next to him.

He whispered something that you couldn’t quite catch. You noticed the redness intensifying in his cheeks too. He was just so incredibly cute.

“What kind of seeds are these?”

“Oh they are um cabbage and um radish seeds.”, he said without looking up from the dirt.

“Hmmm I know nothing about gardening, but isn’t it still too cold to plant these? I always thought it needed to be hot for seeds to grow.”

“S-Some s-seeds can grow when it’s colder out. Then we’ll h-harvest them and p-plant the rest.”

“Ahhh I see. I never even knew that was possible. What else are you planting?”

Did you care about gardening or seeds or soil quality? No absolutely not. But this was the most Yoongi has spoken to you so you rattled off question after question and made odd comments here and there just to get him to keep talking. By the time you were done his face was beet red and his hands were shaking quite a bit more than earlier. You were starting to feel bad and like you were pushing him past his breaking point so you wanted to give him some space.

Standing up and brushing the dirt off your knees you said, “Well it’s gotten quite chilly out. I’m gonna head inside. Thank you for teaching me so much. Maybe one day I’ll have a garden and you could come see it for yourself.”

He nodded without looking up at you and you took that as his way of saying goodbye. Once inside you found a smiling Mae standing in the kitchen.

She handed you hot bowl of leftover soup for lunch and sat at the table next to you.

“You know, that’s the longest I’ve ever seen him converse with someone other than me in a long long time. Normally he’d just get up and walk away without saying a word.”

The thought of asking about Yoongi’s past crossed your mind again, but you pushed it aside still not feeling that it was the right time.

The next couple days followed a similar path. You’d wake up, help Yoongi make breakfast, try to work for a little, and then you’d go find Yoongi and try to talk to him and get him to open up to you. He never said much but he’d nod or say a word here or there to let you know he was listening. Mae would always be amazed at how well Yoongi responded to you. After a while you’d give him some space and then join the two of dinner followed by tea and then you’d head off to bed.

On the fifth day you decided to go out and explore a little. You ended up at Taehyung’s Strawberry farm which was just up the road from the Inn. Taehyung or Tae as he told you to call him was a very kind and outgoing guy. The farm had been passed down in his family for six generations. He gave you a tour of the entire farm and introduced you to his farmhands/friends Jin, Hoseok, Namjoon, and Jungkook. Jin was in charge of harvesting the strawberries and also coming up with new items to sell at the onsite bakery. Hoseok or Hobi as he was called was in charge of maintenance of the crops, things like making sure they got enough water but not too much water and pruning the plants where necessary. Namjoon was the bookkeeper. He kept track of orders and anything numbers related. Jungkook was the youngest of the four. According to Tae, he was the muscle of the group and would do various things around the farm that involved a lot of physical strength.

They all seemed like very sweet gentleman and made you feel very welcome from the start.

“So what brings you all the way out here? Most people try to stay closer to the main town this time of year.”, Jin asked setting a strawberry cream puff in front of you.

“I wasn’t able to get a room in town so I’m staying at The Interlude Inn.”

“I see. With Mae and Yoongi? How are they doing? I’ve been meaning to stop by and drop off a strawberry pie for them.”

“They seem to being doing well. They’ve been so hospitable.”

“Even Yoongi?”, Jungkook said taking a seat next to you. You noticed a hint of a chuckle in his question.

“Yes even Yoongi. He’s on the quiet side, but I think he’s starting to warm up to me a little bit.”

“Wow he must really like you then. I’ve been trying to get him to open up for years.”, Taehyung said walking over.

“What do you mean?”, you asked confused as to why everyone always seems to think he’s some cold jerk.

He continued, “We’ve just been trying to get him to hang out with us for the last few years. I’ve offered him multiple jobs around here. We’ve invited him over for dinner or to go get drinks in town. Namjoon tried to set him up on a date with his sister. He just always turns and walks away without saying a word. We’ve kind of just given up.”

“Oh yeah I guess maybe I’m just special then.”, you said before taking another bite of the cream puff.

It was pretty late by the time you had gotten back to the inn. Jin had given you a ride back as it looked like there was an early spring thunderstorm about to hit. When you walked inside you set the strawberry pie on the counter. Mae had already gone to sleep, but Yoongi was sitting in the common area watching a basketball game. He looked so cozy wrapped up in a hoodie that was a little too big for him and a fluffy fleece blanket on his lap. Now that you thought about it he was always dressed very warmly. Sweatshirts, sweaters, or multiple layers all with long sleeves. You’ve never seen any skin other than his hands and neck and face. It was on the chilly side being that it was barely the beginning of the spring, but nothing that you thought warranted that kind of clothing constantly. It was odd to you, but nothing you wanted to question him about right now because maybe it was just a comfort thing for him you thought. Instead you walked over to the couch making your presence known so that you didn’t startle him.

“Mind if I join you?”, you asked. Silently he scooted over to make room and you took that as a yes. You watched the game for a few minutes trying to come up with something to say, but you really didn’t know much about basketball or sports in general.

“Is that Michael Jordan?”, you asked after the camera followed a player who had just scored a basket.

Yoongi’s eyebrows furrowed as he shook his head.

“Lebron James?”

He shakes his head.

“Steph Curry?”

Again another head shake.

You chuckled, “Well those are the only basketball players I know so I give up.”

Out of the corner of your eye you saw the slightest smile from on his lips which you took as encouragement to continue.

“Oh so did he just score a touchdown?”, you asked. In reality you knew that was a completely different sport, but you were hoping that somehow this would get a little engagement on his part.

You looked at him expectantly noticing his cheeks heat up under your stare.

“Umm n-no that was a free throw, not a touchdown.”

“Hmm and a free throw is worth one or two points?”

“It’s w-worth one point.”

You didn’t want to over stress him out so you decided to give him some quiet and stop with the questions for a while.

The referee in the game blew his whistle and started making a bunch of hand gestures. You were about to lean over and ask about it when a bright flash of light shown through the windows followed by a loud clap of thunder. The floor beneath your feet seemed to shake from the force. Another flash of light lit up the room and some more thunder hit making even you jump a little.

“Wow that’s some storm.”, you said looking over at Yoongi only to be met with nothing.

“Yoongi?”, you question looking around the room wondering how he was able to get up and run so fast.

After standing up from the couch and walking towards the kitchen to see if maybe he had went in there you saw the fleece blanket he was holding earlier leaning up against the back of the couch and thanks to the added light from another lightning strike you noticed that the blanket was also covering a lump. Getting closer you saw little tufts of black hair poking out. Gently you reached and pulled the blanket down slightly. You could feel your heart breaking seeing him like this. Curled up in a ball with his hands over his ears and tears on his cheeks.

“Yoongi it’s okay. It’s just a thunderstorm.”, you said trying to soothe him. When your words didn’t seem to help you went to reach for his hand feeling him tense at your touch.

“No please don’t hurt me. Please.”, he cried out making you recoil. “Yoongi it’s Y/N. I’m not going to hurt you. Just let me get you to be-.” You felt a hand on your should and found Mae looking down at you with a sad expression on her face. She bent down the best she could in her old age to get his attention and when he finally recognized her the tension seemed to leave his body, at least momentarily until another crack of thunder rang through the air.

Mae helped him up off the ground and you’d stayed m back watching as she helped him down the hall, his legs shaking ever so slightly. Just before they entered his room Mae turned to you and pointed towards the kitchen. You took the hint and went to get a couple cups of tea ready.

After about fifteen minutes she returned and took a seat next to you thanking you for the tea.

“I’m sorry you had to see that.”, she sighed.

“No I just, I don’t, I…”, you couldn’t find the words. You knew it was slightly odd for a grown adult to be that petrified of a thunderstorm, but you knew there must be a reason. Judging by Mae’s reaction this seemed to be a common occurrence. You just didn’t know how to move forward without sounding rude.

“Mae, please forgive me if this comes off to forward or harsh, but has some thing happened to Yoongi in his past?”

She took a sip of tea before getting more comfortable in the chair and nodding her head.

“Yes dear. Yoongi, my sweet sweet Yoongi, has been through a lot. More than any person should have to especially at his young age. You see Yoongi’s father left a few weeks after he was born. Yoongi was born too early and was very small and sickly. His father didn’t want any part of his life. My daughter did the best she could with Yoongi. I helped whenever I could as well. She was such a loving mother. When Yoongi was about two years old she married a man who I didn’t necessarily approve of, but there was nothing I could do. She was an adult and she seemed happy. He quickly moved my daughter and Yoongi to the other side of the country. I only got to see them a couple times year. I started to have suspicions that something was wrong when Yoongi was four years old. I went to visit and noticed that my daughter and Yoongi both had old bruises. When I questioned it my daughter claimed that she tripped while carrying him and fell down some stairs. Then when Yoongi was six he told me how he had heard his mom and stepdad in their bedroom making lots of noise. His mom was yelling and there were loud bangs, but he couldn’t hear what she was saying. I questioned her once again and she said that her and her husband must’ve just gotten too loud while in bed together and that she’d remind him in the future that they needed to be quieter. I wasn’t completely convinced, but I had no other proof.”

Mae took a long breath clear that this was hard for her to recall and you were starting to feel guilty for even asking.

She continued on, “When Yoongi was about seven his mom got very sick and unfortunately passed away. I tried to visit him more, but as time went on his step dad cut me off more and more. I tried getting a court involved, but he was considered his legal guardian and without any significant proof there was nothing they could do. So I tried to do what I could. Over time I noticed a change in Yoongi. He was sadder, seemed more down on himself. I rarely ever saw that smile that used to melt my heart. He was having a hard time at school. The friends he had stopped hanging out with him. Then one day when he was around thirteen he said something back to his stepdad and his stepdad beat him so badly the neighbors ended up calling the police because of the noise.”

She stopped to take a shaky breath. Tears forming in her eyes. You hadn’t even noticed that you had started biting your bottom lip trying to stop your own tears from falling until the subtle taste of blood hit your tongue.

Once again she continued, “Thankfully his stepfather was arrested that night and eventually sentenced to forty five years in prison, but it was already too late and the damage was done. When I got to the hospital that night they started showing me different x-rays and scans and going over Yoongi’s injuries. It was worse than I had ever thought. There were old fractures that hadn’t healed correctly. Scars both fresh and old covered his body from where his stepfather would beat him with a tree branch or use his skin to put out his cigarettes. He had torn his shoulder at one point and because it was never properly taken care of he’s always in pain, even to this day. He had surgery to correct it, but it only helped a little. I cried in the hospital. He was released after a week and came to live here with me. I was taking him to therapy a couple times a week and he seemed to be getting on the right track. He was smiling more and getting a little more talkative. I had enrolled him in the high school here and he made a couple friends. I knew there’d always be a part of him that struggled, but I thought that maybe he was going to be able to move past all of this for the most part and go on to have a happy healthy life. When he was in his second to last year of high school there was going to be a big dance and after some convincing he asked a girl to go with him as a date and she said yes. So I got him a brand new suit and the day of the dance we went and picked out a beautiful bouquet of flowers. I offered to drive him, but he didn’t want to be embarrassed by his grandma driving him around, you know how teenagers are. So I watched him walk out the door.”

Mae took a moment to composer herself by staring out the kitchen window. You in no way wanted to rush her.

She took another sip and then went on, “I was in the kitchen a little while later when I heard the front door swing open and slam back shut. I thought it was much too early for Yoongi to be home already and assumed it must be some guests so I cleaned myself up real quick and walked out to greet them, but instead…instead I found Yoongi with tears streaming down his cheeks and then I noticed his suit was covered in brightly colored paint. He still had the bouquet of flowers in his hand except they were now all damaged and dirty. He refused to tell me what happened and ran off to his room. Monday morning I went to the school and apparently the girl and some of her friends, including her actual date, were all waiting for Yoongi to show up at the school. When he got there they all poured cans of paint onto him and called him a freak and a monster. I was told that one of the other boys saw Yoongi’s scars when they were changing for gym class and started making fun of him for it. This girl had no intention of actually going to the dance with him and told him he was ugly and would never be loved because of the way he looked. I tried to have all of those kids reprimanded, but Yoongi refused to cooperate so the school said their hands were tied. He begged me to take him out of school and homeschool him instead which I did, but he’s been pretty much to himself ever since.”

By this point you were full on balling your eyes out. You hadn’t known him for very long, but you could just tell that he was such a sweet gentle person. You didn’t think there could possibly be any thing else that Mae could tell you, but she cleared her throat and went on,

“Honestly, I think the worst thing that ever happened to him was the letter he received from his biological father on his twenty first birthday. I actually still have the letter. I’ve been holding onto it because I think it would be beneficial for Yoongi to be the one to destroy it, but I don’t know how to bring it up to him.”

She slid the letter across the table to you. Shakily you opened it up and immediately noticed the tear smudged ink and you took a deep breath trying to compose yourself before diving in,

“To Yoongi,

You most likely have no idea who I am, but I am your biological father. I left not long after you were born and if my calculations are correct you should be twenty one years old today. You were born early, somehow I’m certain that was your mothers fault even though the doctors said it was not. Anyways, you were born very small and sick. The doctors did not know if you would make it and to be honest I spent most of the time hoping that you wouldn’t. I did not want the burden of having a son, especially a first born, that was weak and useless. I gave your mother an ultimatum, either abandon you and we will move on and have a child that will prosper and do well in life or she can keep you and I will leave. Obviously you see what she chose. I heard that your mother has passed away since then. She was an ignorant woman anyways, wasting her time with a child like you. I told her that you weren’t worth the time which has been proven by the fact that you still live with your grandmother working at that stupid inn. You’ll never be anything more than that. I don’t really know the point of this letter any more. I guess I’m just a little drunk and wanted to get this off my chest after all of these years. Yoongi, I do wish you well. Truly I do because I know deep down that you’ll never achieve it. With regret, Your Father.”

You don’t know at what point you went from crying to blood boiling anger, but it happened.

“What the actual fuck!”, you shouted slamming the letter down on the table. “Sorry, excuse my language.”, you said towards Mae suddenly feeling bad about your outburst. She chuckled, “Don’t worry dear. I said much much worse when I read that letter.”

You continued, “Seriously? Who does something like that? And to their own child on top of it? You walked out of his life let him be. That letter was completely unnecessary. I swear I’m gonna hunt him down and kill him myself.”

Mae shook her head, “No need Y/N. After he dropped the letter off at the post office he drunkingly crashed his car into a tree. Killed him instantly. Unfortunately though, Yoongi never really recovered from this letter. He’s been very reserved and depressed ever since. He’s refused therapy or any help that I offer. I’ve tried for many years to get him to make friends or find a partner or just get out of the house and experience life. I won’t be here forever and I want him to find someone and just be happy for the rest of his time.”

While you would normally never wish harm on anyone it did bring you some joy knowing that his father was no longer around and could never hurt Yoongi again.

“Y/N, I’m sorry to drop all of this on you, but I thought you should get an explanation for what you saw earlier and why he is the way that he is. Yoongi can be kind of jumpy around loud noises and sudden movements and things like that. Please don’t run away from him. I’ve seen him smile more in the week you’ve been here than he has in months. He just sees something in you. I can tell. Call it grandmas intuition if you will. I know you’ll soon have to go back home, but I’m really hoping that maybe you’ll keep in touch with him. No pressure of course. I wouldn’t blame you for not doing it, but I just really think you could be a big positive in his life.”, she said before walking her mug over to the sink.

“Thank you for telling me all of this. I’m sure it was difficult to recount everything.”, you said almost in a whisper. She smiled before laying a hand on your shoulder, “Get some rest Y/N. I’m gonna head off to bed myself. These old bones are tired.”

As you laid in bed you could still hear the faint rumblings of thunder from miles away. You wondered what Yoongi was doing. You hoped he was peacefully sleeping in his bed, but you knew most like that wasn’t the case. It pained your heart to think about what he’d been through. No one deserved to ever have those things happen to them and you decided in that moment that you were going to try and help him. You yourself felt the connection that Mae keeps talking about and you were starting think that maybe things do happen for a reason.

The following morning when you woke up your body felt sore from the stress you experienced. Your first reaction was to go and find Yoongi, but you also knew that he was most likely going to feel embarrassed about what had happened the night before so you opted to take a seat at the desk and try to get some work done. After about an hour and only a couple paragraphs written the smell of bacon started to fill the air and the sound of your stomach grumbling in hunger followed not long after. In the kitchen you found Mae at the stove tending to the bacon. “Would you like some coffee Y/N?”, she smiled. You nodded happily taking the cup from her. Yoongi was already sitting at the table peeling some carrots and potatoes for what you assumed would become part of dinner later. You tried your best to act causally as you took a seat a chair away from him to give him some space.

Mae walked over and set a plate of eggs down in the middle of the table along with the bacon. After Yoongi cleared the vegetables that he was working on the three of you began eating your breakfast.

Mae peaked over at you and with a sly grin she began, “Y/N, thank you for bringing that strawberry pie from Taehyung’s last night. I already snuck a piece as I just couldn’t help myself.”

“Oh you’re very welcome. It did look delicious.”, you replied waiting to see where she was going with this.

“I’m going to make them a big pot of pork stew. It’ll be a good hearty meal for them while they work on the farm. I was thinking that maybe you and Yoongi could take it over to them when it’s finished.”

Now you get it. It was an easy yes for you. You really did like all of the boys from the farm and it would be a chance to spend a little time with Yoongi, but you couldn’t help but notice how red his cheeks had gotten once again and his shoulders visibly tensed. You weren’t going to force him by any means.

“Uh yeah sure that’s no problem for me. I can go alone though if Yoongi doesn’t want to go.”

“Yoongi would you be okay taking some stuff over to the farm with Y/N? For me please.”, Mae asked placing her hand on top of his.

“Okay.”, he whispered with his eyes focused on his lap.

A few hours later your little cart was packed up with a large pot of the stew and some fresh bread and jam. You and Yoongi headed off towards the farm. The first half of the walk was silent other than a few birds or rustle of leaves here or there.

“I’m sorry about last night. If I had known it was going to storm I would’ve stayed in my room to not disturb you.”, he spoke startling you out of your thoughts.

“Yoongi you don’t have to be sorry. And please don’t ever hide who you are from anyone. If they can’t handle who you are then they don’t deserve you in their life.”

He nodded in understanding pulling on his ear. A nervous habit of his. Feeling a little brave you reached for his hand to give it a light squeeze. He jumped slightly, but for a few seconds he let you hold him before removing his touch from yours. You were going to take that as a win.

Entering the strawberry farm you were quickly greeted by Jin and Namjoon. “Hi Y/N, didn’t expect to see you back so soon.”, Jin smiled.

“Mae wanted us to bring over some stew and bread as a thank you for the pie.”, you responded handing over the items from the cart. Jungkook appears out of nowhere excitedly grabbing the bread and jam from you.

“Jeeze I haven’t seen this kid all day, but as soon as food is involved he magically appears.”, Jin rolled his eyes. Taehyung came walking over after noticing your arrival. He wrapped you in a big hug and began making small talk. You could feel Yoongi’s presence behind you. He was almost using your body to shield himself away from everyone.

Taehyung gestured for you to follow him, “Y/N and Yoongi come on into the bakery. We’ve got a new strawberry milk latte we just put on the menu and I want your opinion. Personally I think it’s wayyyy too sweet, but Jin thinks it could be award winning.”

Jin scoffed, “You don’t even like coffee so your opinion means nothing.”

“I think it’s amazing.”, Jungkook added.

“You’d drink lake water and say it was good if we put a flavored milk in it.”, Namjoon quipped.

Chuckling at the argument going on infront of you it took about twelve steps before you realized your shadow was not behind you. When you turned you saw Yoongi was already walking back towards the path to the inn. Namjoon came up behind you and gave you a nudge in Yoongi’s direction and you knew what he meant. Jogging up next to him you reached for his arm, but opted not to as you’d quickly learned touch is not his first choice.

“Hey where are you going? Come hang out with us at the bakery.”, you said once you caught up to him.

He simply shook his head and kept walking.

“They’re really nice guys. They were asking about you yesterday. I think you’d really like them if you gave them a chance.”

Still he continued walking in silence. Without thinking you reached out to grab his arm just in an attempt to stop him, but he flinched.

“No. I just want to be left alone. Please.”, he whimpered near tears.

Instantly you backed off with your hands in the air to give him space and show that you weren’t going to touch him.

“I’m sorry Yoongi. I won’t force you to hang out with them. I just wanted you to get to know them a little. I think it would be good for you.”

He ignored you and began walking back home again. You sent Taehyung a quick text apologizing for your sudden departure and letting him know you’d stop by on a different day to try the latte before you left. Yoongi walked surprisingly fast so you had to go back into a light jog to catch up. You decided to hang back a little and not walk right next to him so you weren’t suffocating him. You pretended not to notice him peeking back to look at you every once in a while.

As you walked you noticed a few cherry blossom trees just over a hill. You’d completely forgot about the trees and made yourself a mental note to go see them before you left Holly Falls. When you finally made it back to the inn Yoongi was waiting for you at the front door.

“You didn’t have to walk back with me. I’m an adult and I could walk back myself.”, he said with a pout.

“I know. I just wanted to come back with you.”

“But what about hanging out with them?”

You shrugged your shoulders, “I’ll go back another time. I’d rather hang out with you anyways.” His face instantly turned a deep shade of red.

“So tell me, what does Yoongi like to do in his spare time?”, you questioned.

“I’d rather just be alone to be honest.”

You wanted to push him harder, but you were concerned with what the outcome might be so instead you gave him a smile and watched as be walked inside letting the door close behind him. Dropping down to take a seat on the steps you let out a long sigh. This was going to be more difficult than you had imagined and to make matters worse you were only supposed to stay for another week.

“Excuse me miss, are there any rooms available?”, someone spoke making you to jump. Since your head was hanging you hadn’t noticed the young man walk up to the front door of the inn. You took in his appearance and noticed how exceptionally handsome he was.

“I just came from the main part of the town and there are no rooms available so it was suggested that I come over here.”, he continued.

“Oh um well I think there might be a couple rooms left, but I’m just a guest as well. If you head inside the check in desk is in the corner and they can help you out.”

The handsome man held out his hand for you, “Sorry I didn’t mean to assume anything. My name is Jimin by the way.”

You smiled graciously accepting his hand, “Y/N and no worries. Hopefully you can get a room. It would be nice to have another person around here to talk to and stuff.”

He chuckled, “Well I guess I better get in there then and see about a room.”

You gently leaned to the side to give home more space to get by before you returned back to wondering how you could get Yoongi to open up to you a little more without making him too uncomfortable.

After he had walked inside Yoongi took a deep breath and after a quick heated discussion with himself going over all the pros and cons he decided that giving you twenty minutes of his time to talk would be good for him and maybe over time he could work up the courage to actually spend time with you, maybe even like a date before you left. The thought of that made his head spin. Just as he was about to open the door to find you he heard your conversation with Jimin and how you said you were glad there was going to be someone else at the inn. He felt his heart crack at that. In Yoongi’s brain you were already done with him just like everyone else in his life, except his grandmother of course. He always managed to chase everyone away. He quickly accepted that he was a lost cause so he scurried off to be alone in his room before you or the new guest could see him. Once in his room he heard you introduce Jimin to Mae. Your voice sounded excited as you showed Jimin to his room just down the hall from yours.

Yoongi sat on his bed squeezing his favorite stuffed animal, a blue koala bear named Koya, a gift from his mother just before she had passed.

He heard you let out a loud laugh at something funny Jimin had said and he curled up on his bed feeling the tears start to fall.

He hated that he was like this. He wanted to be what he would consider normal, but there was this little part of his brain that always reminds him of what he’s been through and how many times he been told how unwanted and unloved he is. Even if he did manage to speak to you he’d never want to burden you with having someone like him in your life. He needs a lot of mental care and you don’t deserve to have someone that week. So he chose to lie in his bed squeezing his Koya a little closer every time he heard you laugh in the hallway wishing it was him that was making react like that instead. Your laugh was just as pretty as you are he thought. With each passing minute he could feel the panic setting in more and more and he eventually used the koala bear to muffle the sobs leaving his body not wanting to disturb you any further.

#bts #yoongi fanfic #yoongi x reader #min yoongi #yoongi fic #yoongi angst #yoongi x y/n #bts fanfic #bts x reader #yoongi au #yoongi fluff #bts fluff #kim seokjin #namjoon #jungkook #taehyung #jimin #hoseok #TheInterludeInn

[heliads]

Hiya Lisa my love!! I think this may be the first request I’m sending you (omg!?) But I am so excited to do so, and of course for our best boy Jack Wilder <3

Okay this one’s a little silly but I’m thinking Jack Wilder x reader where the reader is part of the Horsemen, but Jack and her don’t exactly get along all too well (enemies/reluctant allies to lovers). I’m thinking they’re sent off together to check out and map a location for the Horsemen’s next big act (maybe a fancy gala! That’d be so fun!), but the whole time they’re just bickering and shooting jabs at each other and the other guys are on comms and are just So Tired™ of their bullshit 😭

amber i love you for this

masterlist

You don’t think you’ve ever seen the magical enigma known professionally as J. Daniel Atlas and familiarly as a pain in all of your asses as stressed as he is right before the start of a new job. The Horsemen are world renowned for their intricate performances and flawless setups, which only serves to increase the pressure on all of you to keep one-upping yourselves every time you appear in the spotlight. Danny has taken it upon himself to make sure that all of you stay perfect, and that responsibility is manifesting itself in the form of a lecture right now.

He’s standing in front of you, eyes wild with the fire of what could be creative genius or perhaps too much coffee, and rattling off a series of questions to make sure you know what you’re doing.

“Where are you going?” He asks first.

You meet his gaze steadily. “The Metropolitan Museum of Art. Specifically the busiest areas during the Met Gala.”

“How are you entering?” Danny queries.

“Two ways. First, as a tourist, to spot the security cameras. Then, I’ll go again at night, to lay some cameras of our own and run some more thorough investigations.”

Danny takes a step closer. His hands are steepled together, making him the perfect picture of a plotting supervillain from one of those bad action movies Merritt keeps playing. “What, specifically, are you looking for?”

You want to roll your eyes, but you learned a long time ago that showing any sort of emotion except for intensity in front of Daniel Atlas during his mad planning sessions is only asking for trouble. So, you keep your cool, or you try to, at least. “The normal stuff. Alcoves and closets where we can hide. Areas with low security presence. Entrances and exits. Janitors. Extra uniforms. That sort of thing.”

Daniel nods once, the only sign that you’re not outright bombing his little pop quiz. “And who is going with you on this reconnaissance mission?”

This time, you can’t disguise your sigh of disgust. “I’m taking a stubborn child.”

Danny gives you a cool stare. “Try again.”

You give him a look, but Daniel is prone to winning staring contests, especially when he’s in this sort of mood, so you cut your losses and give in. “Fine. I’m taking Jack.”

To your side, someone starts clapping. “Perfect response!”

You and Daniel both turn in unison to see your recon partner applauding your sarcastic answer from his chair a few paces away. His feet are kicked up on the table in front of him, and although he had been aimlessly scrolling through his phone this entire time, he’s put the device down temporarily so he can remind you just how strong a bond the two of you share. Which is to say, in no uncertain terms, none at all.

Daniel glances back at you. “You’re not going to let the two of you working together be a problem, will you?”

You fold your arms across his chest, affronted. “I won’t. You might want to double-check with my so-called partner, though. Who, by the way, is free to answer any of these questions on his own. I don’t see why I’m the one who has to know everything while he gets off easy. Aren’t we sharing this responsibility? And by extension, this interrogation?”

Jack just flashes you a thousand-watt smile. “You seemed to have it covered, sweetheart. Besides, I just like hearing the sound of your lovely voice.”

You flip him off. He blows you a kiss, then does the same. Daniel looks ready to burst a blood vessel. “Focus, you two. I want no slip ups. We’re stealing the show of the Met Gala. If we make a mistake, I think Anna Wintour will personally kill us.”

“She’s going to do that anyway,” Jack muses, “We’re interrupting her little fashion show. God forbid someone focuses on us instead of all the celebrities who aren’t even dressing to theme. If I had that money, I could do way better, is all I’m saying.”

You shoot him a perplexed look. “Since when have you paid attention to the Met Gala outfits? Last time I tried talking about it, you told me that was all absurdist nonsense.”

“Maybe I was just talking about you,” Jack answers vaguely. “I’m allowed to, like, develop interests.”

You toss him a glare, then turn back to Daniel, who for some reason looks somewhat entertained. “Can we go back to the plan, please?”

Danny straightens up. “Yes, I’d like that. I’ve briefed both of you on the entrances and exits I need you to scout out–”

“Too many times,” Jack cuts in. He’s not wrong. Danny’s been over this every hour on the hour since you got the call to stage your own show at one of the most famous fashion opportunities of the year.

Daniel, however, seems to think that he hasn’t mentioned the details enough. Now Jack is on the receiving end of not just your glare but Daniel’s as well. “As I was saying,” Danny continues smoothly, “You’ll get in and get out. Try not to move too quickly, you don’t want to attract attention, but don’t linger too long, either.”

“We’ll be fine,” you assure him. “Not our first rodeo.”

Danny nods hesitantly. “I know. Just your first rodeo together in a while.”

That’s no big secret. You and Jack may both be Horsemen, but that certainly doesn’t mean you have to like each other. In fact, you couldn’t be farther from it. You’re not enemies, so to speak, an enemy is the FBI or the CIA, but referring to whatever exists between you as friendship is stretching the truth. You’re more like uncertain, unhappy allies. You’ll work together so long as you get paid and stay in the spotlight while you’re at it, but you’re not likely to grab drinks after a show together.

However, the Horsemen come first above any personal squabble. Always. That’s the one thing you and Jack can agree on. What you’re working on is bigger than the two of you, it’s bigger than all of you. To most of the world, you are magic. No rift between teammates is worth damaging that ideal.

That’s why Jack straightens up at last, and dons an expression verging on solemnity. “We’ll do our part, Danny. No need to worry.”

“There had better not be,” Daniel comments, but he backs off after that, and leaves to track down Merritt to deliver a similar speech.

Now alone, Jack’s familiar cavalier attitude comes back in a flash. “Can’t wait for our little date tomorrow, L/N,” he tells you.

You roll your eyes. “It’s going to be so much fun.”

The next morning, you and Jack wait your turn in the entrance queue at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. You’re both disguised with baseball caps pulled low over your heads, then paired with sunglasses, and you each have fake IDs in your pockets just in case. It’s surprisingly easy to get around undetected; although the Horsemen are famous the world over, no one expects to see them outside of one of your performances. It makes no sense to spot one of you in a coffee shop or in line ahead of you, so their minds just glance over you as if you were never there at all.

It’s certainly convenient. You could always go to an outside source for intel, but if there’s one lesson you’ve learned throughout your time, it’s to never trust anyone outside of your immediate circle. There are always people who’ll sell off your secrets, or debunkers frothing at the mouth to show how you do what you do.

No, it’s best to keep everything under wraps, even if it makes disguises necessary. There’s a brief moment of panic in which the security guard checking Jack’s bag lingers on his face a little longer than usual, but he’s waved through soon enough and then you’re able to wander further into the museum.

A voice crackles over your earpiece. “What was that about?” Danny, paranoid as always.

Jack shrugs, directing his voice towards you so no one will suspect he’s talking to anyone else. “Probably just a newbie convinced they’ll catch a would-be robber by checking my hand sanitizer close enough. They didn’t plant any bugs, we’re good. Most likely, she was just captivated by my exceedingly good looks and got distracted.”

You scoff. “Or maybe she was just fascinated by your hideousness and wanted a better look.”

Jack clutches a hand to his heart, feigning agony. “My hideousness?” Y/N, I’m hurt.”

“Good,” you smile saccharinely at him.

Daniel sighs in a gust of static over your earpiece. “Focus, you two. Please.”

“Aye aye, Captain,” Jack says. “We’ll get to work.”

You and Jack slip through the exhibits, pretending to examine paintings in sculptures when, in reality, you’re looking harder at the security features in each room. The Horsemen already have a rough plan in mind for how you’re going to enter and exit, but the security presence could change which specific entrance you use.

When you loiter a little too long near one oil painting of two nobles dancing at a lavish ball, Jack doubles back to your side. “Everything alright? We haven’t been noticed yet, have we?”

You shake your head, snapping yourself back to reality. “No, we’re fine. Just looking. I love this year’s theme for the gala. If I had an actual invitation, I would have worn something like the dress in this painting. I would want to, at least. Of course, that would only happen if we weren’t breaking in, but. Yeah. That’s what I would do.”

You realize you’re rambling and try to cut yourself off, but you’ve already been going on for a while. You wait for Jack to tease you, but instead, the corner of his lips tugs up in a soft half-smile. “It would look good,” he admits, “You would. Maybe we should petition Danny to let us dress up. We could recreate the painting.”

He swoops closer, placing one hand on your waist and taking yours with the other, spinning you into a waltz just like in the painting. Jack pulls you close in an exaggerated dip just like in the painting, one that takes you a little too near the painting. One of the security guards surges across the room to tell you two to move away again. Jack lets you up, then exaggeratedly apologizing, slapping the guy on the back as a gesture of camaraderie. As the guard walks away, you can see the tracer he’s planted, one that will give you two much-needed information on the paths each guard takes on their shift.

“Nice one,” you breathe.

“Yeah,” Jack says, but he’s still looking at you, as if mentally cataloging each and every place his hands had been just moments before. “I am nice.”

You swat him on the shoulder, and he winks. Rather than give that an answer, you head to the next exhibit. The two of you tag the next few guards you come across, noting janitor’s closets and fire exits while you’re at it. 

It’s easy to settle into a rhythm. You go from room to room, you snipe at each other, you get the job done. Jack passes a sculpture of a nude woman and suggests that be the costume you wear to the Gala, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively; you tell him that you’ll do it only when he’s got biceps the size of the Greek hero statue next to it.

Eventually, you only have one tag left. This one, though, will be the most difficult. The chief security guard has access to the central security station of the museum; by bugging him, you can get the passcode to the main room, which would be a significant help. The only problem is that you’ll have to get close enough to talk to the guy, and he looks far more suspicious of everyone around him than any of the other guards.

You volunteer to do it, and weave your way over to the guard in charge. It takes a heady dose of flirting, but you’re able to get the job done eventually. You do have to shell out a fake phone number, but he’ll only find out the number isn’t yours later that night. No harm, no foul.

Or, not according to you, at least. When you walk back over to Jack, though, your partner in crime has his arms folded tight across his chest, and he looks more annoyed than you’ve seen him all day. At last, something has managed to pierce his armor of sarcastic, joking indifference, but you’re not sure what.

“He seems nice,” Jack says, voice unnaturally calm, “Maybe you do want to take him out on a date after this, like you said.”

You laugh. “We both know that was an act, Wilder. No need to get jealous.”

“I’m not jealous,” he insists, “I have nothing to be jealous of.”

“Nothing?” You ask, one brow raised. “So you wouldn’t mind if I went back and gave him my real number?”

Jack slings an arm around your shoulder in a pretense of affection, but it feels more like he’s pinning you to him, making sure you can’t go back and do as threatened. “That would be ridiculous. It would ruin our whole act.”

You grin. “What act?”

“That we’re here on a date of our own, obviously,” Jack says.

“We haven’t done anything of the sort the whole time we were here,” you point out. “It makes more sense for him to think we’re just friends.”

“Then we’ll have to fix that, won’t we?” Jack suggests, and although you do notice the glint in his eyes when he says it, you’re still not expecting him to lean forward and kiss you. The kiss is– startling, yes, but not bad, not at all, and when he finally breaks away and looks triumphantly over at the guard who’d been flirting with you, you get the feeling that Jack thought so too.

“I think we should do this all the time,” Jack whispers to you. “Maybe we should ask Danny to change our assignments around.”

“Actually,” a voice crackles over your earpieces, “I’d rather neither of you ever spoke to me again. If I have to think about you two making out one more time, I’ll pour bleach directly into my brain.”

You slap a hand over your mouth to stop from laughing. “Oh, no. Daniel, how long have our comms been on?”

“The whole time,” your showman says, “I hated all of it, thank you for asking.”

Jack snorts. “And you didn’t remind us to turn off our mics?”

“Merritt wanted to see if you’d actually commit enough to do it,” Danny says, sounding supremely unhappy. “Now we’re both traumatized. Just get your asses back here and never bring this up again.”

This time, you can’t hide your laugh. “Alright, we will. Try to stay away from the bleach in the meantime.”

“I make no promises,” Danny grumbles, sending you and Jack into a wave of laughter again.

Jack reaches up to switch off his own earpiece, then does the same for you, gently brushing the side of your face with his hand while he’s at it. “Well,” he says slowly, “We might as well make the most of our time right now, hadn’t we? I’d hate for our ticket money to go to waste.”

You grin. “Quit the theatrics and kiss me.”

Jack Wilder doesn’t usually do as told. This time, though, he makes an exception.

requested by @hiya-itsamber, i hope you enjoy!

now you see me tags: @mayfieldss

#jack wilder #jack wilder imagines #jack wilder x reader #jack wilder oneshot #now you see me #now you see me imagines #now you see me x reader #now you see me oneshot #nysm #nysm imagines #nysm x reader #nysm oneshot #nysm jack #nysm jack imagines #nysm jack x reader #nysm jack oneshot #now you see me jack #now you see me jack imagines #now you see me jack x reader #now you see me jack oneshot

[needlesscontrarian]

Just saw a TikTok about Rent and how poorly Joanne was treated as a character despite the fact that she was a lawyer at Legal Aid helping underprivileged defendants and I have THOUGHTS.

I think it's a mistake to view Rent with the assumption that you are supposed to be on board with the principal characters' antics right off the bat. I think at multiple points Jonathan Larson calls the audience to directly interrogate the moral posturing of every member of the friend group EXCEPT for Joanne.

Mark is called out repeatedly for being more interested in abstract artistic principles and furthering his own career than he is about the actual suffering of what he claims to be his community. It's extremely obvious that he (like Larson) is a guy from an upstate middle class family who is cosplaying poverty in the big city out of a sense of disaffection with society. I've heard arguments back and forth about whether or not Larson glamorizes the stereotype of the starving artist or merely portrays it as it was, but I think the numerous points at which Mark, a blatant self-insert character, is called out for his self-pitying bullshit shows more self-awareness than Larson is often given credit for nowadays.

As for the other characters? Roger is directly portrayed as using his disease and addiction as an excuse to self-sabotage both in his personal life and his artistic aspirations. Maureen uses her queer awakening as an excuse to treat the people in her life like shit. Collins talks a big game about being an anarchist, but when we are introduced to him the sole evidence we have for this is that he blew up some MIT equipment in a mostly symbolic act of protest. It isn't until the end of the play when he does some genuine direct action by hacking into an ATM to give his poor friends free money. Angel killed a fucking dog for money. The only one who comes away looking mostly okay is Mimi, and that's just because she's too busy occupying the role of World's Biggest Victim.

My point is not that these characters are all evil, rather that Larson is displaying how life on the edge of society is full of just as much needless unkindness as anywhere else.

And on the other end of that spectrum we have the people who are able to live somewhat comfortably within society. I think appreciating the character of Joanne requires viewing her not as a foil to Maureen, but to Benny. Benny was able to marry into wealth, and while you might be able to see his point about how a shiny new corporate building will breathe life into the downtown art scene, the audience also clearly understands that it's not worth forcefully evicting dozens of homeless people. Benny has been taken in by the system and adopted its logic.

Joanne is also the beneficiary of inherited wealth from, but she's not like Benny at all. She channels what privilege she has towards giving back to her community. She works within the system, but also against its injustices to help people in a very tangible way. Sure, she just wants to be a tourist to the world of hedonistic gay sex while living comfortably and respectably uptown in a nice apartment, but just because she's not committed to the artistic revolutionary lifestyle doesn't mean she's hurting anyone, and she's not above assisting with a little B&E for her friends.

So while it is a fair observation that Joanne isn't treated very well by people who frankly aren't good enough for her, I think that's more of a feature than a bug. Mark, Roger, Maureen, and Collins are people who have been hurt and are continuing to be hurt to the point that they've kind of lost the plot on what they believe in and why they're doing any of this shit. They're so deep in their bullshit that they reflexively disdain any representative of what they perceive to be the dominant system, even when it's a great person like Joanne. Joanne is a reminder that, yes, society is fucked, but there are plenty of good people living and thriving within it, and those people are not your enemy.

#Rent #hoo boy two long posts this morning #I'm not even caffeinated that's just good old fashioned sleep deprivation

[ghostlyhamburger]

Husband Watches Miraculous: Shanghai Special

OK so we don't have an ultra long intro this time. Maybe that extra five minutes will be put towards plot!

That wristband. That's Wayzz. Oh no it's a dragon charm.

I called it! Fan guy will be explained in the next special! It's gotta be connected to the Miraculous bullshit somehow.

I really like this intro so far.

Guardian was always capitalized in the other subtitles but not here so that makes me think this might not be Miraculous stuff.

Oh so they murdered her father.

There was no real leadin to the other special that gave any context. I like Fei so far.

Is this supposed to be summer break?

And someone's gonna try to steal Tikki.

Girl NO. NOOO.

There are LIMITS to the amount of crazy a girl should be able to get away with. DO NOT PUT YOURSELF IN A BOX AND SHIP YOURSELF TO SHANGHAI. that is stalkerish.

Gabriel's actually going? Are you actually going to let Adrien spend time with friends?

All right so what's this magical eclipse all about?

How'd he get the bracelet?

So the Prodigious is the prototype of the Miraculous?

If you destroy them you can't get their miraculouses

Okay. I just need to point out some serious stupidity. The trinket for the Prodigious was already in China. It was stolen from the person in China. and then sent to Paris so that he could fly it back to China to take part in the ritual to get the Prodigious. WHY

That is how spines break! Marinette has no spines! Or maybe she could fit inside that box actually

So Tom and Sabine were struggling financially according to other episodes. How are they gonna afford to send her to China?

Why is he prepared for this?

Okay so they actually explained it.

When did he learn to speak English? That was a big thing of his episode, that he could not speak English or French. Or did Marinette learn to speak Chinese or one of the many Chinese languages.

Oh they addressed that.

This is a much better getting someone who's not familiar with the thing getting invested in the story rather than punching your face in heavy handed.

They had to do completely new modeling for this.

Those are just actual photos.

Why the fuck

Super stalkery

Ahh. Gorilla collects action figures.

This is not gonna go well.

It's weird seeing Gabriel walk around and do shit.

So this is Fei's story, basically.

Hm. Master of disguise stuff.

Gorilla's actually doing his job!

Dead eye Tikki

She took the kwagatama.

There's no way she wouldn't notice the earrings slipping off. The inconsistency of the rules is really annoying. In Lady Wifi, Alya had to go behind the ear to get the backing but now they're clip ons?

Also you would definitely feel your bag being taken like that

Okay this is a cute little moment.

There's a lot of tourists in Shanghai, she should be able to get help.

Dumplings.

I like Bastille.

But he's the one who's been fucking with you!

That's the same fan that the bad guy had, so

This is the start of a very pixar-esque style that we see later on.

Oh they're just trying to help! Oh that's nice of them.

This one's just a lot more interesting than the other special.

I like how Gorilla's just playing with the bird.

They're both horrible liars.

If she doesn't have her wallet, how is she going to pay?

I like these little moments, but the subtleties on Fei's face say the guilt is getting to her as she's getting to know Marinette.

Aaand Chat Noir to save the day.

Your forms will do nothing here. You're just wasting energy.

Those are good kids. They're doing their best to help.

So we got an eclipse that does magic.

aaand Marinette switched modes.

"You're gonna call your uncle right now" with Marinette's own phone.

I like the subtle echo they have on Hawkmoth's monologue.

[Marinette transforms] is now really the time to dance, girl?

Into the well. Where she's gonna accidentally find the real thing, I think.

I wonder if the colors mean anything on that giant god of war esque staircase.

So this is gonna summon oh that's a big dude.

So Chat's gonna come in and he's gonna fight Hawkmoth and Fei's gonna fight the Prodigious dude

I like the outfit.

[Long Long] is cute.

Oh that's interesting. So it's a different type of transformation.

Heh Hawkmoth got a basketball to the dick

I didn't know he could use an akuma to change other people. That doesn't follow logic we saw in the Stoneheart episode. Although maybe since it returned to him he was able to repurpose it?

Time to get the fuck out of there, it's kaiju time.

"We gotta break the ball, the akuma's inside!" and now it's inside him.

[Gabriel gets thanos'd] oh jesus christ. He's murdered. He's just straight up murdered.

I like that this shows that the akumas are not completely controllable. It opens up a lot more ideas and things they could do with it that I know they're not going to.

This just feels like a complete story without rushing through everything.

"Only the power of the object can reach the akumatized object!" how do you know that? You know nothing of the Prodigious, Tikki has told you nothing of it! You could just dive into the mouth and get the thing yourself!

Goodbye Kitty.

You kinda need to survive so you can reset bomb everything.

Is this where Marinette reveals herself?

"Everything is because of me" No it's because of Hawkmoth. It's literally 1000% his fault. You're just the unlucky sucker who's in it and I hate this trope it is so stupid.

Kaiju battle!

That's a big vase. Put the dragon in the vase?

This is a reference to something, I just don't remember what.

It's nice seeing when Hawkmoth's plans actually go awry.

Everyone and everything back to existence! Except they all know what death is like now.

That was good form on that kick.

So Mei Shi's a kwami.

Overall thoughts. I like the implications of the Prodigious but it's not explained enough. It's like they're an attempt to attain things that shared aspects with other miraculouses but that's too much power for one person and the guardian is a kwami? Or like a kwami? I have so many questions that will never be answered on it.

Overall I like it though.

#husband watches miraculous ladybug #ghostly's husband #miraculous ladybug

[anikasheep]

Anika, the sheep and her mother

This series is for my self-indulgent, would have my own thots and some changes and not so MC. DON'T LIKE DON'T READ.

You're not a confident person, you know you should love yourself and you do.

Still, you dislike those not-so-perfect places on you.

Your appearance is one hand, sometimes you'd envy those beautiful ladies on the street. Unlike they have skinnier body, long legs and lovely face. You have lovelybags and saddlebags, wear a boring square glasses.

Your personality, is the other hand that you can't love yourself shamelessly. You have short temperature, forgetful and you'd been called selfish by your own family members.

All your life, you're struggling with how to love yourself and make yourself loveable.

Anika is your opposite, she has strawberry red hair, ocean blue eyes, and the most loveable face you ever seen.

She's your sweet daughter, even though you aren't related by blood, you still love her.

You try your best to raise her, guide her how to love herself and love the others.

She's a stubborn bastard like you, loves to poke her once into someone else's business and try to mend those relationships even though she might get hurt.

She's talented, she could speak four languages and be your tourist guide in UK.

She loves remain her place cleaned.

She loves you and you'd always remember the night when she hug you and said you're the best mom and friend to her. Your mind crashed.

She's your daughter and you loves each other.

So, when you found your daughter is missing, you are in panicking mode and fear.

Then a man showed up and say your daughter is join an exchange student plan, he assures you that they'll take good cares of your daughter.

THAT'S ALL BULLSHIT.

Just when you yelled at him to bring your daughter back, he raised his eyebrows and seems shocked.

"I see... You wouldn't affect by our demons. A special human."

Just what the heck he's talking about??

He introduced himself as Barbatos.

"Ha! Do you think name yourself as a demon name so I'd coward of you and let you take my Anika away! I told...wait what?"

Your words chocked when you feel something's wrong. The shadows are howling and excited, they're twisted and unstable.

Barbatos shook his head but his eyes shining with excitement and amusement.

"My my, since we have Anika, the more interesting human we found. It's quite troublesome."

"No, no...you're THE DEMON? THE BARBATOS??? I must in dream."

"I assure you that we are real, Miss. And we would protect Anika with any price. You have my word."

Barbatos shifted slightly, the dimension around him started twisted and fading.

Without thinking, you grab his hand.

"!?"

Then, you two disappeared, only some stray cats witness this event.

#anika dream #anika and her troublemakers #obey me mc

[charlesjosephwrites]

Find The Word Tag

Thanks for the tag @j-1173!

My words are Wonder, Age, Cover, Mind, and Nothing

These excerpts are all from my supervillain wip!

Some of these are kind of still in the word-vomity first draft stage so hopefully they're legible to more people than just me lmao

Wonder

“We don’t have to fight,” Ms. Psychic said. “If you just leave, we can pretend that nothing happened here.” I couldn’t help but let out a little laugh at that. Ms. Psychic clearly hadn’t learned anything from the last two times she’d stuck her nose in my business for no good reason. “Yeah, that ain’t happening, toots,” I said. “We’re not going down without a fight, but first…” I cleared my throat, and I reached into the inside of my suit jacket for my note cards. By some miracle, I’d actually gotten my ass in gear enough to write out what I wanted to say to Ms. Psychic, but staring down at my awful chicken-scratch handwriting made me wonder whether it was worth all of the effort.

Age

Right inside the door was a little store room stocked full of the latest issues of the Tribune (did people still read actual newspapers?) alongside a variety of tourist-y bullshit and some Metrovale Tribune merchandise that no one under the age of forty-five would be caught dead wearing. “Good afternoon! How can I—” The person working the front of the store cut themself off mid-sentence, which was fine with me because I wasn’t sure I would have been able to put up with that overly-peppy customer service voice for too long. Still, I didn’t appreciate the way they stared at me all-slack jawed. “Hello!” I mirrored their peppy customer service voice with a little wave, but I dropped the smile as quickly as it appeared on my face. I slipped a knife into my hand with the flick of my wrist, and I popped to the other side of the desk to wave it around in their face for dramatic effect. “Where might I find the assholes who wrote all the shit about me?”

Cover

The kid turned to me. I couldn’t see much of his face with his helmet and the little black domino mask covering his eyes, but I caught a faint glimpse of the confused frown. He stared up at me for a few moments of stunned silence before he seemingly got a hold of himself. He jumped to his feet, placing his hands on his hips to strike a little pose. “I’m here to—” The kid’s voice cut out with a little squeak. He cleared his throat, and when he spoke up again, his voice came out a little deeper. “I’m here to stop you!”

Mind

“Also!” I waved my arms wildly through the air just to make sure that I was getting everyone’s attention. “One of you fucks better find a way to get Ms. Psychic here.” Our audience only responded with a confused murmur. “I don’t know how she finds out about these things,” I said. “But I’m not going anywhere until I get a chance to give that bitch a piece of my mind, so like…” My voice caught in my throat, and I clapped my hands together a few times as I searched for the right words to express what I wanted to say next. “I don’t fucking know. Just make a post online or something. Just don’t call the cops. I’m not in the mood to deal with any of those asshats today. Or any other day, really, but—” “Magician,” Edgar cut me off with an exasperated sigh. “Are you going to help me with this cash or what?”

Nothing

My mouth gaped open in shock as I looked over Ms. Psychic's new outfit. I looked her up and down, trying to find a place to rest my gaze that didn’t make me want to rip my own eyeballs out with an ice cream scoop, but it was all terrible. Her tights were a shade of yellow so bright that I felt like I was staring directly into the surface of the sun. Her dress was mostly a light shade of blue, but for some godforsaken reason, her left sleeve was covered in stripes of yellow and black that made it look like her arm was turning into a fucking bumblebee. The bright pink cape billowing out in the non-existent wind behind her did absolutely nothing to tie her color scheme together. And, as if none of that was bad enough, the off-center fanny pack strapped around her waist was the absolute worse shade of baby shit green that had ever assaulted my eyeballs. “What the fuck?” I questioned. “You look like a printer just threw up on you.”

I'll tag @andiwriteunderthemoon, @writinglyra, @helvelloides, @ghost-town-story, @did-i-do-this-write, and anyone else who sees this and wants to jump in! As always, no pressure though!

Your words are use, waste, fade, thank, and shake.

#feel free to tag me right back i could use the extra motivation to write more lmao #wip: the magician #find the word tag #tag game #wip excerpts #writeblr

[planetkiimchi]

london

no 2. of my song collection

summary — felicks always wanted to visit london. so he promised his precious sister, aurelia, that he would take her there one day. unfortunately, felicks passed away before he could take relie to london, so she went there herself to fulfill his wish.

warnings — getting drunk, cancer, death, a lot of cursing.

“Licks?” The question was soft-spoken and hung in the clean, sterile air. It was tentative, almost like no answer was expected, and accompanied by a girl with straight black hair pulled back into a high ponytail.

She looked perfectly healthy, and was dressed like she was going somewhere important. She held herself proudly, body upright and sharp features giving the impression of someone who was not to be interrupted.

However, her voice was gentle and soothing, and would have caused heads to turn if she were in a different setting. Perhaps in an office, it would have raised eyebrows.

In the hospital unit, it was a different story. Everyone had their own worries and business to mind, and a well-dressed woman with a kind voice was nothing out of the ordinary. In fact, to those who were unable to get up from their beds to see her, she may have simply sounded like one of the nurses they were used to.

The man named Felicks sat up in his bed and smiled weakly. “Relie?”

Aurelia’s face lit up and she hugged her brother tightly while he looked down at her and laughed. She was still childlike whenever she saw him, and no matter how professional she was at work, whenever Felicks was around, Relie was her brother’s younger sister, first and foremost.

“Licks! You can’t fall ill, okay? You’ve got to hang on for me.”

“I don’t think that’s how cancer works, Rel,” Felicks said wryly, gazing wistfully at her as she walked over to the chair and wheeled it to Felicks’ bedside.

“Yes, it is.” Relie’s stubbornness made Felicks chuckle. Her emphasis on her words showed exactly how she felt about her brother being sick—she might have been scared for him, but she didn’t want to let it show.

“Look, just to prove you wrong, we should make a list of places you want to go, and then we’ll visit them when you’re better. And then you’ll remember, ‘Oh, Relie was right all along!’” Relie pulled out her phone and opened up the ‘Notes’ app so Felicks could see it.

“Places to visit in London,” she said aloud for his benefit as she typed in the title.

Felicks cocked his head in confusion. “Why London, specifically?”

Relie gave him an odd look. “Are you seriously asking me that question? You’ve always wanted to go to London. It’s been our dream city for years!”

She looked as if she were seeing someone else, as if Felicks had been replaced with an imposter, some stranger who didn’t know anything about their childhoods.

“Kidding, kidding. ‘Course I know why you picked London.”

Leaning over to see, Felicks jabbed at the screen and narrated, “Tourist shops around Camden town, taking a trip on the Tube, see the royal gardens, and get hella drunk. That’s my bucket list for London. I also plan to bring back flowers that we stole from a royal garden and give it to you. Y’know, as a gift.”

This was all said in one breath, and Felicks was breathing hard afterwards from the exertion. Relie was furiously typing in order to catch up to Felicks’ extensive list, and kept judging Felicks’ specific requests.

“It’s probably, like, a crime or something to steal from the royal gardens. We might get arrested,” Relie said matter-of-factly.

“Well, add that to the list then! Get arrested—or run away from the cops. Your choice.”

Relie shook her head and sighed. Usually, this was the point that she would look at her parents and shrug, as if to say, “You see the bullshit I have to put up with?” But neither of her parents had been free that afternoon, so they had visited Felicks in the morning while Relie was at work.

Nevertheless, she put it down on the list, and read out the five items for Felicks to hear. He nodded in satisfaction and laid back on the bed, settling in and shutting his eyes.

“I’ve got to sleep now, so…”

“Are you kicking me out?” Relie sounded both offended and defensive at the same time, which was, strangely enough, a combination of tones Felicks was used to hearing from his younger sister.

“Yup. See you tomorrow.” With a harrumph and a dramatic turn of her head that involved hitting her own face with her ponytail, Relie left the hospital ward in a huff, and Felicks watched her back as she walked out.

She did not, in fact, see Felicks the next day. Felicks Carter passed away that night at 1.27am on September the 3rd, from succumbing to stage four cancer. At least that was what Relie was told.

She knew deep in her heart that the truth was, Felicks was happy that day. He’d said his goodbyes. Even if he was strong enough physically to pull through, mentally he was too tired and too satisfied to want to continue fighting.

So on the fifth of September, Relie and her parents found themselves burying Felicks Carter, beloved son and older brother, as written on his headstone.

That early morning, the sky burned bright like ochre, burnt umber streaks like autumn. It was in stark contrast to the dull grey of the still-smooth headstone which bore the tragic date of Felicks’ death. His life looked so short compared to Relie’s grandparents, who had all lived to eighty or more. Felicks had died when he was only twenty three, a mere third of the life he might have lived.

Relie’s heart broke at the colour of the sky, for she did not deserve the beauty that brightened her day. She deserved to mourn and not to be merry, to cry and to weep, to let her tears streak her face as she bows her head, haunted by memories.

The cloth on her back was soft, like cotton, and she hated it. It should be stiff, like a suit that has had too much starch added to it, or scratchy, like a cheap shirt bought at a dollar sale. Yet it gives her comfort she is not worthy of. She was at a funeral where all happiness was drained; she should not be comfortable at all.

The word "wake" was such an unsuitable name for it. Felicks fell asleep, not awake, lost in a land where all ideals of paradise come true. He did not wake, he passed, spirits lifted to the heavens as his sins were hopefully forgiven.

How dare the world mock her while she mourned, silent tears slipping down her face despite how hard she tried to keep it in. The entire funeral was a blur to her, and she moved through the motions mindlessly like a robot. The wake became something she only held on to in documents and morbid thoughts.

Immediately after the Felicks’ death, Relie began preparing for a trip to London. Relie’s parents played it off as an impulse she felt the need to act on out of grief, and assisted in her planning. Her father offered to pay for it, and her mother asked if she wanted them to come.

Relie was torn between the need for space and the need for comfort, but eventually she decided that she wanted to be alone, and thanked both her parents.

The planning took several weeks, and by the time the flight and the hotel had been booked, it was three months past the date since Relie last saw Felicks alive.

The morning before her flight, she visited the graveyard and laid her head on the headstone, closing her eyes.

Smiling softly, she spoke. “Licks? It’s Relie. I hope you're happy up there, you traitor. Left us just cause you didn’t want to be bored on the hospital bed, I bet.”

Relie shook her head in exasperation. “Anyhow, because you couldn’t hold on long enough to visit London, I, your favourite sister, am going on behalf of you, to get hella drunk and hopefully not arrested.”

With that, she nodded her head to assure herself that Felicks was happy, and pressed a kiss to the headstone. She set the flower bouquet down and stood up.

“Sorry I couldn’t give you flowers from the royal gardens. If I succeed, I'll bring them back for you.”

Relie had to keep reminding herself not too look back as she left, tears already flowing down again.

The flight was quiet, lacking the familiar banter with Felicks, who always felt the need to disagree with Relie’s movie choices on the plane. For old times’ sake, Relie put on the movie “Little Women”, which Felicks had grown tired of from watching it too often.

She reclined the seat and shut her eyes, imagining Felicks’ voice complaining about the droning monotony of rewatching movies, especially how Jo shouldn’t have wanted to go back to Laurie and how that was bad character writing, since Jo March was an independent woman who a. needed no man and b. would never dare to outwardly admit that she made a rash decision.

He was right, of course, but Relie felt an instinctive pull to defend the movie, which was one of her favourites, and she always felt like an old philosopher explaining her thoughts to Felicks. (Not that it changed any of their opinions, but it just became a habit.)

She fell asleep after the movie ended, which would never have happened if Felicks was there to be a constant nuisance for her to tease, and keep them both awake from the adrenaline rush.

It felt like a fever dream when she stepped off the plane and walked through the airport in a daze, unable to believe that she was really, truly in London, England. It was a city she’d always longed to go to, heavily influenced by Felicks’ outspoken love for England.

Even the rain couldn’t dampen her spirits as Relie courageously chose to take the Underground to get to her hotel. It was late evening and it was pouring outside, but she was eager to tick at least one item off of Felicks’ list.

Everyone on the train was wearing long coats that reached to their ankles, and Relie was suddenly glad she had decided to wear a trench coat, because it was pretty cold, and she wasn’t in the mood to get splashed by water drops.

The black umbrella she had chosen gave her little problems, but it did set a somber mood for Relie’s arrival in London. She supposed it was apt, but all the same, she should have probably chosen something more colourful, so she didn’t look so drab and unhappy.

She slept fitfully, eagerly waiting for the morning to come.

Those tourists shops around Camden town. The first thing on Relie’s bucket list, excluding the late night ride she had taken on the underground, was to visit a tourist shop around Camden town.

This proved to be quite a feat, for she had to first locate Camden town and then find a way to get there from her hotel. Luckily for her, Camden was nearby, and it wasn’t difficult to flag a cab and take a ride to Camden.

Tourist shops lined the streets, many visitors to London walking along as they chatted happily with their companions. Not for the first time, Relie felt a twang in her heart at how lonely it was to be going on a vacation all on her own.

Speeding up, she strode towards one specific shop that caught her eye and browsed the various trinkets hung up along the hooks in the store. There was quite a vast collection, but Relie had one thing in mind.

“Aha!” With a satisfied flourish, Relie picked the London eye keychain off of the hook and glanced at the price. It was outrageously expensive for a simple keychain, but Relie had been expecting that. She headed to the counter to pay for it, immediately attaching it to her keyring, which already had two other keychains on it; one with a dog, for Fe‘licks’, and one with the letter ‘R’ for ‘Relie’.

She brought the keychains to her eye, noting how the silver on the ‘R’ was tarnished, and how the dog seemed slightly rusty. That was probably due to the tradition she and Felicks had, of rubbing their keychains for good luck before any major life event.

Pocketing her keyring again, Relie moved on to her second item, checking off the first.

See the royal gardens (and steal some flowers). Relie shook her head exasperatedly. It was so in-character of Felicks to come up with some daring idea, then pass away before he could accompany Relie to get it done.

Relie had one hell of a time trying to get to the royal gardens, navigating the Tube with a load of difficulty. After she finally managed to arrive, she began plotting ways to obtain flowers without being arrested. (Hopefully.)

She decided to casually stroll around the royal garden, “inspecting” the flowers. When she found some very pretty ones that she liked, she knelt on the floor and pretended to tie her shoelaces, stealthily plucking a few and placing them in her purse.

“Sorry for killing you guys, please don't wither,” she whispered guiltily to her purse before looking back up, hoping that no one had seen her.

Relie exited the gardens, and she could feel her heart pounding as she walked past the guards, knowing damn well that it was not a crime, but she definitely should not have done what she just did.

As soon as she was past the gates, she glanced down at her phone to check off the item, and smiled to herself. You are on a roll, Aurelia Carter.

Before the next item, she had to go get lunch. It was already way past midday, and would have been sweltering hot if it were not for the dense cloud cover looming ominously over the sky. 

It was most definitely going to rain soon, and Relie began making mental preparations for how she was going to get home if it was raining.

Relie opted to get a sandwich for lunch, munching on it (not very noisily, she hoped) as she looked about near the place she had gotten lunch, looking for a place she could buy some champagne.

The last item on the list was relatively easy. Get hella drunk. Relie loved this one most of all, and she knew that if Felicks were there, the two of them would definitely have caused quite a ruckus, feeding on the chaos like they absorbed explosive energy.

Dropping by a store to get a bottle of champagne, Relie saw a police car parked outside. Curious, she loitered about the store until she saw a police officer going into the car and starting the engine.

Cursing herself for not renting a car, Relie chased after the police car as it took off, earning some weird looks from passers-by. by this time, it had started drizzling, which may have been a reason that people were looking at her oddly.

She ran until she was out of breath, afraid that she might drop the glass bottle. She gathered her composure and caught her breath, sending apologetic grins to people looking at her judgmentally, before making her way back to the subway station in order to go back to the hotel.

By the time Relie had gotten dinner (a very, very filling burrito) and headed back to the hotel to retire, it was already late evening. 

She treated herself to a long, relaxing bubble bath, reclining in the bathtub as she propped her feet up. Afterwards, she brushed her teeth and went onto the bed, leaning back as she inspected the bottle of champagne.

“Huh. Fancy.” She turned it this way and that, nodding approvingly before popping the cork and pouring herself a glass. Or rather, a mug, since the hotel only provided mugs (presumably meant for hot coffee).

“Hey Felicks! Here’s to your bitch-ass and my long life. I’m so delusional,” she muttered to herself. “Talking to my dead brother. I sound like an idiot, I bet.”

She fell into silence for a short period, swirling the glass and watching the red liquid swish and slosh around.

“Well, I hope you’re happy. And here’s to me finally moving the fuck on and getting on with my life. Hope I won’t be consumed by grief and shit like that.”

With that monologue, she proceeded to down the glass, wincing at the sting before she poured herself another glass, until she had finished the entire bottle.

Mission: get hella drunk, achieved.

#Spotify #🎤 — spotify collections #🪁 — my works #felicks carter #relie carter #kimchi’s side dish

[m0e-ru]

HAPPY HOLIDAY S !!!! here are the answers to my moel activity book 2022 aka my birthday quiz but theres also a bunch of lore questions in there. part 1 !!!!!!! with the more personal stuff because i hit the image limit so theres part 2 hehe. here <-

YOU CAN ANSWER IT HERE FIRST !!! or read this and see how bullshit my logic is from the get go SORRY

Results

tourist - this was meant to be the lowest scoring result like you dont know much about me or lore like what it says !! you pass by my blog just occasionally like from a tag or a reblog. like a tourist at a gas station. yknow? but the way I scored was like you get bigger penalties when you pick a wrong answer whoopsie (●>ω<)ﾉﾞ

beloved okyakusan - okyakusan means customer I just think you might follow this blog or know enough of it to get some answers right but the way I scored it I dont think. anyone would get this. yikes

loyalty discount - you know more than enough of my shit on any branch I might have been in . YEAH !! you know a lot. I hope. or I scored it bad. BUT ANYWAY !!! loyalty discount realness

oh youre in this hole with me? - this was supposed to be hard to get especially with the more bullshit personal questions sorry. but I think you could get this easily while I’m looking at it whole. welcome to my hole. my friends call it a mineshaft or another said it was a lake from digging up a puddle.

Questions

mega blorboism go - mim, adachi, marie, teddie, souji seta, (bonus) akc [akechi]

OKAY !! first 4 self explanatory. Souji vs Narukami I like Souji more from his depiction in the official manga by Sogabe than the more official Narukami from the animes, spinoffs, etc.

well yeah okay I admit I was a goroboy back in sweet 2017 too bad I only made noise in the fandom in 2020 when Royal came out and GOLDEN had the audacity to show its ass in Steam. my highest note post is this dumb aksh comic btw. I thought nothing of it.

I didn’t include maruki he’s a nice guy but he never hit blorbo category I mean he’s there. hi sensei

What’s their ultra mega favorite p4 adaptation - VISUALIVE STAGEPLAY !!!

the audio drama and manga bags some points too. I’m OBSESSED with visual voiceless media and visualess voiceful media but if you try to wrap my brain with the shitty anime I might throw up

yeah yeah the animes were fine im just more partial to those three yknow. they’re a bit liberal as broadcast media so uhm… the way they handled a few details weren’t for me. BUT WE HAVE AIKA CHAN it’s fine. I dont like anthologies though now that’s just a ball out of the park.

thoughts on tohru adachi - []

these all bag points but the discord screenshot gives the biggest penalty. it’s funnier that way. thank you tekuya. context on the messenger one was that I was partially live-blogging to another friend while I played. IM SORRY !!! I was really interested if he had a social link or not. I did not know of the Horrors. <- only knew he was a bit of an edgy bad guy from the floating fanart and lack of blacklisted spoiler tags but it’s 2022 im built different. I want to put him under a magnifying glass and if he makes me mad I concentrate the light on him till he combusts.

kai moeru is a silly - []

three of these have points except you get bonus points if you choose either of the kpop fan names because it’s fun.

when did they take over the gas station - they dont remember either

september 2022 also gets points because that’s when I think I started roleplaying as a manager.

OKAY strap in here’s some kai moeru lore. I used to subtly role play as just some guy who’s at the gas station too often for their own good. they dont even have a car they just talk to whoever also passes by with their silly conspiracy boards, red string etc etc. then at some point I became the manager of the tumblr branch and that was that! I have discounts and vouchers and promos and etc I think it’s fun that way. im the ceo of moel gas corp on discord btw

when did it all end - “Ohh Mimi”

I mean this is when I started playing the game on my own and had a little too much thoughts about this dumb fucking npc. me and my dad started calling them mimi when we finished the game <- we were playing at the same time he finished first but I blocked out all the spoilers and had my own peaceful endgame. I give you a nickname and it’s ALL OVER !!!!!

or are you really so spineless that youd fold over some bullshit trivial threat on my life sorry for the royal question - small potatoes

like I said. bought royal on launch and finished it in two weeks where “small potatoes” was still there before it got patched out HAHA. i just thought it was silly. people were making essays about the expression then BAM. no more small potatoes.

whos the adachi of p5s (ROYAL + STRIKERS SPOILERS) - ichinose

okay I really liked her when I was playing OKAY? actually I dont think I’ve ever posted my doodle dumps ever but I always thought she had something to do with Sophia and EMMA and the formula making it look like she’d betray you or work with god at some point. SHE FUCKING DID it was so so fucking funny <- cried after the boss fight

i mean i did this. because it's ridiculous

what’s the first nickname they used - mimi

I did mention it before. I just think it’s really cute how it ended up being a household name for me. ive printed them out so many times, framed them and talk about them with that nickname at home that that’s how my siblings know them. it’s a very special name to me honestly. Time went by and I ended up calling them mim. hehe. not that I dont like Nami as a name it’s just that /gestures hands/ yeah

The whole Izumi Izanami thing is just that! Most of my devices’ autocorrects kept turning one word into the other I also ended up calling him zoomy instead and used one (1) “z” for Izy.

rie kugimiya - why are you pitting two bad bitches against each other

she’s the voice actor for both Rise and Haruka and I like them both !!!! You should listen to konnan janai

which emote is not part of the gas station discord server - nodding naoto

Now that one was from the Persona modding discord I think. I do have mim and Nagi rotating and the Adachi True was from a friend who also added Adachi False

#ゲッー #persona 4 spoilers #persona 5 spoilers #persona 5 royal spoilers #persona 5 strikers spoilers #p4 #p5 #kommento #moel activity book #// hi um. ough my goodness i was supposed to draw but my tablet was broken for a good while until um .it came back to life #// in the meantime ive been doing this.what the hell it took so long #// if you care.... part 2 has more relevant trivia than this personal nonsense but if you want to learn about me then be my guest !!! #// <- insane in the head

[collecting-stories]

Baby, it’s Cold - JJ Maybank

Request: “Baby, it’s cold outside” & “We could cuddle by the fireplace?” w/ JJ

A/N: Some Christmassy JJ...also, now that I mentioned it in this fic, I really wanna do a ‘kiss my best friend’ challenge fic thing...I don’t know how that would work. 

TW: Christmas 

Winter in the OBX Masterlist | Outer Banks Masterlist

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

There was a very real chance that your mom had been playing Christmas music non-stop since Thanksgiving day. The tree was still on its way to fully being decorated and your house looked trapped between hallmark channel worthy and post Thanksgiving madness still, boxes laid out with garland, ornaments, faux trees, nativity scenes, and accent pillows cluttering the small house. Everything smelled like balsam and gingerbread and was it too soon to be sick of the holiday? 

It wasn’t like you had any particular reason to dread this most magical time of year. Though it definitely had something to do with the blond that was currently helping string lights outside for your mom. You had been best friends with JJ for as long as you could remember and you had been wishing it was more than that for probably just as long. You watched those cheesy ‘kiss my best friend’ challenges on TikTok and imagined that it was you and JJ, though your imaginations even ended with rejection. 

Stupid maybe, but you wanted that cute Christmas love. Bringing your boyfriend around for holidays that you no longer have to suffer through alone, kissing under the mistletoe, going Black Friday shopping, decorating…it wasn’t like you didn’t already do most of these things but you always thought it would be so different if you and JJ were together. 

“This is the third time this song has come on!” JJ called, leaning against the open living room window and drawing your attention away from the ornaments you were hanging. 

“What?” 

“This song…baby it’s cold outside,” JJ sang, slightly off key, “it’s the third time it’s come on.” 

“It’s a different version.” You replied, abandoning your work to come over to the window. “How’s it looking outside?” 

Your mom had promised JJ a hundred dollars in cash if he helped to decorate with you while she was at work, an offer JJ was happy to accept and you were happy to pester him over. “So basically, you only hang out with me for money?” You had joked when he told you earlier in the morning what your mom had said. You both knew that JJ would have helped anyway, your mom was always sweet to him, half the time treating him like he was her own son.  

“Looking pretty fucking awesome, wait till we light this place up.” JJ replied.  

You nodded, looking back into the living room at the boxes that were empty and ready to go back into the attic. JJ had helped with that too, hauling boxes and the giant bag for the Christmas tree down the attic ladder with you. “I need to carry these up before we finish up.”  

“I’ll carry them up when I’m done hanging lights...but it’ll cost you extra.” He teased, leaning in the window more.  

You rolled your eyes, used to JJ’s ridiculous demands. He would rope you into paying for lunch or buying him a new bracelet while he flirted with the cashier and pretended to be a tourist at the Ron Jon’s on figure eight or waxing his surfboard because he was lazy and almost never took care of it. Once he even made you buy weed from his cousin because they were ‘beefing’ and he didn’t want to talk to him. So while you ran through the possibilities, you conceded, agreeing to whatever his cost might be. “Okay, what do I owe you?”

“A kiss under mistletoe.”

“How festive,” you deadpanned, turning back to your current job and leaving him leaning into the living room. The suggestion had made your head race just the smallest amount and your face grow hot but you played it off by walking away. JJ was always saying bullshit stuff and this, you knew, was no different.  

“I’m serious!” He called.  

JJ let the subject drop, finishing the lights outside of the house before putting the ladder back in the garage and heading inside to help carry the boxes back up to the attic. You were finishing cleaning up, vacuuming the needles that fell despite the faux tree and making sure that there were no stray pieces of tissue paper lying around. You deliberately ignored him when he came in, wanting to avoid any more teasing.  

It wasn’t the first time that JJ had said something like that. You were almost a hundred percent certain that he had no idea you had a crush on him but every once in a while, he would make a joke like that and you thought maybe Kiara had told him. Maybe he knew and he was teasing you on purpose. JJ wasn’t the cruel sort though so you usually wrote it off as quickly as the thought crossed your mind. But it still bugged you when he said it. Like picking at a fresh wound, he was reminding you all over again that you liked him and that you had for a long time and that he would never like you back.  

“Okay,” JJ said to no one in particular, “finished.”

“Thanks...I really appreciate the help.” You admitted, crossing your arms and looking around the living room. From the stockings on the fireplace to the tree in front of the bay window, everything had come together.  

“Do I get my payment now?”

“I’m not kissing you JJ,” you replied, denying his earlier request all over again.  

“Why?”

“Cause you’re not being serious.”  

“Why do you always think I’m joking?” He asked, following you into the kitchen.  

“Because, you always are. You flirt with everyone and you never mean it.”  

“Okay…so what if I meant it?”  

“JJ just…stop okay? It’s not funny.” You replied, a little more agitated as he continued prodding at the joke.  

“I’m not being funny.” He dropped the playfulness in his voice, trying to sound as serious as possible in an effort to convince you.  

“JJ-”  

“Come on,” JJ leaned in closer to you, pressing his palm against the cool tiles of the kitchen counter, “we could cuddle by the fireplace, mack on each other with the tree all decorated. It’d be like a hallmark movie.”  

“There is nothing about you that is like a hallmark movie,” you laughed, “and I’m not gonna kiss you just because you finished carrying some boxes up to the attic and you think it’d be hilarious. Did Kiara tell you?”

JJ tilted his head to the side, eyebrows raised in slight confusion as he tried to decide exactly what Kiara might have told him that you’re getting at. “I don’t know what you mean.” He replied, “what did she tell me about what?”  

“That I like you,” you admitted, crossing your arms and looking away from you. Not exactly how you imagined confessing to him. Not that you imagined confessing to him at all. “Is that why you’re doing this, because you know that I like you?”

“No...hey, you’re my best friend, you really think I’d do some shit like that?” He asked, “I’m not joking and if I’d known that you liked me, I woulda just said something.”  

“Yeah, no...I didn’t mean that...I don’t think you’d be mean or something I just...” You sighed, “I just thought you were joking.”

“I’m not.”

“Okay...yeah, I got it.”  

“So can I kiss you?” JJ asked, reaching out to take your hands in his.

“Yeah.”

“Don’t sound so excited,” he laughed, pulling you closer to him so he could kiss you.  

You smiled as you pulled away, “I’m so excited, I’m radiating with excitement.” You replied, the fluttering feeling that was sparking goosebumps across your arms at the thought of JJ actually liking you back held at bay only long enough for you to try and act unfazed. You weren’t though and JJ knew it, you could tell by the grin on his face as he leaned in close to you again and you found yourself looking forward to the holiday just a little bit more than you had been when you’d started the day.  

-

If you wanna be tagged in my obx stuff fill out this form

taglist: @maybankbby @alanniys @stylesyourmine @nicolee-anne @dudenhaaa27 @alexoberlinluthor @thecaptainsgingersnap @purple-flamingo 

#jj maybank x reader #jj maybank x y/n #jj maybank x you #jj maybank fanfic #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank fanfiction #jj maybank fic #collecting stories imagine #outer banks imagine #outer banks fanfiction #outer banks fic #outer banks fanfic #obx fanfic #obx fic #obx fanfiction #obx imagine #winter in the obx

[vaspider]

Hey. You're from Philly, even if you're not living there now, aren't you? In early October I'm making a day trip from Columbus to Philly so that I can have Authentic Philly Cheesesteak (might also hit up like independence trail or something i dunno) to celebrate yeeting my gallbladder in a week. I'm basically giving myself 6 weeks to heal and for my digestive system to figure out how to digest red meat, then I'm undertaking this quest. But I need to know where in Philly has the best Philly?

Okay, first of all, calling it a 'Philly Cheesesteak' is like saying 'cute dog' or 'round wheel' or 'transphobic Buck Angel.' Like, yeah, is there any other kind? That'll make you sound like a tourist immediately. It's just a cheesesteak.

Second, congrats on yeeting your gallbladder, but know that greasy food may forever be harder on you after you get it out (it has been for me). Prepare to burp mightily and have some Zofran on hand and all shall be well.

Third, do not go to Pat's or Geno's or any bullshit like that. Seriously, fuck both those places, fuck their owners, fuck their shitty politics, fuck all the touristy places.

The best cheesesteak comes from the corner shop closest to you, somewhere around 11PM. Find a bodega or pizza shop where the grill is manned by the same dude who's been making cheesesteaks for his brother since he turned eighteen and the grill itself hasn't been cleaned since the Nixon administration, and there will you find the true soul of a cheesesteak.

I'm fucking serious.

[therenlover]

In Fleeting Touches & Airy Sighs Chapter One (A Three Chapter Helmut Zemo/Reader Fanfic)

(Thank you to the wonderful anon who requested angst and smut between Zemo and the reader because Zemo had to be away from her on the run!)

Synopsis: A year after working together with Zemo in the events of Falcon and the Winter Soldier, Sam and Bucky seek him out once again in need of shelter from John Walker. Meanwhile, Zemo’s wife resents his absence and prepares for guests.

Tags: Flashbacks, Depression, Alcoholism, Separation Anxiety, Arguing, Struggling Marriage, Reunions

Rating: T (E in future chapters)

Warnings: Guns, Swearings, Reader shows signs of alcoholism/alcohol abuse, Reader uses a hot shower as a mild form of self harm

Word Count: 5000~

This fic has been crossposted under the same title to my AO3!

----------

Helmut Zemo was not often a man backed into a corner.

He was smart, resourceful, and had nothing left to lose. If it came down to the line, he would do whatever had to be done within his morals to achieve his goals, even if that goal was simply staying alive. The Baron bowed to no man, and made his enemies, no matter their size, fall to their knees with sheer wit instead of brute strength. That’s why, when he stood backed into an alley with the barrel of James Barnes’ gun to his forehead as the Falcon watched on, it was strange that he didn’t try to weasel his way out.

“We need answers,” Sam said, hands in the pockets of his dark hoodie. Bucky wore a similar one, only he wore a baseball cap instead of keeping his hood up. “How the hell did you break out of prison for a second time?”

Usually, Zemo would have replied with a clever quip. He had never been one to back down from a fight. This time, though, he looked almost frightened as he raised his arms in defeat. “I got in contact with friends on the outside during our short adventure together. They decided to help me out once I was re-incarcerated, willingly I might add. I had no part in the plan, but who would look a gift horse in the mouth?”

“And I guess I’m just supposed to assume you had no part in getting my pardon revoked?” Bucky spat.

“If you hadn’t noticed, James, I’ve left you alone,” A hint of his usual mockery slipped into Helmut’s tone, but he quickly pulled it back, “Believe what you want about me, but I’ve had some time since last year to… re-evaluate my feelings on the world. You had no choice but to do the things you did as the Winter Soldier, and as long as you pose no threat to society now I have no qualms with you,”

Despite the strangeness of Zemo’s response Bucky remained unphased. Sam, on the other hand, was less stoic.

“Man, I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but the government is looking for Bucky and I harder than they’re looking for you, and it’s kind of all your fault, so excuse me for not giving a shit about your supposed sudden change of heart!”

“Can we get to the point? I’m afraid my flight leaves in an hour and I would hate to be late,”

“Cut the bullshit!” There Bucky went, pushing the cold metal closer to Zemo’s furrowed forehead.

“Bucky...” Sam warned.

“No, Sam, I can do this. Did you or did you not actively attempt to get my pardon revoked when you took us to Madripoor? Because thanks to you, a worse symbol than Sam is now standing unchecked with the title of Captain America AND he has access to the last of the new super soldier serum AND he’s trying to get us killed so we can’t tell the world about the awful shit he does,”

“I-” Zemo went to speak and, for the first time since he had met him, Sam believed he was being genuine. There was a tremble that made its way through him, all the way to his raised hands and even his voice. It was enough that Bucky even lowered the gun minutely. “I understood that by following my lead, the both of you were risking a lot. I didn’t intend any specific malice with my actions though, no. If I may… the two of you have attracted a lot of attention here in the past few days. I assume Walker is very close to finding you?”

Sam and Bucky shared a look before Sam responded. “Maybe, why?”

“I have a safe house,” he continued, “I don’t stay there often so the location isn’t compromised, but it’s my next stop. Might I suggest we take this conversation on the road? I would hate to host your reunion with Mr. Walker in an alley over my corpse,”

There was a moment of complete stillness. Zemo remained, face dark with that strange deer-in-headlights look, a perfect statue, as the barrel of Bucky’s gun remained pointed firmly in his direction and Sam shared what seemed to be a completely silent conversation with Bucky. It was true that they had been burned before. Zemo was a man with his own agenda who did what it took to fulfill it. That being said, he had returned willingly with them back to prison before he was broken out, and without his help, the band of freshly minted super soldiers would still be running around Europe causing chaos. In the end, Bucky lowered his gun slowly before tucking it away into his boot holster.

Zemo grinned.

“Don’t think this means we trust you,” Sam groaned, pointing a finger at the man.

“I wouldn’t dream of it. Now, gentlemen, I believe we have a plane to catch,”

As the trio began to make their way out of the alley Bucky and Sam fell to the flank of the group. “Do you really think this is a good idea?” Bucky asked, eyes darting between his two companions. Sam shrugged.

“At this point, I’m doing whatever it takes to get home to my family in one piece. If that means I have to ride in Zemo’s stupid private jet again and lay low for a while, then that’s what I’m gonna do, because Sarah and those kids don’t deserve to lose me all over again,”

“But don’t you think he’s acting a little… weird?”

“Don’t worry, I have my eye on him. If he tries anything we can just throw him out front when Walker tries to shoot us,”

“You’re doing a very poor job of concealing your conversation,” Zemo shouted.

Bucky stormed ahead as Sam laughed.

“Oh, shut up!”

Surprisingly, the drive to the airstrip was mostly uneventful, as was the relatively short flight from Zurich to Avignon. There was, of course, the usual cutthroat banter and tension so thick you could feel it like a fog hanging over the group, but in an unusual twist of fate, the baron did very little to initiate. Of course, he wasn’t fully innocent though. He never was. That being said, even as his chauffeur carefully navigated the stone roads to the dropoff point he was strangely quiet. He had texted someone earlier to have the house prepared for their arrival but he kept looking down at the phone as if a response would come. It didn’t.

Sam appreciated the break from the noise. To him, it was a moment of peace after a few months of constant opposition. For the duration of the trip, he had chosen to shoot a few choice quips Bucky’s way before taking a long nap. Bucky, on the other hand, was only growing more suspicious of Zemo by the minute.

After his time with Hydra, Bucky had become intimately acquainted with the type of man that Zemo was. He was ruthless, driven by ideals that couldn’t be changed by any amount of debate or theory read inside a prison cell, and willing to do whatever it took to fulfill those ideals no matter the cost. There was remorse but no regret. A man like that doesn’t just stop believing in the thing that led him to kill dozens if not hundreds of people, because once the impetus is gone so is the only thing upholding their sense of self.

In basic terms, he was hiding something. Bucky was intent on finding out what that thing was, a thing important enough to make Zemo of all people shut the hell up and tell his enemies exactly where his safe house was, and he wasn’t going to rest until he did. The answer came easily enough in the end, but not before Sam and Bucky were forced face to face with the strangest thing they had ever seen, even when including aliens and wizards. That thing was Zemo buying flowers.

The trio had gotten out of the car somewhere around the center of the city and continued towards the safe house on foot. A few minutes after they started, though, Zemo had spoken.

“I apologize, but I’ll have to stop for a moment,” He said, holding up a hand to alert the two men trailing him to the fact that he was about to stop. Sam quirked up an eyebrow.

“At a flower shop?”

There, to the right of them, was a small fleuriste. The window was a burst of bright color. Pinks, reds, whites, purples; a certain bunch of spring blooms had caught Zemo’s eye. He shrugged. “It’s rude to arrive at someone’s house asking for a favor without a gift, Mr. Wilson. Excuse me,”

With a comfort that said he had been into the shop many times, Zemo walked through the door and began conversing with the shop owner in perfect French, even referring to her as tu instead of vous as he made his purchase.

“Did he just say someone’s house ?” Sam asked Bucky, eyes widening.

Bucky gritted his teeth. “Yeah, I think he did,”

“So, we’re just showing up at someone’s door,”

“Yup. Not to mention they’re someone who aligns themself with him,”

A groan escaped from Sam as he ran his hand down his face in disbelief. “I didn’t expect much from Zemo, but damn,”

“It’s your fault for expecting anything from Zemo in the first place,”

“For once, you’re right,”

They dawdled for a moment. As their conversation stilled, Zemo returned, now burdened by a sizable bouquet from the window. Around them, the city was starting to get off of work. Families walked together as businesses had their 5 o’clock shift change. Somehow as the world around them came to life it didn’t look at Sam and Bucky with anything more than a passing glance. They were tourists, nothing more. For a moment Sam understood why Zemo would go to a place like this for safety and anonymity.

Without ceremony, the trio began walking towards their destination once again.

“I apologize for the delay,” Zemo said, keeping his pace brisk and remaining about a foot ahead of his companions, “I suppose it’s become a bit of a habit that I buy Y/N flowers whenever I come back. We shouldn’t be long now, though, the house is just a few more blocks away, maybe 3 minutes by foot,”

“Y/N?” Bucky asked. The name felt heavy on his tongue, familiar. That had to be a coincidence though. Zemo would never align himself with anyone who had worked for Hydra, and there was no other place he could have heard that name and had it hold any significance. Right?

Zemo chuckled. “Y/N is our host. I’d appreciate it if you tried to maintain some semblance of respect when we arrive, she tends to have quite the temper and it would reflect badly on me if she believed I was asking her to indefinitely house two people who would happily send her to prison,”

“About that,” Sam chimed in, “Who the hell are we about to be staying with? It’s not that I don’t trust you, but I don’t, and by extension, I also don’t tend to trust people who trust you,”

“I assure you, Sam, Y/N is more trustworthy to you than I will ever be,”

“That doesn’t answer my question, nor does it make me feel any better,”

“She’s American, and like you, she is seeking shelter from the government. Isn’t that enough for you?”

“Man, at this point I feel like you’re not telling us because she’s actually some sort of crazy Sokovian sleeper agent who’s gonna stab us in the back while we sleep. Am I crazy, Buck, or am I right?”

Bucky, who had been trying his best to stay out of the conversation, replied. “You are being unnecessarily evasive, Zemo, though that’s nothing new…”

“Right? Like, I’m really grateful that you’re lending us a hand, but I’ve gotta be honest, if I think for a second things are going south-”

Sam never got to finish his sentence.

Suddenly, Zemo stopped short, turning around and looking Bucky in the eye with a madness neither he nor Sam had ever seen before. His whole body was stiff, rigid. The hand that wasn’t cradling the flowers delicately was gripped in a fist at his side. He looked angry, but underneath the anger, he really just looked scared. “You will not touch her. Do you hear me? Do what you’d like with me, I have made choices worthy of punishment, but you will not touch Y/N. If you so much as think of it, all bets are off. Do you understand me?”

Bucky nodded, sharp. This was certainly interesting. Sam just smirked.

“Is there something else you want to tell us?”

Zemo walked up a small set of stairs towards a home to their right. “No, Mr. Wilson, I don’t believe so,”

The building was a nice one, all tan stone with dark wrought-iron fixtures on its many windows. It looked, for all intents and purposes, like a normal midtown manor-house for some upper-class member of the community. The normalcy of it all hid its true purpose in plain sight. It was genius, really. Over a dividing wall made of the same yellowing stone, Sam could see a small sliver of vibrant green garden space and a pool at the side of the building.

With a steadying breath, Zemo knocked on the door.

“You have to knock on the door of your own safe house?” There was a hint of incredulity in Bucky’s voice as he crossed his arms. This was going to be a disaster. Why had they agreed to this again?

“A little etiquette goes a long way, James, especially when you’re already in the doghouse,” Then, the door opened.

Bucky froze. There, standing in the doorway with a pistol in her hand and a fire in her eyes, was a woman he thought long dead: you. This couldn’t be right! He had killed you back in ‘02 with the rest of the AAHR...

You quirked up an eyebrow at Zemo.

“Give me one reason I should let you in and not shoot you on the spot,”

They were so fucked.

________________

The day, on your end of the world, had gone by much slower.

It started off like any other, with the alarm on your bedside table blaring as you opened your eyes and your arms reached out into the emptiness in the sheets beside you. Sometimes, when Helmut’s flight got in late enough, you would wake up and reach to the side only to find that he had appeared beside you in the night. Those were the best kind of reunions. They were free of pretense, no bitterness or resentment clouded your sleep-heavy brain when you opened your eyes to his peaceful resting face, and you could simply fall into the comforting rhythm of husband and wife. If you reunited with a clear head things tended not to go as well.

You groaned. It wasn’t as if there was even a guarantee he would come back, especially not after the way you’d left things last time. The philosophy of attendre et espérer, waiting and hoping like an Edmond Dantés type, wouldn’t do you any good, at least not anymore.

Maybe it was time to start moving on…

Tomorrow. You could start thinking about the next steps tomorrow. For today you’d enjoy what you had.

Getting out of bed was difficult but you managed. The sun streamed through the curtains that billowed gently in the breeze near your balconette, brilliant gold beams illuminating the dust that danced in the air. The first thing you did was shuffle along to the corner and pour yourself two fingers of brandy from Helmut’s private collection. It was like a morning ritual these days, a numbing agent against the loneliness. Once the drink was downed you moved on to the closet to get dressed.

Dressing yourself wasn’t of much importance these days. You couldn’t exactly leave the house, and nobody was visiting, so more often than not, it was easier to just wear the same pajamas for a few days until you knew Oeznik would be around to drop off groceries. Today, though, you felt… filthy. Not dirty in a physical way, just sticky and filthy and unclean under your skin and in your very heart. Maybe a shower would help.

You looked around the closet with a clinical eye. It was difficult to be in there, surrounded by lavish dresses and expensive suits that you and your husband had worn arm in arm while plotting the downfall of the Avengers before your unsteady alliance had turned into so much more. Everything still smelled like his cologne. In the small, often-closed, walk-in closet, the scent had only intensified, covering every article of clothing with a fog of cedarwood and sage. It made you sick, choked the air from your lungs and left you gasping for even a single breath that didn’t sit heavy on your tongue with the bitter taste of that familiar musk.

The alcohol had helped. It always did. The remnants of its burn in your mouth formed a sort of guard against the scent of the closet as you searched through a pile of shirts for something soft and easy to wear. Your hands suddenly stilled.

“Zemo, I’m gonna be honest, this is the ugliest sweater I’ve ever seen in my entire life,”

“I’m hurt! That’s one of my favorites,”

“Where did you even get it, a 90-year-old grandpa’s closet? Jesus Christ, it looks like something out of a shitty 70’s flick about family values,”

“I’ll have you know that I thrifted that sweater. It’s very eco-conscious you know,”

Your heart hurt. Well, no, your whole body hurt, but your heart ached a little more prominently as you carefully picked up the sweater and held it to your chest. It was terribly ugly, 4 sizes too big even on Helmut and covered in an olive and forest green argyle. Somehow he was always able to pull off the oversized thing no matter how ridiculous you had always insisted you found it. When was the last time he’d worn it again?

The memory evaded you.

Still, it was a happy relic, happier than most of the monuments to a failing marriage that lined the shelves of your beautiful personal prison. It wouldn’t hurt to hope that by wearing it, you might rub just a little bit of that lost happiness off onto your present-day, right? With one last forlorn glance around the closet, you gathered up the sweater and a pair of jeans before getting out as fast as you could. With the scent of cologne clinging to you, the shower wasn’t just a good idea now, it was necessary.

So, you showered. You took the stupid foot-long exfoliating brush Helmut loved so much and scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed yourself under the near-boiling stream of water until your skin was pink and raw. Disappointingly, even the new skin felt filthy. It was better, though, less intense. With some lotion and a little bit of Neosporin on the fresh patches of blotchy red, you were able to feel okay. Not good. Not clean. Just… okay. At least you didn’t smell like him anymore. The clock read 12:14 when you finally made it out of the bathroom in search of some real food.

Lunch, if you could call it that, was a silent affair. The fridge was almost empty and the pantry was only a little less bare, so you threw together a cheese sandwich, not even bothering to waste butter and grill it. You ate it plain with another glass of brandy out on the pool deck. It was gone sooner than you hoped it would be.

Oh well.

You finished your brandy with a sigh. Only seven or eight more hours until you could finish your day with a few more drinks and pass out in bed until nine or ten once again. Ah, dreamless sleep. That sounded divine. Now if only you could fathom any non-depressing way to spend the time between sleeping and waking. Swimming was out, the chemicals would burn your freshly eviscerated skin. Playing solitaire for the fourth day in a row sounded like absolute hell on earth. Even watercolors, a usual calming respite from the torturous and neverending monotony of life trapped alone in a house you had no help in stocking, were off the table ever since you’d run out of paper.

Somewhere inside the house, your phone dinged.

The second the sound hit your ears you jumped, dropping your glass and letting it shatter into a thousand tiny shards on the stone of the patio.

Phones were a difficult thing to own for someone who was trying to stay out of the eyes of the government. They were too easy to track and could tip off enemies to your location with very little error needed on your part. Even searching the internet for innocent things was too risky. If your search history was too similar to that of the alias you had used before Helmut went to prison, it would have been easy for them to find a connection and send someone to track you down. Still, you kept a cell phone charged and ready on the kitchen counter despite the risk for one reason and one reason only: Emergency contact with your husband.

He never texted from the same number on more than one occasion, always switching from burner phone to burner phone as he flew across the country doing god knows what, but if he was ever in a situation where emergency contact with you was needed, he was able to reach you at your number immediately. It had only happened a couple of times, and each time he had been in a considerable amount of danger. So, when you suddenly heard the sound you dreaded more than anything else in the world, you were quick to rush inside, even ignoring the shattered glass at your feet as you shoved through the doors and found the phone.

The small, LED display was lit up with the notification. It made your heart both soar and sink.

Flying home with two guests. Prepare the two rooms for their stay. We will be there by 5 at the latest - B

You read over the message several times before letting the phone fall from your hand and back onto the counter with a dull thud.

That absolute asshole.

Three months. Three months you had spent sitting alone. Three months without a call, or a text, or a letter, or even a word of when he was coming back by way of Oeznik. Three months! And after three months of loneliness and sleepless nights and empty bottles on the drink cart he reaches out through an emergency line of contact that almost certainly means he might be dying only to tell you he’s bringing two strangers into your safe house, the place even he refuses to stay in too long in order to not give its location away. The scar on your spine was starting to burn as you leaned up against the counter and cried.

It was ridiculous to think you had ever believed him capable of more tact than that.

Really, it was your fault. From the beginning, you’d had too much faith in a man incapable of being trustworthy, even to those closest to him. You knew that, and yet you had married him. Maybe the soft touches and sweet lies he had spoon-fed you had made you weak. Maybe you always had been.

“I’m not a child, Helmut, I know what I’m doing!”

“I don’t think you do,” he shouted. He was a few drinks in now, you both were. The nights before his departures never tended to end well when you both drank. “Because no matter what I do to protect you, you have the need to disobey me! Have you considered that I do the things I do for your own good!”

“Oh! Oh yes, the things YOU do!” You slammed your glass down on the table as you stormed over to Helmut, “I sit here all day like a fucking dog in a cage while you fly to fucking Ibiza and flirt with supermodels, but YOUR story is just so fucking tragic! I’m your wife, Helmut! I’m not an animal or your property, I’m your goddamn wife! You can’t just order me to sit and stay like a dog,”

He glared down at you, eyes hawkish and glinting in the low lamplight. For the first time in years, he looked threatening, “You may not be a dog, or a child, or my property, but you are a weapon! It’s my job to keep you here, away from the-”

“Excuse me?” You interrupted. The two of you stood, inches away and yet miles apart. Slowly, the drive in Helmut’s eyes faltered. “Say that again. I dare you,”

“Schatz, I-”

“No, Helmut, you meant it so say it again. Call me that again. I fucking dare you,” Tears were streaming down your face now. He took a step towards you, hand extended to wipe them away, but you were quick to take a step back out of his reach.

“You misunderstood me,”

“I don’t think there was anything to misunderstand,”

You swept the shards of your glass tumbler into a dustpan, hands still shaking even ten minutes after you’d read Helmut’s message to you. As you worked, your last conversation before he’d left echoed in your mind.

How had it all devolved into that? It wasn’t hard to remember Helmut before prison, jaded and broken and lonely. He had been so much like you and yet so different. Each of you seemed to be the perfect balm for the others' wounds. In the end, despite all of his flaws, you had found yourself in love. Now that he was a different man, was that love gone? You couldn’t say. All you knew for sure was that you weren’t nearly drunk enough to be facing the confusing feelings in your brain. With the last of your energy, you emptied the dustpan of glass into the trash can and returned to the house, sweater itchy against your irritated skin, to ready the guest rooms.

The job wasn’t a long one. You had never used the guest rooms in all the time you’d spent at the Avignon property, so the sheets were already clean. There was just a thin layer of dust on the furniture that needed to be swept away as you checked to make sure the dressers were bare and the bathrooms were stocked with amenities. Then, when that was done, you were left to your thoughts as the hours ticked by.

Most of the time you spent sitting on the couch doing absolutely nothing. It sounded terrible, and in all honesty it was, but what else could you do? The house was already spotless so cleaning wasn’t an option, and you didn’t quite feel like doing much of anything as you stared at the clock and tried to remember a time when your life was less of a disaster. As it got closer to five, though, you started to get antsy.

You had tried your best to not think about the obvious issue of the guests. Zemo was not the type to threaten his home, even if he wasn’t happy with you, so usually having anyone who wasn’t Oeznik or another paid lackey aware of the location of your safe house would be a big no in his book, but then you started thinking of the implications of him bringing people into your home. Your home, not his. Was he on his way to kill you? It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility. Or maybe he was bringing your replacement.

Now that thought made anger bubble up in your throat. You were no stranger to the idea that when your husband was away, he could be doing anything. There was no guarantee when he slept in lavish hotels or drank the night away in elite lounges that he kept his wedding ring on. The fact that there were two guests meant it was unlikely he was bringing two mistresses, but never impossible. Nothing was impossible when it came to Helmut.

No, it was more likely he had finally decided it was time to end your suffering. The shouts and boisterous laughter that started to sound directly outside of the front room window only confirmed the for you. Slowly, you crept towards the door and grabbed a small pistol from its place in the umbrella stand. If he wanted you dead you weren’t going to go without a fight.

Through the curtains on the front door, you could just barely make out the trio. When you saw them your blood ran cold. It was one thing if he needed help to take you down, but getting the Winter Soldier on board? Your rage only grew by the minute.

Helmut said something, probably planning the best course of action to catch you off guard, and you sneered. Two could play at that game. When he knocked on the door you opened it calmly and held the gun with your finger just barely ghosting over the trigger.

Everyone froze.

“Give me one reason I should let you in and not shoot you on the spot,” you said, rage coursing through every nerve in your body. You may have been in retirement for quite a few years, but you still knew how to handle a gun. Everyone there, except maybe the Falcon, knew that. As Zemo went to open his mouth, you prepared for a firefight.

“Because I brought you flowers,”

-------------

a/n: Sorry that only one chapter is out! The fic is just getting very long and complicated and I wanted to make sure you got as much as possible before the next episode drops lol. I’ll be working pretty much nonstop from now until then, though, so the next parts should be out soon!

TAGLIST: @tatestripedsweater​ , @elaineygrace​, @multiyfandomgirl40​ ,  @lovelymischief​ , @rami-malek-trash​ , @dazzlingseb​, @avgravy​ , @sarahsilver , @wh0re-4-techno​ , @forcebros​ , @sugarsweetkiss​ , @grandmuffinsharkbailiff​ , @killsandthrills​ , @novasstudy​ , @thnksfr-ptrkstmp​ , @inmate-marmalade​, @alanathedeer​ , @mossybank​ , @simsiddy​ , @xxspqcebunsxx​ 

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#zemo #helmut zemo #baron zemo #baron helmut zemo #zemo x reader #helmut zemo x reader #baron zemo x reader #baron helmut zemo x reader

[cregan-starks]

Rookie | Beholden

Summary: Magnussen meets her teammates.

Words: 8,036

Pairing: Walt Breslin x OC (not really)

Warnings: politics, mentions of drugs and drug trafficking, mentions of death, mentions of communism, mentions of alcohol, mention of claustrophobia, mention of food, guns, sexism, Magnussen fights a fly, smoking, cussing. Under no circumstances can you copy, plagiarize, steal my work, or post it somewhere else!

Notes: Firstly, Happy New Year! May 2022 be easier on all of us! Secondly, I apologize for taking so long with this chapter. Life and writer’s block got in the way. But, as always, thank you for your patience! If you wish to be added to or removed from my taglist, my DMs and ask box are open.

Credits: Huge thank you to my beta @maharani-radha-writes​ 💛 and to my darling @cleastrnge​ (to whom this chapter is dedicated in honor of her birthday)​ for the Mexican Spanish translations 💜

Previous | Ao3 | Masterlist | Next

MARCH 5, 1986

CIUDAD DE MÉXICO, MEXICO

          Edward Heath’s clean-shaven face, ironed grey suit, and impeccable posture made him the embodiment of a true bureaucrat. His large, chimpanzee ears prevented Magnussen from taking him seriously, and his bushy eyebrows resembled those hairy caterpillars that she had seen on TV, in nature documentaries. By comparison, Magnussen looked like a hippie student protesting the Vietnam war, in her T-shirt with a cow wearing sunglasses. Not that she cared about any opinion that Heath might have. Her black leather jacket concealed her arm tattoos, watch, and the shoulder holster that carried her Beretta 92. At least Heath had been productive in that regard, handing her the DEA badge, phone, gun, and car keys, shortly after she had arrived. He had even joked that he would offer her a drink if it weren’t so early.

          ‘That never stopped me,’ Magnussen had commented dryly, no longer interested in the conversation, now that she knew that alcohol wouldn’t be involved.

          But Heath couldn’t just leave things there and spare her of a further tête-à-tête. He started rambling about Leyenda, claiming that she would be an appropriate choice for the team. Fucking hell. Admittedly, Magnussen needed a drink. Although her bed had been more than cozy, it hadn’t felt entirely welcoming, and she hadn’t slept well. New place curse. She had woken up at 8 a.m. to catch her flight to Mexico City, dragged her ass out of bed, eaten in a hurry – unable to savor her breakfast – yawned approximately 20 times on the plane, waited in line at the U.S. embassy – where she hadn’t been allowed to smoke – lied about having to renew her tourist visa, and had been escorted by an employee down a set of stairs to the “passport office” – code for Heath’s lair.

          The half-closed blinds forced her to squint her eyes in order to study her surroundings as she walked into the claustrophobia-inducing room, her heels clicking against the floor. The smell of cologne was intoxicating, much stronger than the one of coffee. Documents, pens, and staplers decorated the desk in the middle, and a couple of chairs rested on either side of it. To her left, a printer and a computer shared an old table that would probably break if somebody deposited a mug on it. When Heath had invited her to take a seat, Magnussen had declined, opting instead to examine some shelves, on the wall. She gently ran her fingertips over the files marked “August 1975”, “September 1975”, “October 1975”, dust collecting on them. Wonder how many war crimes are in here… They wouldn’t fit in this damn building.

          ‘That why you recommended me?’, questioned Magnussen, indifferent, tilting her head to peer at Heath, who was peeking out of the window, seemingly avoiding her glare.

          Sensing another bullshit speech coming her way, Magnussen took precautions and distracted herself with admiring the agent’s features. She despised almost everything about Heath, yet she had to concede that his prominent jaw must have been sculpted by Greek gods. His piercing, icy blue eyes could put Lake Baikal to shame on a bad day. Magnussen was uncertain whether to call those redeeming qualities. This man has none.

          ‘You lived in Mexico for two years,’ reminded the agent, slipping his hands into the pockets of his trousers, his wedding band glimmering in the light, ‘You know the territory. You worked alongside the team in Guadalajara, so you’re already familiar with the cartel. You’re multilingual.’

          Funny. Three years ago, these were the exact reasons why everybody disregarded whatever she had to say. Americans’ beliefs change like piss in the wind. The U.S. was an exhausting toddler – enjoying its toy one minute and discarding it the next. And if shit doesn’t go the way you want it to, throw a nuclear fit… Literally.

          ‘I also play the piano,’ bragged Magnussen, a hint of irony in her tone, ‘And I’m twenty-four. Old enough to be the granddaughter of most of your agents.’

          She was actually fascinated by Heath’s self-control abilities. No matter the number of times she poked him with a stick, he maintained his composure and did his best to act diplomatic. Magnussen repeatedly dangled the bait in front of him and he refused to engage. Hot.

          ‘We think you could provide a fresh perspective,’ explained Heath, turning to her slightly, shadows dancing across his figure, ‘Modern methods. You received the necessary training–’

          ‘Yeah, yeah,’ interrupted Magnussen, irritated, counting on her fingers while she listed, mockingly, ‘Written assessment, panel interview, drug test, medical exam, physical task assessment, polygraph test, psychological screening, full background check–’

          ‘I’m aware of the DEA’s requirements, Agent Magnussen,’ assured Heath, sounding fatigued, lifting a hand to signal her to stop, ‘I was subjected to them myself. Everything was considered once your candidacy was submitted.’

          ‘And who submitted my candidacy?’, demanded Magnussen, arching a skeptical eyebrow, moving to casually sit down at the desk.

          Sure as hell wasn’t me. Bowen had successfully dodged that question for months, as if her career had depended on it. Maybe it had. Magnussen had a creeping suspicion that it had become classified information. Nevertheless, she had the right to know. Someone had gone through the trouble of bypassing the majority of the DEA’s bureaucratic procedures to get the poor communist girl a job. Heartwarming, if it weren’t so damn frustrating. Magnussen could at least order a bouquet of flowers for the person. She would scribble “(no) thanks” on the note.

          ‘Camarena,’ declared Heath, watching Magnussen’s reaction, attentively.

          Her expression fell, the unexpected answer temporarily disarming her. She averted her gaze, rather ashamed, giving in to the instinctive urge to rub her jacket’s sleeve, inside which the Camarenas’ bracelet safely hid.

          ‘He always spoke highly of you,’ added the agent, approaching Magnussen, hesitantly, ‘Said you were a good kid. Ambitious. Smart. Thought you had a bright future ahead, so he insisted that we had to persuade you to work for the Administration.’ Heath gestured around, rectifying, ‘I doubt this is what he meant… Camarena saw something in you. You’re telling me he was wrong?’

          I wasn’t a good kid. And now, I’m not a good adult. Magnussen’s nails persistently scratched at the table’s edge, unaffected. Wood shreds floated in the air before landing on her thighs. She found the DEA’s sudden interest in hers and Kiki’s relationship disturbing; their bond had never been complicated.

          That night, Magnussen had stayed at the Consulate to finish her research. She had decided to read on the floor, since she had the whole room to herself, her peers having deserted hours ago. The place was unusually quiet, leaving Magnussen to conclude that it was past 6 p.m. Late, according to some.

          ‘You’re still here?’, asked a voice she recognized as Camarena’s.

          ‘Clearly,’ acknowledged Magnussen, slyly, ‘I’d say I’m almost done, but I’d be lying.’

          ‘It’s Friday,’ emphasized the agent, bewildered.

          ‘Exactly,’ she agreed, setting aside a report to look at Camarena, ‘No one to bother me.’

          Camarena was in the doorway, coat on, holding a suitcase; undoubtedly itching to go home. He nodded in understanding, a small smile forming on his face. Magnussen hadn’t seen him smile at all. They had barely interacted, yet he appeared to be the antithesis of Kuykendall.

          ‘Magnussen, no?’, checked the agent, pointing a finger at her, ‘Well, I’m pretty sure your buddies went to the Babel.’

          ‘You’re telling me to fuck off?’, quipped Magnussen, amused, then corrected, ‘They’re not my buddies.’

          ‘You do got a roommate, though, right?’, inquired Camarena, tone implying that a “no” would not be accounted for.

          ‘I guess,’ grumbled Magnussen, beginning to gather her papers.

          The base of her spine complained when she tried to reach for the folder, farther away. Shit. Did I age 50 years? Shockingly, chairs had been invented to serve a virtuous purpose.

          ‘Oh, she’s alive,’ clarified Magnussen, upon noticing Camarena’s perplexity, ‘And probably inebriated.’

          ‘So, you’re on your own tonight?’, speculated the agent, supposedly solving a complex geometry problem in Sumerian.

          ‘I’m on my own most nights,’ stated Magnussen, nonchalant, ‘I don’t mind it.’

          Judging by the prolonged deadly silence that settled while she packed her possessions, Magnussen assumed that Camarena had fucked off. She imagined that the rest of her evening would proceed as it normally did: take the bus, eat supper, shower, call Maia–

          ‘You could come over for dinner,’ blurted Camarena, surprising them with his suggestion, and startling Magnussen.

          ‘You sure?’, she muttered, furrowing her brows, scolding herself for genuinely contemplating his proposal.

          ‘Yeah,’ confirmed the agent, jingling his keys, ‘My wife thinks we don’t socialize enough.’

          ‘Been told the same bullshit,’ confessed Magnussen, annoyed.

          They both chuckled.

          Camarena had nicknamed her “Scrooge”, a feat that seldom failed to stir laughter among his sons – Huey, Dewey, and Louie. Mika would often remark that Kiki and Magnussen were “two grumpy peas in a pod.” Magnussen had spent increasingly more time with the family; she assisted Kiki in the hunt for the Guadalajara cartel and Camarena’s insight proved to be useful for her dissertation.

          Following Kiki’s demise, the DEA – who had loathed their attachment – did a 180° turn and milked their friendship beyond decency. Magnussen wouldn’t be fooled, despite their shallow attempts to rewrite history and convince her that they had always been on her side. She hadn’t forgotten her curriculum vitae, in the words of the great narc-clowns themselves; Ambassador Gavin had labeled her a child, Administrator Lawn had deemed her “hotheaded” and “not a team player,” and Heath had privately referred to her as a “hormonal teenager” to Jaime.

          The busy chatter of people filled the hallway, outside, tearing Magnussen from her spiraling thoughts. Digging up these grudges would achieve nothing. The mission wasn’t about her, nor was it about those who had mistreated her. She had learned long ago to save little hope for herself. Fall in line and you’ll survive.

          Magnussen stood up and patted her striped palazzo pants until they were clean of the timber fragments.

          ‘Why was Kuykendall taken off the case?’, she challenged, masking her festering anger, ‘Seasoned agent. Knew Kiki better than I did.’

          Opposite from her, Heath leaned forward, planting his palms on the desk, as if he were in an intense board meeting. I wonder what new flavors Coca Cola will release.

          ‘Jaime had seen too much and done enough,’ he recited, defensive, out of the blue. He paused and glowered at Magnussen while she propped her ass on the table, her upper body invading his personal space. ‘He was transferred after Camarena was recovered. Mexican authorities launched a homicide investigation. We had no jurisdiction. Our hands were tied… Jaime’s a fine agent and stepping back was what was best for him.’

          Heath retreated, fixing his suit jacket as an excuse. Poor dude’s intimidated. Magnussen made herself comfortable, crossing one leg over the other to keep her balance, and absentmindedly rolled a pencil across the desk’s surface.

          ‘And Calderoni?’, she pressed, twisting the blade deeper into Heath’s exasperation, relishing in pushing his buttons, ‘He was part of the investigation. Did anyone consider contacting the commander who neglected to arrest Félix Gallardo?’

          ‘We believe the cartel got to him,’ disclosed Heath, progressively sour, ‘Approaching him would be dangerous and might compromise our operation… I expected you to understand the gravity and sensitivity of the issue.’

          Bite me, motherfucker. You probably use a different shampoo for your pubic hair.

          ‘Wasn’t that your job?’, retorted Magnussen, defiance etched into her features.

          Heath visibly deflated, letting out a brief sigh, and stroked his forehead. He had been through this before. He was perfectly aware of what she was hinting at; his delayed response to Camarena’s disappearance, which had attracted consequences of its own.

          ‘We made mistakes,’ admitted Heath, almost regretfully, ‘Underestimated the potential repercussions coming from the drug traffickers… But we’re trying to mend some of these wrongs. That’s why Leyenda was created… My brother was killed in 1973, working undercover. I know what it’s like to want justice. To be incapable of getting it. To feel powerless.’

          A couple of knocks on the door halted their discussion, simultaneously causing Magnussen to gladly pull the plug on whatever answer she had devised. In a perverted way, she was relieved. Comforting folks wasn’t her forte. In fact, she sucked at it, and offering consolation was the last thing that she would do to Heath.

          ‘Come in,’ encouraged the agent, amiably, without bothering to check who the intruder was, drawing Magnussen’s wandering attention.

          The door opened and Walt Breslin walked in, evidently not anticipating Heath to have company. He greeted “ma’am”, courteously, nodding once, initially clueless… then he froze, gaze lingering on her impassive face, his suspicion gradually followed by sheer confusion. His expression was priceless; worth framing. The man was so stunned that he didn’t even acknowledge Heath’s presence. Magnussen bestowed upon him a wicked, nearly imperceptible smirk. Yeah, it’s me. PhD in Diplomacy.

          ‘Walt,’ droned Heath, clearing his throat, gesturing him invitingly to enter the office.

          It took Breslin several seconds to snap out of it and reluctantly shut the door behind him. This should be interesting. Magnussen figured that he wouldn’t be particularly delighted with the new kid at the Leyenda playground.

          ‘This is Agent Magnussen,’ continued Heath, oblivious to – or actively ignoring – the scornful glares being exchanged, ‘Agent Moss’ replacement.’

          Heath must’ve expected them to shake hands and be cordial, yet neither moved a muscle, nor showed any intention in that regard. Breslin seemed to be fuming in the subtlest way that Magnussen had ever witnessed somebody fume. He stood a few meters away from Heath, opposite from where she sat on the desk, quietly chewing gum, his thumbs tucked in his brown belt. Cornered by wolves and weighing his options.

          ‘We’ve met before,’ revealed Breslin, detached – though his gruffy voice gave the impression that he was containing his acidity – addressing Heath, his eyes glued to Magnussen, ‘Yesterday, at Guadalajara Airport.’

          Heath’s quizzical look didn’t solidify into further questions on the subject. Meanwhile, Magnussen tried to pick apart Breslin’s cryptic demeanor; she envisioned that he assumed that he was stuck in some elaborate trap designed and set up by her in order to trick him and make him appear like a fool, which was far from the truth. Besides, the guy ought to have a shred of sense of humor, right? Magnussen herself hadn’t predicted Breslin’s arrival, since Heath had failed to notify her. So, Heath summoned both of us here and coincidentally omitted to tell us about each other? Two birds, one stone.

          ‘Well,’ began Heath, licking his lips, ‘Magnussen’s one of the most gifted women we’ve encountered in our international students’ program… She worked with Camarena and helped obtain valuable intel on the Guadalajara cartel. Magnussen knows the criminal mind like the back of her hand.’

          Magnussen whipped her head around, her heart drumming in her chest, when the door violently flung open, interrupting Heath’s speech. Jesus fucking Christ. At least Breslin had knocked.

          ‘Sorry,’ babbled a tall man in glasses, his fingers squeezing the doorknob, ‘Toft’s on the phone for you, sir.’

          Heath’s face mimicked something akin to satisfaction after receiving the news. Magnussen couldn’t determine whether to rejoice over the fact that the agent was put out of his misery. It was getting good. I enjoyed the line about the criminal mind.

          ‘Thank you, James,’ replied Heath, dexterously buttoning his suit, ‘Apologies. You’ll have to excuse me. I believe you two have a lot to catch up on. Walt, could you brief Magnussen on Belize and the latest lead?’

          Belize, huh? That part was excluded from her reports. Heath accompanied James out of the room, leaving Breslin and Magnussen to metaphorically circle one another like birds of prey. If he offered his condolences or dared pity her, she would scream. Breslin tilted his head to the side slightly, his curls falling over the wrinkles on his forehead. The agent’s hawkish stare locked on her in an ineffective attempt to intimidate her. For a long time, they sized each other up, silently. The collar of a T-shirt peeked from underneath the blue checkered flannel that hugged his slim form, similar to the grey one that he had sported the previous day. Magnussen wondered why the hell Breslin wore an additional layer in Mexico’s heat. Self-consciousness? His rolled-up sleeves exposed a silver watch on his left wrist. Magnussen couldn’t help her puzzled frown upon spotting a crumpled rag shoved in the pocket of his dark jeans. The fuck?

          ‘So, you’re the rookie,’ accused Breslin, at last, bitterly, crossing his hairy arms over his chest, his lower back resting against the computer’s table, ‘You’re younger than I thought.’

          Magnussen scoffed shamelessly loudly, already hearing the complaints about her behavior being “grossly unprofessional.” Still, she considered it basic human decency to inform someone whenever they uttered stupid shit. Teach them early or they’ll end up president.

          ‘Bet you were expecting a toothless fossil,’ she theorized, wryly.

          ‘Harvard educated, too,’ joked Breslin, the corners of his mouth inching upwards. The fleeting moment passed, and he suffocated Amusement in its cradle, growing condescending, ‘DEA ain’t in the habit of doing favors for people like you.’

          What kind would those be? Left-wingers?... And how is recruiting me for the War on Drugs beneficial?... Mental gymnastics.

          ‘Oh, they’re not doing me any favors,’ corrected Magnussen, brazenly, ‘I think they’re doing Leyenda a favor.’

          Her response had clearly struck a nerve, if Breslin’s clenched jaw were any indication. She shifted, adjusting her position on the desk, unfazed. Bring it, cowboy. Magnussen’s reasoning – her being the training wheels on the DEA’s slow, classified bicycle – actually had more plausibility.

          ‘You’re getting off on the wrong foot with your boss, sweetheart,’ warned Breslin, maintaining his calm, despite the venom dripping from his tone and his darkening glare.

          ‘Should I try the other foot, then?’, suggested Magnussen, innocently, ‘And you’re not my boss.’ She pushed a pencil, watching it spin on the table’s surface as she calculated her next step. ‘For the record, I didn’t seek you out or anything like that. I recognized you from your photo in the Leyenda documents. Figured I’d say hello.’

          ‘You lied your ass off,’ contradicted Breslin, immediately, borderline offended, ‘I mean, even your accent’s gone.’

          Getting nostalgic, buddy? Magnussen was pleasantly surprised; she hadn’t pegged him as the type to be into accents, let alone treat them with respect. Hell, the guy was from Houston. Fucking Texas.

          ‘I could keep it for you,’ she teased, flirtatiously, twisting the ring on her middle finger, ‘And I didn’t lie about everything. Out of the Blue is my favorite Electric Light Orchestra album. Sofia’s my middle name. I’m not Italian, but I know the language. I did my Criminology master’s in Mexico–’

          ‘I’m aware,’ grumbled Breslin, rudely interrupting her enumeration, earning an irked sigh from her, ‘I’ve read your file.’

          They mention my music taste in there? Dope. No pun intended. If he were impressed, Breslin didn’t convey it. Tough crowd. Magnussen herself wasn’t faring much better; her bona fide reactions were a breed on the brink of extinction. The DEA doesn’t want authenticity from me… or anyone else.

          ‘Oh, I love it when a man takes an interest,’ she jested, sardonic, lifting her chin.

          ‘Cops ain’t allowed to show their tattoos,’ lectured Breslin, implicit expression insinuating that Magnussen had to be in possession of all of the facts, which she absolutely wasn’t.

          After she arduously wracked her brain for a clue as to what the hell he was referring to – briefly panicking that he had seen something that he wasn’t meant to – Magnussen deduced that Breslin must have been alluding to yesterday’s interaction. Oh, please.

          ‘I’m not a cop,’ she pointed out, smiling falsely, ‘And I didn’t show you anything. It’s not my fault that you were looking where you weren’t supposed to.’

          The audacity. Magnussen tapped her heel against the floor, petulantly, chewing the inside of her bottom lip – mindful of her lipstick. She paused, suddenly recalling Heath’s instructions, astonished that she had paid attention to his words.

          ‘What’s in Belize?’, she interrogated, narrowing her eyes suspiciously to regard Breslin, who cocked an equally doubtful eyebrow at her.

          For fuck’s sake. He hesitated, understandably distrustful of her. Magnussen didn’t trust him, either. They were mere strangers, forced to collaborate. Sure, she could be demanding sometimes, but if the two of them were to work together, they would have to at least share intel. So, by withholding information, Breslin was actively preventing her from doing her job, and Magnussen would not tolerate that.

          ‘Amado Carrillo Fuentes,’ provided Breslin, cautiously, ‘He was sent to Juárez to manage Acosta. Bought a bunch of planes at an auction in Belmopan. We put transponders on ‘em so we could track his movements.’

          Federation’s expanding. Soon, they’ll purchase the U.S. Air Force… if they haven’t already. Magnussen found the usage of “manage” intriguing. Acosta’s causing trouble in paradise?

          ‘That’s why you were at the airport yesterday,’ she alleged, solving the mystery.

          ‘Well done, Rookie,’ jeered Breslin, derisive, ‘You’re catching up.’

          Magnussen rolled her eyes, a blasé snort escaping her, yet she decided to be merciful and let his insolence slide. She had other urgent businesses to tend to.

          ‘What about Calderoni?’, she insisted, admiring her black manicured fingernails, ‘He reached out at all?’

          Although pressing the issue could prove futile, Magnussen refused to accept that she was beating a dead horse. As they had done in many cases, the Americans had been quick to prematurely dismiss the inconvenience – namely, Calderoni. Magnussen, however, reckoned that there was more to that story and to the commander, and she was willing to clash with the DEA over it. She had to exhaust all of the resources.

          ‘What for?’, retorted Breslin, with an indifferent shrug, ‘He made his choice. Doesn’t seem like he’s on our side.’

          Ugh. Kindergarteners’ Guide to Law Enforcement: Us v. Them.

          ‘Neither is the United Nations Commission on Human Rights,’ sassed Magnussen before emphasizing, ‘This is Mexico, Agent Breslin. You need somebody on the inside.’

          ‘We’ve been getting along just fine without him,’ affirmed Breslin, stubbornly.

          ‘Because illegally kidnapping a gynecologist is so damn difficult,’ argued Magnussen, harshly, nostrils flaring.

          ‘The fuck d’you know about it?’, deadpanned Breslin.

          ‘I know that when you start moving furniture around, people stub their toes and get mad,’ she elaborated, matter-of-factly.

          That’s what had happened to an ambitious Kiki. Go knocking on enough doors asking for the devil and eventually he may answer. Magnussen wasn’t keen on repeating past mistakes; not with such high stakes.

          ‘That’s the Leyenda playbook, Rookie,’ explained Breslin, oddly patient, ‘You put guys in custody, use leverage to get them to flip on the next asshole, and you move up the chain.’

          The same chain that strangles everyone who makes too much noise? Yeah, right. Breslin’s misplaced optimism was a bit endearing. A bit.

          ‘You bagged a few shrimps,’ commented Magnussen, smirking triumphantly, ‘How do you plan to bag the barracuda? Pry him from the PRI’s claws?’

          ‘One day,’ confirmed Breslin, foolishly confident, ‘Someone always talks.’

          Or gets eaten. The system had all kinds of medicine for one’s conditions. Admittedly, the Americans’ naïveté was entertaining; they honestly thought that they could go against a political party that had adapted and stayed in power for decades. Politics chews people alive and spits them out. It takes a special sort of asshole to survive in that environment. Magnussen straightened her spine and stretched, impatient to get the hell out of Heath’s office. Lovely chat, Special Agent Breslin. We disagree on… probably everything.

          Oh, one last thing.

          ‘Why do you carry that rag with you?’, she queried, nodding at the object in question, ‘You got hyperhidrosis, like Nixon?’

          It’s been bugging me for a while. Roughly ten minutes.

          Breslin released a quiet, amused huff, attempting to conceal what appeared to be a genuine smile, then headed for the door, which he opened with a soft squeak. Once he was in the doorway, he turned to face Magnussen, abruptly.

          ‘The team’s meeting at five for a surveillance briefing,’ he revealed, fishing in the pocket of his flannel, ‘Derelict building on Paseo de la Reforma, 707, near the indigenous museum.’ He retrieved an item and tossed it at her, adding, ‘Don’t be late, Rookie.’

          Magnussen reflexively caught it and studied it, rather curious. Her golden Colibri lighter, its metal cool to the touch. Nice. She checked her watch, to see how long she had left until the gathering. 2:36. Plenty of time to explore the capital. When she glanced back up, Breslin was already gone.

          Magnussen smiled to herself, pleased.

          Magnussen had not only been the first person to show up at the location, but she had also managed to arrive fifteen minutes earlier, despite taking several lengthy detours. The culprits for her “rush” had been her raging desire to always have the upper hand – even over her soon-to-be-coworkers – and the damn British punctuality, which she could deny all she wanted; Magnussen had grudgingly acquired it while living in London, the same way that one catches the flu.

          The hide and seek mission required parking her car farther away from the busy boulevard, sneaking between buildings in order to find the place, and frequently looking over her shoulder to ensure that nobody followed her. Magnussen hesitated at the skeletal complex’s entrance, where the missing door introduced a long, humid hall. As she advanced, the bright, natural light behind her and the darkness ahead began to feel like an ironic metaphor for her return to Mexico.

          The eerie appearance initially led Magnussen to suspect that she had landed in the wrong “derelict building.” Must, mold, and cobwebs covered the flakes of orange paint on the walls, bare lightbulbs hung from the ceiling, and the damp cement floor – whose small cracks were an ordeal for her heels – forced Magnussen to crinkle her nose. The cigarette butts on the ground, half a dozen scattered chairs, and a corkboard were the sole indication of human life. Most of the thick pillars looked like they might collapse if somebody stomped their feet. I won’t do that ‘cause it’ll fuck up my shoes. The sounds of cars honking and dogs barking outside slipped in through square windowless holes. Charming. What had Magnussen expected, anyway? Leyenda was a classified operation. They wouldn’t meet in the U.S. consulate’s offices.

          Or, Breslin had lied about the gathering and pulled a ridiculously petty prank on her to avenge his injured ego after her daring stunt at the airport. Magnussen wasn’t familiar enough with the man to determine whether he would stoop that low. He works in law enforcement, so… probably. Still, her trip to Mexico City hadn’t been entirely useless. Once she had parted with the embassy, Magnussen had eaten lunch – consisting of grilled octopus with lemons and roasted potatoes – at La Corriente Cevicheria Nais, successfully avoided alcohol, savored her watermelon ice cream from Joe Gelato while she walked around Plaza Washington, and her last stop had been at the Museo de Cera. Magnussen had visited the capital a couple of times before, and she had been eager to explore more of it, especially now that she had a new, albeit temporary vehicle.

          Mexico City, aka CDMX, had been the illustrious capital of New Spain; the oldest in the Americas and one of two established by indigenous people. According to legend, the Mexicas’ primary god Huitzilopochtli revealed the site where they would build their home by showing them a golden eagle devouring a rattlesnake, perched on a prickly pear. The Aztecs originally constructed the city on a group of islands in Lake Texcoco as “Tenochtitlan”, in 1325. After the 1521 siege, which almost annihilated it, it was redesigned and rebuilt conforming with Spanish urban standards. And who completed all of the heavy labor? The indigenous people, of course. Tenochtitlan also earned a new name – Mexico – because it was easier for the colonizers to pronounce. In the 19th century, Mexico City became the center-stage of the country’s political disagreements, witnessing countless coups before the victory of the Liberals following the Reform War. The city was the target of one of the two French invasions to Mexico, and it was occupied for a year by U.S. troops during the Mexican-American War. Akin to Jalisco’s Guadalajara, Mexico City thrived under Porfirio Díaz’s rule, developing modern infrastructure – schools, hospitals, factories; Colonia Roma and Reforma Avenue represent the durable results of this period’s transformation. Throughout the Mexican Revolution, the city’s center suffered artillery attacks, causing numerous civilian casualties and the loss of trust in Francisco I. Madero’s government. The Tlatelolco massacre of students ahead of the 1968 Olympic Games took place in the capital. Its landmarks include Ángel de la Independencia, Zócalo, Chapultepec Castle, Basilica of Our Lady of Guadalupe, Estadio Azteca, Torre Latinoamericana, and Monumento a la Revolución.

          Some folks may have viewed her interest in Mexico’s history and culture as peculiar at best – even inappropriate, considering her current job – but she had actually applied for the DEA’s program largely because she had wanted to see Mexico… and because her professor had nagged her about it. The downsides to her stay in Mexico had been, in no particular order, Maia’s absence, her obnoxious roommate – whom she had made great efforts to tolerate – having to wake up early, and having to deal with American bureaucrats on a daily basis. Alas, Magnussen chose to give Breslin the benefit of the doubt and wait for her beloved colleagues to materialize. Worst case scenario? The display of benevolence would delay her drive to Guadalajara by twenty minutes. Breslin would pay for his imprudence.

          Better make myself at home. Magnussen claimed her territory by dragging a chair to one of the columns, cringing internally at the deafening, metallic noise it produced. Elegant. She plopped down, sagging, carefully adjusted her shoulder holster, fished in the pocket of her leather jacket for the solution to all of her problems, and lit a cigarette with her recently returned Colibri. She inhaled deeply, allowing her eyes to fall shut. Finally. Magnussen had been itching for a cigarette for hours. She blew the smoke through her slightly pursed lips, watching it fill the air. She lifted her feet to rest them against the pillar and examined her shoes. Hmm… Should’ve worn sneakers.

          Maybe she was just being dramatic, and the situation wasn’t that dire. It’s been known to happen, occasionally. Magnussen had somewhat enjoyed Heath’s compliment-improvisational skills; probably the roughest five minutes of his whole life. Breslin’s intimidation fiasco with his special agent rank, Texan accent, and mustache hadn’t been terrible, either. Magnussen hated to admit that she had contemplated his lesson. You put guys in custody, use leverage to get them to flip on the next asshole, and you move up the chain. His methods evidently diverged from Kiki’s and his partners’ – not that they were an example to follow – and even from Magnussen’s. For one, she preferred to capture criminals alive; it had been scientifically proven that they were much more useful with a pulse… and intel.

          Breslin and Camarena weren’t that dissimilar; sharp, stubborn, ambitious, naïve. She had seen where ambition led in this job. Or was death simply an occupational hazard? Magnussen ought to remind herself that she was assessing two different agents. She and Kiki had been close friends. With Breslin, she was barely at an offered-a-lighter level. If things had been complicated before, for the Guadalajara team, then they were worse now, for Leyenda. How could they dismantle a powerful cartel protected by the government and law enforcement agencies? The perfect conspiracy, with Félix Gallardo at the top of the pyramid, untouchable. What guarantee did Leyenda have that they wouldn’t end up like Camarena? Gallardo was as captivating as he was dangerous; distinct from other drug traffickers. In fact, given his intriguing evolution, he wasn’t a typical narco at all. Graduated high school, studied business in college, ex MFJP, former bodyguard for the governor of Sinaloa, godfather to his son, the brains behind the most notorious drug trafficking organization in Mexico, and the last cartel leader standing. Quite the résumé.

          Magnussen also had her skepticism about the Mexican cops in the task force. No hard feelings. Mexican police were infamous for their corruption. She was unsure about who had recruited them; her money was on Breslin. Speak of the devil… She and Mejía had passed by one another at the airport; Magnussen wondered whether he would recognize her. She yawned, unnecessarily covering her mouth with her left fist. Oh, well. She wasn’t too preoccupied by the answer to that question. She would sleep fine at night, once the new place curse had vanished. Damn. The homecoming of Magnussen’s cynicism. Positive aspects, positive aspects… She was genuinely keen on meeting Petski, since he had worked with Kiki in Calexico, prior to his transfer to Guadalajara.

          Magnussen didn’t have the vaguest idea where to begin. The entire mission seemed like an impossible maze. Her instinct told her to start with the guards that had been present at the 881 Lope de Vega house; they must have seen and heard more than anybody else had. Easier to blackmail, usually underestimated by the capos… Okay, pause. Magnussen needed to hit the brakes and reacquaint herself with Mexico. She was still unclear about the amount of independence that she had within the operation. With Breslin calling the shots? Little chance of her escaping being handcuffed to a desk. Not to mention that she was young, foreign, and inexperienced. Nails in the coffin.

          Magnussen quietly hummed the tune of Depeche Mode’s Puppets, longing for her stereo. We’ll be reunited soon, my love. The band was releasing their fifth album in less than two weeks; something to look forward to. My neighbors will despise me… unless they know what good music is. She would not accept any Depeche Mode slander in her atheist household… Well, apartment.

          The distant sound of footsteps and the chatter of people caught her feeble attention. She innately tensed, setting her feet down and crossing one leg over the other, and turned towards the source of the noise, eyes fixed on the hall entrance, in anticipation. A group of four individuals emerged, comprised of men she gradually identified as Mejía, Garza, Álvarez, and Méndez. The gang froze in confusion upon noticing her. Magnussen had immediately recognized Mejía; his stupid mustache was hard to miss. Once you see it, you can’t unsee it. She concluded that the pictures in the Leyenda file were misleading. The mass of muscles on Álvarez’s body rivaled that of the gel in his hair. Méndez was still bald, yet shorter than she had assumed, and sported the beginning of a beer belly. Garza pointed his prominent nose in her direction, as if to sniff her like a bloodhound. He also had a bit of stubble. Is that on purpose? The ex MFJP cop must have been as dangerous as he appeared – a stark contrast from Mejía, whose cocky attitude radiated like a nuclear powerplant. Jalisco State Police shit.

          ‘Bienvenidos, chicos,’ greeted Magnussen, dramatically raising her arms in the air, flashing a sarcastic smirk. (Welcome, boys.)

          Mejía let out a patronizing chuckle. Judging by the reception, the others didn’t find anything comical. Truthfully, neither did Magnussen.

          ‘¿Estas pérdida, cariño?’, inquired Mejía, flirtatiously. (Are you lost, sweetheart?)

          So, he didn’t recognize her. Kinda embarrassing for a guy in law enforcement. What is it with these dudes and “sweetheart”, anyway? Universal ape brain.

          ‘Espero que no,’ droned Magnussen, wryly, faking disappointment. (I sure hope not.)

          After all of the trouble that she had gone through… That would be unfortunate. She took a drag from her cigarette while Palacios and Morales joined the party, equally confused. Garza subtly moved his hand behind his back, to rest it on the weapon that he undoubtedly had tucked in his jeans.

          ‘I got one, too,’ informed Magnussen, playfully, opening the lapel of her jacket to show them the gun nestled in her shoulder holster.

          Garza’s grip visibly tightened, in warning. Álvarez crossed his burly arms over his chest, on guard, glaring daggers into her. His biceps were the size of her head, and they could probably easily squash it. How macho. Magnussen didn’t flinch.

          ‘What the fuck is going on?’, demanded an alarmed Palacios, whose innovative contribution to the team was a goatee.

          Morales, the second youngest member of Leyenda and the second clean-shaven one, lowered his sunglasses on his nose, to take a better look at her. He was handsome and… wore a light blue shirt with black polka dots? Fascinating. Magnussen calmly concealed her weapon, as a sign of peace, having no intention of shooting anyone… yet.

          Breslin’s messianic arrival, followed by Orozco’s and Petski’s, interrupted the ensuing gun measuring contest. Orozco physically resembled a kitten and had a finer mustache than Mejía did. Petski seemed to be the tallest and the only blonde. Breslin walked past the guys, unperturbed, his aviators hanging by the neck of his red T-shirt.

          ‘I see y’all met the rookie,’ he commented, indignantly, side-eyeing Magnussen.

          Someone’s holding a grudge… and nothing else. A wave of incredulous, flabbergasted reactions erupted, and Magnussen felt like she was in middle school.

          ‘Bullshit!’, dismissed Méndez.

          ‘This is the new kid?’, checked Mejía.

          ‘No fucking way!’, protested Palacios.

          Breslin remained silent, continuing to pin photographs of drug traffickers to the corkboard. Félix Gallardo, Esparragoza Moreno, Carrillo Fuentes, Acosta, Palma, two Arellano Félix brothers. Interesting choices for foreplay. The Leyenda boys scattered, either occupying chairs or leaning against columns, ingesting the information, and maintaining a reasonable distance from Magnussen.

          ‘Alright,’ announced Breslin, spinning on his heel to face the audience, fumbling with a lighter.

          A fit of jealousy shot through Magnussen at the sight of it. He had replaced her so swiftly and cruelly. She was utterly devastated, so she resumed her favorite unhealthy activity. Wound licking disguised as smoking.

          ‘Intel was solid,’ he went on, tone rising a quarter of an octave, supposedly to indicate contentment, ‘Carrillo Fuentes bought six 727’s at the auction in Belize. Thanks to our lock-picking artist, we put transponders on all of them. If we’re able to track Fuentes’ movements, it could lead us to the Federation’s distribution hub.’

          Petski’s congratulatory slap on Mejía’s shoulder enlightened Magnussen as to the identity of the “lock-picking artist.” In her expert opinion, Breslin didn’t deserve the voice that he possessed. She figured that he had already been kicked out of the curly hair community for exceeding the limit of conservatism accepted.

          ‘Does this tie into the intel about Gallardo meeting with the Cali cartel in Panama?’, speculated Morales, rubbing his chin, reflective.

          Wait, what? Magnussen swatted away an annoying fly, tsking in frustration at the distraction. Fuck off. You traded the smell of shit for the smell of cigarettes?

          ‘Sure, they could be related,’ conceded Breslin before civilly addressing Álvarez, ‘Mat, you wanna fill us in?’

          ‘Sorry, chief,’ replied Álvarez, using the privilege of sitting down to stretch his legs, ‘Gallardo’s underground again. No one is keeping the plazas in check. Tijuana and Sinaloa have been executing each other’s men for weeks, but… Esparragoza Moreno, alias El Azul, is allegedly wanted by the DFS.’

          Magnussen scanned the room and found herself staring at Morales, who was insistently scribbling on a small piece of paper on his thigh, uncomfortably hunched over. Everybody else was immersed in the details being fed to them. Depressing.

          ‘No shit,’ chided Breslin, his surprise mirrored by most of the chaps’ expressions.

          ‘DFS eating one of their own?’, articulated Orozco, suspicious.

          A smug Álvarez nodded in confirmation. Jesus fucking Christ. It’s a façade. Magnussen discarded the butt of her cigarette on the ground and crushed it under her shoe, miraculously suppressing the urge to intervene.

          ‘The Feds can’t get their hands on him,’ declared Breslin, sternly, ‘Moreno’s gotta be taken into American custody and interrogated, same as Zuno.’

          Okay, hit the brakes, cowboy. Carrillo Fuentes buying planes, Acosta rebelling in Juárez, tensions between Sinaloa and Tijuana, Gallardo vacationing in Panama… Something’s up. The Thin Man’s scheming right under our fucking noses. Magnussen nervously wiped her sweaty palms on her pants, gathering the courage to speak.

          ‘My informant says Moreno is going to be in Mexico City next week,’ added Méndez, backed by the team’s murmurs of approval.

          ‘Good,’ emphasized Breslin, ‘We’re gonna bag the fucking asshole.’

          Incapable of restraining her candidness, Magnussen involuntarily snorted at the sheer absurdity of the discussion. She was starting to understand why Leyenda’s progress had been slow and scarce. Planning abductions over lunch in abandoned buildings granted the operation filibuster potential. Forget the corrupt Mexican system. The U.S. had an immense management issue. Alas, her act of defiance didn’t go unnoticed. How could it?

          ‘Got a problem, Rookie?’, asked Breslin, sounding like a disgruntled teacher.

          All eyes turned to her, gazes varying. A sane person would have shut up. Well, not Magnussen. Her heart hammered against her ribcage as she hesitantly glanced at her colleagues. The shift in the atmosphere was palpable. I’ll be crucified… but when did that ever stop me?

          ‘I think you’re overestimating Azul’s role in the Camarena story,’ objected Magnussen, coolly.

          ‘Oh, really?’, jeered Breslin, impassive.

          ‘Not a single witness placed him at the scene of the kidnapping,’ she elaborated, adamantly, ‘His voice isn’t on the tapes, either. He is in the DFS, and it’s not the first time the DFS engages in cannibalism. Their former commander Miguel Nazar Haro was corrupt. He’s still at large. Are we just going after everyone associated with the DFS?’

          ‘Why not?’, retorted Álvarez, snickering.

          ‘Fine by me,’ decreed Breslin, shrugging, ‘Moreno was arrested twice for drug trafficking in the past, and he’s been linked to the Guadalajara cartel. That’s good enough for me.’

          ‘Maybe I got the wrong memo,’ reiterated Magnussen, audacious, ‘Leyenda’s purpose is to bring to justice those involved in the Camarena case, not to imprison every drug trafficker in Mexico–’

          ‘You’re lecturing us–,’ interrupted Mejía, offended.

          ‘I wasn’t done talking,’ she snapped, harshly, then proceeded, stolid, despite the startled reactions, ‘Azul won’t rat out anybody, especially from the government. If the DFS want to arrest him, let them. Interfering will cause a shitstorm and blow whatever cover we have left… I think subtlety would be wise. He ends up in jail? He’ll probably escape. Díaz-Parada and Sicilia Falcón proved it’s possible… Moreno’s not a gynecologist. He’s an active-duty intelligence officer.’

          ‘So was Verdin,’ recalled Garza, indifferent, ‘And he talked.’

          ‘Because you shot him,’ argued a pragmatic Morales, ‘Not one of our best moments. Verdin definitely put us on the cartel’s radar.’

          ‘Arrive at your point,’ ordered Breslin, impatiently.

          Magnussen briefly lost track of the conversation, too stunned by the fact that Morales sided with her. They fucking shot their prisoner? She released a long, exasperated sigh. Here we go. Cops famously respond positively to brutal honesty.

          ‘Moreno’s a diversion,’ she affirmed, warily, ‘The reports I read mentioned Gallardo paying a visit to Juan Nepomuceno Guerra in Matamoros… That can’t be a coincidence. The Gulf is the only independent cartel in the country. If he lured them into the Federation, Gallardo would have a monopoly on the Mexican route and could outmaneuver the Colombians. He’s not ignoring the conflict between the Tijuana and Sinaloa plazas. He's intentionally focusing on Juárez. That’s why Carrillo Fuentes is buying planes.’

          ‘Interesting theory, Rookie,’ concluded Breslin, condescendingly, lighting a cigarette.

          ‘We don’t have sufficient intel to back this up,’ reminded Palacios, skeptical, scratching his goatee, ‘We act, we get burned.’

          Inquisition trauma. Bad for business. Although, the Mexicans in the operation were exposed to greater risk than their American counterparts.

          ‘Gallardo’s not a stupid man,’ stressed Magnussen, stubbornly.

          ‘He did kill a U.S. federal agent,’ challenged an obnoxious Orozco, earning an eyeroll from her.

          Extremely debatable. The Mexican government was a more plausible candidate.  

          ‘That’s a… gross oversimplification,’ scolded Magnussen, increasingly irritated.

          Whoever disagrees is a narrow-minded moron. Some of her coworkers clearly couldn’t see the forest for the trees.

          ‘What are you proposing?’, taunted Méndez, cutting to the chase, ‘That we go after Guerra, too?’

          ‘Fuck no,’ scoffed Magnussen, scowling, ‘Guerra’s experienced; been in the opium game since the Prohibition, so… when most of you were born.’ She smirked mischievously at the choir of groans and chuckles. ‘Guerra has political connections on both sides of the border. His brother was head of the state district attorney’s office in Tamaulipas during Balboa’s administration in the 1960s. His nephew is the mayor of Matamoros… Guerra won’t spend a day in prison… However, the ex Interpol chief is currently on the run and he’s been tied to the Camarena case… and there’s extradition rumors for Arturo Durazo Moreno; another former DFS commander.’

          Silence finally settled, and Magnussen pondered whether the team was considering her input. She used the opportunity to ruffle her bangs – careful with her brows – and to check her watch. Hurry up, lads. I got a 6-hour drive to Guadalajara.

          ‘Well, you did your homework, Rookie,’ remarked Breslin, whose tone fueled a creeping impression within Magnussen that her efforts had been in vain, ‘Can’t argue with that. I’ll make sure to write your opinions in the suggestion box.’

          Mejía burst into exaggerated laughter, clapping his hands. Easily entertained… or he wants to fuck Breslin.

          ‘Unless Agent Magnussen has other conspiracies that she would like to share,’ bargained Garza, foxily, flaunting a shit-eating grin that Magnussen desired to scrub away with insecticide.

          ‘Last one,’ assured Magnussen, feigning gullibility, ‘You get laid regularly.’

          Orozco, Morales, Álvarez, and Méndez joined Mejía’s louder and louder laughing fit. Garza’s grin gradually disappeared. Even the corners of Breslin’s mouth inched upwards.

          ‘Alright, fellas,’ jested Breslin while the chaos steadily died down, ‘Let’s wrap this up. Back to Guadalajara tomorrow. We’ll update you on any developments on the Carrillo Fuentes lead. Mat, stay on Moreno. Esparragoza, that is. Hopefully, we’re gonna bag him soon.’

          ‘Got it, boss,’ acknowledged Álvarez, obediently.

          The gang took that as a sign to start packing. What a bummer of a convention. Magnussen’s expectations hadn’t been high, anyway. As far as first briefings went, this one had been decent. Morales headed directly to Breslin and Petski, who were unpinning pictures and removing the corkboard from the wall. Unfortunately, she couldn’t hear what they were saying. Classified gossip. Palacios, Garza, and Méndez gathered the chairs – including hers – chatting among themselves.

          In less than five minutes, the majority of members vacated the room. Magnussen cocked a curious eyebrow – bracing herself for impact – when Morales walked towards her. Tall and in shape, he had a confident stroll and dimples in his cheeks. His sunglasses now rested atop his wavy, brown hair.

          ‘Hi, I’m Manny,’ he greeted, friendly, stopping in front of her and extending his hand, ‘Welcome to Leyenda.’

          ‘Thanks,’ muttered Magnussen, reluctantly shaking his warm hand, ‘Did you lose a bet, Manny?’

          ‘No, I haven’t,’ he chuckled, offering her a walkie and a note, ‘Here’s your station and a list of everybody’s number.’

          Oh. That’s what he had been writing earlier. Awfully kind. Magnussen deemed it as youth solidarity.

          ‘Thanks,’ she droned, gaze softening, ‘Pretty useful.’

          ‘How has Mexico been treating you?’, inquired Manny, politely.

          ‘Can’t complain,’ admitted Magnussen, contemplative, her arms half circling her waist, ‘Still adjusting… Indulge me for a second. How the hell did you become part of the operation?’

          ‘Graduated ITESO,’ he informed, proudly, ‘Networks and Telecommunications Engineering.’

          ‘You’re overqualified for this job,’ quipped Magnussen, peering at him from underneath her lashes.

          ‘No, no,’ chortled Manny, evidently flattered, ‘But for what it’s worth, I think you were right about Gallardo. Impressive analysis.’

          ‘What is it worth?’, she teased, inclining her head.

          ‘Nothing,’ he stated, sincerely, ‘Walt is in charge. It’s difficult to get him to backtrack… He has good calls, too. The system is tough.’

          ‘Tell me about it,’ huffed Magnussen, wryly.

          ‘We should hang out sometime,’ he invited, jovially, ‘Go for a drink.’

          ‘Hell yeah,’ she approved, nodding eagerly, ‘I like drinking.’

          ‘That’s the Mexican spirit!’, extolled Manny, grinning, beginning to depart, ‘I’ll see you around, Agent!… Cool T-shirt, by the way!’

          The ghost of a genuine smile lingered on Magnussen’s face.

TAGLIST: @a-dash-of-random-magic​​​ @agirllovespaghetti​​​ @amidalaraan​​​ @artthurshelby​​​ @buttercup--bee​​ @cleastrnge​​ @dameronology​ @frodo-sam​​ @itssmashedavo​​ @ladygangsters​​​ @maevesdarling​​​ @maevemills​​ @maharani-radha​​​ @mitchi-c​​​ @moonlight-prose​​ @nicolettegreen​​​ @pascalisthepunkest​​ @queenofthefaceless​​​ @revolution-starter​​ @sullho​​ @themangolorian​​ @tisbeautifulfreedom​​​ @qoedameron​​

END THE WAR ON DRUGS:​ Equity Organization & Drug Policy Alliance

READ MORE: Magnussen’s T-shirt, DEA employment requirements, Nixon’s hyperhidrosis, Mexico City, La Corriente Cevichería Nais, Museo de Cera

#narcos fanfic #narcos mexico #narcos mexico fanfic #walt breslin #walt breslin x oc #walt breslin/oc #walt breslin x reader #walt breslin/reader #ossie mejía #danilo garza #sal orozco #amat palacios #daryl petski #ed heath #scoot mcnairy #tori's beholden

[mara-xx217]

Hello there, if it isn’t a bother can I request a Yandere trickster x reader, where the reader knew Ji woon since childhood and has been completely oblivious about his feelings for her towards adulthood. To the point where he’s fed up with it and decides to kidnap her and shows his love by force? In hopes that it will finally get her to love him.

Before I wrote Monsters' Favorite, I wasn't sure how I felt about the Trickster. But now? I absolutely adore him! It's no bother at all and I've been thinking about writing something like this at some point anyways soo...

Warnings: Obsessive/Possessive Behavior, Toxic Relationship, Unrequited Love, Drugging, Kidnapping, Very Light Somnophilia

Ji-Woon always wanted to be in the center of attention as a child. He was a good performer, and he could captivate a crowd easily, whether they be tourists or local people looking to forget their troubles for a time. He was a damn good knife thrower, and he had the poise and smile of a star in the making. Everyone knew this, and they all fawned over him for that reason. Everyone, except for you.

You have been his friend since childhood, someone that tempered his expectations of not only those around him, but of him, himself. Don’t push yourself too hard! You’re gonna regret it, one of these days! You often scolded him. Ji-Woon had a crush on you ever since you were small children, something that hasn’t dissipated nor waned in the slightest after all these years. You were always there to help him pick up the pieces whenever the expectations of his family threatened to snap him in half. You always offered him a genuine smile, and told him that he was perfect the way he was and Screw what those talent guys say! They’re obviously blind if they can’t see how awesome you are!

All he ever wanted to do was to impress you. To get you to understand how he truly felt about you. You’d always say Hey! You don’t need all those fancy knife tricks to win a girl! You’re as smart as you are handsome! Once you get out of this little town, you won’t be able to fend them off! Just you wait! But… he didn’t want any other girl. Ji-Woon wanted you… And you were too thick headed to understand that. As much as he loved you, your obliviousness was as endearing as it was infuriating. He will get you to understand how much he adores you, even if that might take some time and careful planning…

You haven’t seen Ji-Woon in years, though the two of you did keep in contact through some sneaky letter writing, much to his agent’s ire. From the photos you sent him over the years, he was stunned that you had only gotten more and more beautiful. A part of him was devastated that the two of you had been separated for so long, but the fact that you never forgot about him and always tried to keep in contact with him despite his agent constantly trying to sabotage your efforts meant more to him than you’d ever know. But, it doesn’t have to be this way. No, surely you feel the same way about him, too. Right?! Otherwise, you wouldn’t have stayed by his side all of these years. Even if you're the dumbest person alive…

He was at his breaking point. Ever since that “tragic” fire that killed his band mates in NO SPIN, you’ve been desperate to see him. You’ve told him so! And he was desperate to see you, too. More than you could ever imagine. Until now… Ji-Woon’s patience has run thin. He can’t stand to be away from you for a moment longer, no matter the consequences. He has to make you his, and he must make you understand just how he feels about you. No more skirting around the issue. No more bullshit. All this fame? It means nothing if he can’t be by your side. And he can’t take it anymore.

He knew your current address. A little apartment complex in a city that he couldn’t care less about. It was nowhere near good enough for you… Ji-Woon despised that he had to bundle up and hide away from the world whenever he went out. I wonder what these people would do if they knew they were mere feet from the Trickster..? Would they all go mad, like a rabid crowd of fans? Would they even care at all? Usually the thought of a mediocre response would make him feel sick to his stomach but… he couldn’t care less. Not when you were so tantalizingly close.

This is it… Ji-Woon’s palms were sweating, swiftly becoming clammy in the chilly evening breeze. Of all the times he’s been on stage, in front of thousands, hell, hundreds of thousands, of people, he’s never felt this level of anxiety or uncertainty. What if you weren’t home? She’ll be there. What if there’s someone else there? There won’t be anyone else. And if there was? I’ll kill them for getting in the way…

He had a white knuckled grip on the chloroform laced cloth in his pocket. Ji-Woon raises a clenched fist and bangs it on your door loudly. It felt as though he was going to crawl out of his skin. He was becoming too excited, but how could he help himself? Finally, finally he would be able to show you exactly how much you mean to him. It’s all he ever wanted, even from a young age. You were always the first and foremost thought in his mind, and if Ji-Woon has to spend so much as another minute without you by his side, someone’s going to get hurt…

Perhaps he was a little too eager. You had barely opened your door when you were suddenly shoved back inside and pinned to the floor, a foul smelling cloth pressed firmly to your nose and mouth. You didn’t have the opportunity to fight back. Before panic could truly set in, you were already falling unconscious, going limp underneath who you thought was a complete stranger.

There was an underlying terror that plagued your groggy mind. You knew you were in danger, yet your body refused to listen to even the simplest commands. You couldn’t move, you couldn’t speak, you could barely see or hear… It was as though someone had shoved dry cotton balls into your mouth and ears, leaving you voiceless and everything muffled. How many times did you fall unconscious? When you finally began to break free from your drowsy state, you struggled to sit up, only to be gently pushed back down onto your back.

“You don’t want to do that! You need to focus on getting some rest, alright?” That voice…

You furrowed your brows. W-What..? It can’t be. Can it..? Blinking rapidly, you stare bleary eyed at your captor. But… Wait…

“J-Ji-Woon..?” Your throat and sinuses burned, causing you to cringe. As your eyes properly came into focus, you- Sitting on the edge of the bed was- It was-!

Ji-Woon was frozen for a brief moment, heart jumping up into his throat as you spoke his name. Colour rose to his cheeks, making him feel giddy and lightheaded. He found himself smoothing down your hair, and nearly fainted when you reflexively leaned into his touch. Your face was flushed, and you were breathing heavily through your mouth. Butterflies twisted his stomach into knots. You are so beautiful…

“Shh… It’s alright… You’re safe here.” The already drugged alertness that you were experiencing quickly faded as you relaxed under his touch. A part of him was surprised to see you so… calm, in spite of the drugging, of course. But then again, why wouldn’t you be put to ease? You trusted Ji-Woon, and even though the situation blatantly pointed to him being the culprit, you were too intoxicated to connect the dots. It has been too long since you’ve met in person, and all you could think about was how happy you were that he was there to protect you, not realizing just how wrong you really were.

“Mmm… Feel s-sick…” You whispered softly, allowing your eyes to slip shut. You felt so disoriented and confused, sick to your stomach, and yet… strangely content and warm, too. Something was wrong with you, but you didn’t feel scared anymore. Not when someone you cared and trusted so much about was right here beside you. Ji-Woon cupped one of your flushed cheeks, gently stroking just under your eye with the pad of his thumb. A small part of him was guilty for hurting you like this, but an even greater part of him was simply ecstatic that he finally had you here, with him. You were finally here, after so long…

“I know… Don’t worry, you will feel better soon…” He cooed, heart slamming painfully against his ribcage as you relaxed further, lips slightly parted as you sighed softly. Those lips… How many times has he fantasized about kissing you? One too many… But now… You’re here, with him..! Looking as beautiful as the day he left you… “I’ll take care of you... “ Ji-Woon’s face flushed darkly as he inched closer and closer to face, his heart skipping a beat as he hovered his lips just above your own. He… he shouldn’t… but- He needed this…

The kiss was as brief as it was fleeting, much softer than a peck but twice as short. His heart skipped a beat, jumping straight to his head as he carefully studied your reactions. You were pretty out of it, but- Wait. Is- Are you smiling..? Everything else seemed to melt away around the two of you. All the years of loneliness, the unrequited feelings, the pain that he held in his heart all these years- all of it simply vanished as you leaned into his palm, sighing quietly to yourself.

All Ji-Woon wanted was right here before him. You were slipping unconscious once more, but didn’t try fighting it like you did before. He thought you were simply adorable, with you snoring lightly and going completely limp before him. As badly as he wanted you, he decided that could wait. You’re here, and you aren’t going anywhere anytime soon. And besides, he’s hurt you enough as it. For now.

He slips into the bed, curling up beside your relaxed form. It’s just like when we were kids… Those nervous butterflies returned with a vengeance, making him feel jumpy and hypersensitive. Ji-Woon rests his head on his arm, simply observing your sleeping face. You still sleep with your mouth open… He smiles to himself. Some things never change, it would seem. A content silence filled the air. He allowed his own eyes to slip shut. With this, I’ll be her knight in shining armour… She’ll see that I’ll do anything for her, and now she couldn’t possibly be blind to how I feel about her…

All the anxiety he felt evaporated until it was a forgotten memory. Ji-Woon wrapped his arms around you, bringing you close to his chest. You unconsciously clung to him, burying your face into his chest. His love for you swelled to heights he never thought was possible. No, he would never let you go ever again. Everything in his life had no meaning if you weren’t by his side. No matter how long it takes, he will make sure that you understand just what you mean to him. Even if he has to do it by force.

@prettycutebunny

@randomyklol

@kennbb

@furanshinufuransu

@beanie-weenies

#dead by daylight #dbd #dbd the trickster #dbd the trickster x reader #dbd ji woon hak

[ultralovedeluxe]

Yan! Josuke with prompts #19, #44, and #29

Hello everyone! This was requested by @mochimizuki121 , thank you for requesting! Feared that it came out ooc, that’s why it took so long. Not proud of this one, but I hope you enjoy it! 

‘Please don’t cry, show me that smile I love so much!’

‘Did you really think you could escape?’

‘Stop denying our love! Stop denying our future together!’

Warnings: 18 year old Josuke, female reader, yandere behaviors, assault, manipulation, break-up, angst (?), some Okuyasu x reader, ooc, light nsfw, non/dub con, blackmail

  A word to describe Higashikata Josuke would be, emotional. Yes, that’s the perfect way to describe him. He lets his feelings take over in situations, but most importantly, his feelings towards you were getting in the way of his friendship. But he won’t ever admit that

 Yes..emotional was a perfect word to describe Higashikata Josuke..

-

  Here he was again, listening to Okuyasu’s ramblings. Usually Josuke wouldn’t mind listening to his friend, after all it was a delight to hear his friend speak. If only his friend wasn’t talking about how cute you looked when you slept, or what noise you made when he would poke your cheek. It was painful to just keep smiling, seeing your best friend with the girl of his dreams together. Josuke wanted to be happy for his friend, but his jealously kept making it harder for him to just pretend everything’s fine. 

  He couldn’t understand how his friend could mange to get a catch like that. What did Okuyasu have that he didn’t? Wait, he can’t be thinking of something like that, he has to be happy for his friend..

 “You should’ve seen her Josuke! She looked so cute when she came over! She was wearing that necklace I bought her along with a cute skirt, ah she looked amazing! I’m so lucky to have her” Okuyasu said letting out a dreamy sigh, as he continued to walk back home. The poor bastard was too in love to even notice Josuke’s burning rage. Josuke tried not to grit his teeth to what he was hearing, but ended up doing it anyway. Josuke let out a low chuckle, “Wow Okuyasu..that’s sounds great..wish I could’ve seen it too...” he mumbled. “What did you say Josuke?-” Okuyasu asked, looking back towards his pompadour-haired friend who was falling behind. “Nothing” Josuke said a little bit more louder and more clear this time.

 A few more minutes into the walk, Okuyasu kept babbling about you, Josuke was really about to lose his cool; but he didn’t want to hurt his friend. After all he’s supposed to be happy for him. “So as I was saying, I’m thinking of getting her a necklace with those initials-”

“Okuyasu, have you ever imagined [first] with somebody else?” Josuke asked in the friendliest manner possible. Okuyasu looked at Josuke with confusion, “No, why do you ask that?” Josuke shrugged and threw his school bag over his shoulder, “Just curious man, you know [first] is a really cute gal, don’t you wonder how she’d look with somebody else?” Okuyasu shook his head, “No I never thought about it that way..But now that you mention it, she is kind of better than me right?” Okuyasu asked scratching the back of his head lightly. “I don’t know man, well I gotta get home, see ya tomorrow then Okuyasu”

 “Right see ya tomorrow..”

 Unfortunately for Okuyasu, Josuke knew what he was doing.

-

 Today seemed perfect for you. You had woken up extra early just to prepare lunch for Okuyasu. You weren’t an expert on preparing Italian cuisine, but a few tips from Tonio helped you get the hang of it a bit. Either way, Okuyasu is going to eat it since he never brings lunch from home. Feeling satisfied with what you prepared for your boyfriend, you decide it’s time to finally head to school. 

 You didn’t live far from the school, so it was easy to get there in time. You sat near one of the open benches and sat the lunch you prepared earlier this morning. Usually you’d would start working on your homework before class began, but thankfully you’d done it last night; so now all you had to do for the remainder of your free period was wait for Okuyasu. 

  Minutes passed by and you finally saw Okuyasu walk up to campus. The wait was finally over, you ran up to Okuyasu and hugged him tight. “Good morning Oku! How’s Mansaku-san? Oh! Here’s your lunch for today, I stopped by Tonio’s to prepare that Italian dish you liked so much, I know it’s not good as his but-” Okuyasu cut you off, “[first] could we talk real quick?” he asked walking over to sit by a bench nearby. Confused, you follow after him and sit down beside him, “Alright, what is it you want to talk about?”. Okuyasu bit his lip slightly, although it looked as if he was holding back tears, “[first]-chan, you are one of the most amazing people I’ve ever met, but I’m not sure I deserve you as my girlfriend” he said rubbing the back of his neck. You chuckled nervously, “Oku, what are you saying? You know I love you so much-” Cutting you off again, Okuyasu wiped a forming tear from his eye, “I know you love me, and I love you too..but I’m not sure about us. You deserve someone better, I’m sorry [first]-chan, but I want to break up..” and with that Okuyasu got up from the bench and walked away. Leaving you alone with the Italian cuisine in your hands and a broken heart. 

-

  You ate spaghetti that you had eagerly prepared earlier this morning just for your precious..exboyfriend with tears running down your cheeks. Not even after hours of sitting in class thinking about your ex, you still didn’t understand why he broke up with you. You wanted to understand why he did it, but you still couldn’t. Seriously? After all you’ve done for him. You thought your relationship with the male would last, but you guess not. You wiped the tears from your face, the sweater you wore was damp from how much you were wiping your tears. You just couldn’t stop crying, the break up really hurt. Thank god no one else knew of this place in school, you couldn’t even imagine what you’d do if someone saw you like this.

  “[first]-chan is that you!?” you heard a familiar voice call out to you. When you turned around to see who it was, you were met with the pompadour-haired male running down the hill to meet you. “Josuke? What are you doing here?” you asked before frantically wiping the tears from your face. Josuke sat down next to you, “I didn’t see you go through your usual road to lunch, so I went to go look for you..” he said before looking at you more seriously, “[first]-chan, were you crying?” he asked with a concerned tone in his voice. You sniffled “I wasn’t crying, its just allergies..”

 “Bullshit! You’re eyes are red and puffy! Did someone hurt you, tell me their name and I swear I’ll make them pay!” you shook your head and managed to calm Josuke down. “No Josuke it’s not like that, it’s just..Okuyasu broke up with me that’s all..” you couldn’t manage to finish the rest of your sentence before you broke down crying. Josuke gave you a warm embrace, “Shh, it’s okay, I’m here..”  He felt your tears go through his yellow shirt as you kept on sobbing. Josuke let you go and held your face up, “Let it all out [first]-chan” When he saw that you kept sniffling, he sighed and gave you a quick kiss on the forehead, “Please don’t cry [first]-chan, it hurts me so much to see you like this, ah cmon show me that smile I love so much!”. Once Josuke let go of your face, you rubbed your nose and smiled a bit before softly whispering a ‘thanks’. In truth, you still didn’t feel better, but you appreciate that Josuke is trying to at least make you feel something else other than misery.  It was the thought that counted right?

  Meanwhile, Josuke couldn’t be happier. Sure, it hurt to see you cry, but the important thing was is that you were single. And now that he comforted you in a time of crisis, he was sure now that it wouldn’t be long that you would start to feel the same way. 

-

You still felt awful after your breakup with Okuyasu, its been hard especially when hanging out with your friend group. You and Okuyasu still speak to one another, but it’s just not the same. Speaking of which, you’ve been talking to Josuke a lot more lately. Ever since he had helped you get somewhat over your relationship with Okuyasu, he has been glued to your hip. He walks you to class, and always accompanies you for lunch (or anywhere really). You have to admit though, it was annoying at first having Josuke follow you around like a lost puppy, but you soon got used to it. After all, all Josuke wanted to do was help you. You thought it was sweet that Josuke wanted to help you, but that still didn’t explain why he was acting..let’s say odd. 

 Holding you by your hand as you walked by the halls, never inviting the others to hang out during the weekends (and here you thought Okuyasu was his best friend). It was almost as if he always had time for you.

 Oh but that’s just a silly thought. Maybe you were the weird one for thinking that Josuke was acting strange. He’s just being a good friend, that’s all. 

 Josuke is just a really good friend.

-

 The sun was shining bright in Morioh-cho, everything seemed so lively today. Everything from tourists popping out every now and then, to the squeals of teenage boys raging about the latest chapter in Pink Dark Boy. Today seemed like the perfect day for Josuke to finally get something off his chest. He had planned everything out for today. He had invited you over to Tonio’s to hang out for the day, and you had agreed. He had bought you some flowers to give you by the end of the day, he had even asked Rohan to draw something you might like (which the mangaka had reluctantly agreed to). 

 Josuke was prepared, he was oh so sure you were going to say yes. Of course you’re going to be his girlfriend! Why wouldn’t you be? He had hanged out you for the last couple of months, he had given you the right amount of attention you’d ever need. Everything was going according to plan.

.

.

.

“No, I’m sorry Josuke, but it’s a no”

 Josuke couldn't’ believe the words that had just left your lips. No? After all he had done for you, your answer is no? This couldn’t be happening. 

 Josuke shook his head, and quickly rubbed his eyes with his sleeve (trying to hide the fact that he was about to shed a tear). “But why? Am I not enough for you? Is there someone else you like?-” the pompadour haired male asked, trying his best to not let his voice crack. You smiled and shook your head while caressing his cheek with your hand, “Josuke..in all honesty I only see you as a friend, nothing more” you let go of his cheek and sit down on a small gray bench that was near. “Josuke, you are really one of the best friends I could ever ask for, but I just don’t see myself dating you, and besides..” you took and deep breath “Despite all that happened, I’m still in love with Oku, and I don't know maybe I'm just not ready for a relationship at the moment, y'know? But we can still be friends right?" you said, blushing lightly at the thought of your ex boyfriend. You'd expect that Josuke would've taken the rejection lightly, after all you were kind enough to still remain friends with the male.

   Josuke however, did not take the news lightly as you thought he would. Almost immediately, Josuke had grabbed you by your hands and pulled you close to him.  "Why do you still love Okuyasu after he broke your heart!? Why don't you love me, I've done nothing but give you adoration!". You looked at your friend in extreme fear, you didn't know what to do in this situation. "Josuke let me go you're hurting me! If you don't stop I'll-" you stuttered your words out. Josuke was just looking at you with a menacing glare, "Or what? You'll call Okuyasu? Stop thinking about him already! Just date me please, I loved you for so long! Longer than he has" You shook your head, you were starting to get fed up with his behavior, did he not understand what 'no' meant? "I said no Josuke! I don't want to date you! And if you think I will after this you're fucking stupid-!"

    Before you knew it Josuke had slapped you, but due to his strength, the slap didn't feel like a slap at all. "I'm sorry [first]-chan but now you see what happens when you don't just agree with me. You need to stop denying our love! You know you love me, so please stop denying our future together!". You couldn’t believe the words that were coming from Josuke’s mouth. Were these obsessed, disgusting words truly coming from Josuke? Sweet, and caring Josuke. While you were lost in your thoughts, Josuke took this opportunity to grab you and hold you close to his chest. “I’m sorry for hurting you [first]-chan, but what you said really hurt me so I-” he stopped for a second and leaned his head closer to yours just to take a small sniff of your hair. You just smelled so good, he had to do it.  You smelled like the coconut shampoo you had bought recently. And your perfume was different this time too. He knew he could overpower you at any time, so he took his chance and caressed your breasts softly with his hands. Along with this, he rubbed against your backside and groaned into your ear. He imagined it was him thrusting inside you. He imagines how warm you must feel. Or how cute you’d look when you were on the verge of climax.

  Him grinding against you and touching you was the last straw, you knew you had to get away from him. You turned around and looked at Josuke with both disgust and fear, and then you ran. You didn't want to be in his presence any longer. Here you thought that Josuke was a good friend trying to help you in a time you needed the most. But he’s just some asshole who needed to learn when a woman says no is no. How upsetting, you only wished that the incident didn’t exist.

  But for Josuke, those few moments felt almost heavenly. Grinding against you felt so good, he wanted more, but you just had to get away didn’t you? He watched you run off to who knows where. He knew he’d get you eventually, he just had to be patient. But his patience wouldn’t last long.

-

 For at least three weeks you have completely avoided Josuke and your friend group. You ignored all their calls, because the farther you were from Josuke, the safer you felt. You wanted to forget that day you hung out with Josuke. You wished you just never went to that damn Italian restaurant. Maybe then he would never have confessed his ‘love’ for you (that is more obsession than love in your book). Maybe then none of this would have happend. But alas here we are. 

 The telephone rang and you overheard your mother speak with what sounded like Yukako. “[first], dear it’s for you! It’s your friend Yukako!” your mother shouted. You held the phone and answered. “[first]-chan where have you been? Are you okay? We’ve been worried. You didn’t come across a stand user have you?” Yukako asked concerned. You lied, “No, I haven’t, trust me even if I did I wouldn’t notice. I’m fine I’ve just been..stressed, that’s all..” you lied, you didn’t want anyone to know about your situation with Josuke. “Well that’s good. So I was wondering if you wanted to hang out with me and Koichi-kun today. We were thinking of going to the beach just for the weekend”. 

 At first you were hesitant, you didn’t want to see Josuke, but you did want to see your friends since you missed them. And if it was just Yukako, Koichi, and potentially Okuyasu, then you were down to go. You sighed and agreed. It wouldn’t hurt to see your friends once more, and to be honest you were excited.

-

 Yukako planned on picking you up and then walking to the beach, which you had agreed on. However, when she went to pick you up, she had brought some company. She brought Koichi (of course), Okuyasu, and to your horror, Josuke. Not once did Yukako mention that she was bringing Josuke along. Throughout the whole car ride you felt uncomfortable. You felt Josuke’s eyes watching your every move. It didn’t help that everyone else was having fun, while you were paranoid.

 Arriving at the beach, things got worse. Josuke was behind you at all times, and really if people weren’t around you would have yelled at him to leave you alone. Unfortunately you couldn’t do that. Not with Okuyasu and the rest of your friends here at least.

 You excused yourself to the bathroom just to get away from Josuke, and you could say that those three minutes you spent alone in the bathroom, were the best minutes you had in your life up until this point. You then heard the doorknob jiggle, so you walked over to it and unlocked it. “Yukako is that you? I’m almost done let me just-” you gasped at the sight, but before you could react, Josuke had covered your mouth and locked you both in the bathroom. 

 You whimpered and tried to scream but it was no use, Josuke was using Crazy Diamond to close your mouth. You heard Josuke chuckle, “You know its really cute when you think you can run away from your future boyfriend [first]-chan. Did you really think you could escape me?” he said. You felt as if he was mocking you. Things escalated from bad to worse as Josuke began to kiss your neck. Kisses went from heated bites on your neck, then sloppy, inexperienced kisses from Josuke. He had your breasts exposed, since he ripped your top immediately. You tried to remain emotionless throughout this whole session, but Josuke noticed, so he pinched your nipple to get a reaction. And a reaction he got as you released a muffled moan from your covered lips. “Please stop..” you whimpered.

 You heard Okuyasu shout from outside, “Hey [first]-chan! Are you good in there?”. You wanted to cry for help, but Josuke bent you over and slapped your ass, “Go ahead doll, tell him you’re okay..” he whispered. Crazy Diamond lowered it’s hand from your mouth to let you speak. Josuke raised your head up, “And remember, if you yell for help, I’ll open this door right now and show Okuyasu how much of a whore you look-”

 “I-i’m okay! Just a bit dizzy! I’ll be out soon!” you told him, you didn’t want Okuyasu to see you like this. “Okay! Just call me if you need anything” and with that you didn’t hear from the husky voiced male anymore, but you heard Josuke whisper in your ear,

  “That’s my good girl...”

#yandere imagines #yandere x reader #yandere jjba #yandere josuke #yandere jojo's bizarre adventure #yandere josuke higashikata #jjba imagines #josuke higashitaka #yandere headcanons #Jojo no Kimyou na Bouken #JoJo's Bizarre Adventure #jojo x reader #yandere josuke x reader #not proud of this one but oh well

[theonewiththefanfics]

Heartbreak For A Gift (Part 1/?)

Synopsis: Sometimes relationships start off like love stories in books. And sometimes they fall apart in a minute.

(Kind of an AU! I guess??)

Pairing: Harry Styles x fem!Reader

Genre: angst bruh

Warnings: swearing, sadness, angst, but nothing else that I can remember. Minimal editing

Word count: 2547

A/N: Please note I don’t know what the situation is between Harry and Olivia, if it’s a stunt or they’re actually dating. Whatever the case do not harass them. This is fiction and only for the purposes of the story. If they’re actually together - GOOD FOR THEM!!! No one is entitled to other people’s private lives!

Can be read as a one-shot if ya want, but I might turn this into a very small series cause I already have ideas as to where to go further with this, so hit me up if that’s what you’d like :)

If you know you’re a part of my tag list and see you’ve been crossed out, it means I can’t tag you for whatever reason. If you still would like to be a part of my tags please message me with your previous username and updated so I can update my lists :)

When she’d first said yes to going out with Harry, she’d had zero ideas as to who he really was. Well, that was a lie, she obviously knew of him, it’s not like she completely lived under a rock, and she’d seen a couple of his interviews, but 'One Direction' or Harry Styles as a solo artist hadn’t been that big of parts of her life, so she didn’t really care much for it.        They’d met at a bookstore on a sunny day in London. That’d been a good day. Her boss had let her go home a bit earlier than usual, the weather was warm, but not it’s-so-warm-I’m-sweating-my-ass-off kind of warm, sunglasses covering her eyes and hair free as the warm summer winds blew through her locks she was walking beside the Thames on her way inside the heart of the city.        Because she had a little bit more free time, she decided to pop into Waterstones, which was generally not a good idea for Y/N to do if she had things in store for the day; this time she could spend the rest of the evening if she wanted to, browsing books and living her best life.        Surprisingly for London, that particular Waterstones, even though it was in a densely populated area, was pretty empty, so Y/N felt free to skim through the options without having to press through a crowd of people to find the next section.        As she scanned what the shelves of New-Adult fiction offered, a man also came to look at the books. He stayed a bit further away, but he was certainly someone who caught people’s attention with the bright green daisy-print covered T-shirt, chequered shorts and the three scrunchies on his wrist.        The thing was as much as he’d grabbed Y/N's attention, she was more interested in the Waterstones exclusive edition of a book she’d been dying to buy, so when she saw it just sitting on the shelf, a small gasp escaped her lips.        Two eyes were immediately on her, and Y/N could feel them slip back onto her form from time to time as she greedily paged through the book, but she couldn’t say her own Y/E/C eyes didn’t flit over to the man as well.        He had a small bun on the top of his head, curly hair pushed away from the face, cheekbones for days, which were shaved and smooth and perfectly groomed brows arching over what seemed to be green orbs which were looking at the spine of a crime book way too intensely for it to be genuine interest. All in all, his side profile would be that of one of the characters Y/N’d simp over in a book, let alone the nails painted all colours of the rainbow which made her happy because nothing was better to see someone sticking it to the patriarchy.        But their little meet-cute was interrupted as an employee apologised while he tried to squeeze past them with a giant cart filled with new release books, and almost like a lost puppy, she started to follow the stacks of books when a hand on her shoulder made her spin around only to be faced with the man. She instantly recognised his face, but, at the same time, couldn’t really pinpoint what it was about him that was so familiar.

       “Sorry,” he said in a rough voice. “But you left this behind.”        And in his hands was the Waterstones exclusive.        Y/N’s eyes widened as she gingerly took it from him. “Oh my god, thank you! I’ve got no idea how I let it out of my fingers.”        He chuckled, motioning with his chin to the employee disappearing by the corner. “I’d say you got distracted.”        “Yeah, a little.” She bit her lip and drummed her nails against the cover of the book. “Well, uh… thank you. For not grabbing it for yourself.”        But he just lifted his hand. “More of a Murakami kind of a man.”        “Yes, well, I,” she nodded towards the book in her own hand, “like to read about people living out my dreams.”        He raised his eyebrow. “It’s a murder mystery.”        “Your point?”        “Would you say I have issues then if I wanted to ask you out on a date?”        Y/N’s heart stuttered in her chest, but he looked so nervous, so genuinely open and almost scared, she couldn’t feel any ill intentions from him, so she tapped her chin a bit as if contemplating before saying, “No. I’d say you have good taste actually.’        The relieved laugh he let out made him seem even prettier than Y/N already thought he was.        He extended his palm towards her, swaying on the balls of his feet a bit. “ ‘M Harry. Would probably be proper to know my name before we go anywhere further.”        “Y/N.” She smiled and clasped his hand in hers. “And it would probably be proper to know I was kidding about the whole ‘watching others live out my dreams’. People living out my dreams are actually in the books having hot sex with Fae.”        His laughter was loud and sudden, making Y/N duck down like she was in her Uni library and the librarians would come and shush them. But now, almost two years later since they’d first met, there was no sign of those butterflies she’d felt in the middle of the thriller section of Waterstones. Now Y/N was sitting by a large table, body slowly numbing as was her mind to keep the pain from her heart spreading. Whatever Jeff was talking about now, she didn’t hear. There were eyes on her, had to be to gauge her reaction, but they wouldn’t get anything more than slightly parted lips and a blank stare turned towards the marbled top.        She knew Harry was nervous; from her peripheral vision, she saw his thumb scraping at the rest of his nail lacquer, chips of pastel yellow and green polish flaking off and floating to the carpeted floor.        Y/N didn’t like LA. She’d never wanted to go there. Maybe as a tourist for a couple of weeks sometime down the line, but because of Harry and his commitment to ‘Don’t Worry, Darling’ and because he’d basically pleaded with her for days on end, she’d agreed to move there with him for the time he was shooting the movie.        It’s not that the city wasn’t beautiful. The sun, the sea, the greenery surrounding her was absolutely breath-taking, but it was the people that she didn’t really mesh with. Sure, she knew dating Harry came with a lot of what LA’s society was like. The need to look absolutely physically perfect to match the unachievable barbie standard, the fake niceness people usually exhibited just to get something for themselves or possibly raise them higher on the popularity scale, but Harry had always wiped away those doubts. But now all of that seemed like one big lie. He’d told her he didn’t care for any of it, not when it concerned Y/N nor when it concerned himself. But the contract in front of them said something different.        A hand touched her back. “Y/N?” Harry’s voice was tentative, wavering at the end of her name.        For the first time since the proposal had been thrown out, she lifted her eyes to look around at the people in the room.        Harry, Jeff, both their attorneys and Olivia Wilde and her attorney. The other woman, once their gazes met, immediately looked away. Y/N wanted to scoff at that.        “What…” Harry gulped, brushing a hand across her back. She’d never flinched away from him, but this time she did. Harry visibly shrunk in his seat and pulled back. “What do you think?”        What did she think? Well, she was thinking a lot of things, and the urge to say all of them was immense, but instead Y/N bit down on her tongue, reaching for the legal papers in front of her and skimmed through them.        She’d read each and every word as they’d been read out loud by the attorney, and every letter had been burned into her brain now. There was no way to get them out from her mind, and they’d haunt her forever.        “The fact that you’re asking me what I think of it already means you’re considering this.” Surprisingly enough, her voice was steady even though she was on the verge of collapsing after everything. “So, I’ll make this really easy for you – do it. Because, from now on, you’re a single man and you can do whatever the fuck you want.”        Harry’s face paled immediately at her words, hand moving to grasp Y/N’s, but they were in a tight ball in her lap, not moving an inch at his touch.        “Y/N, please.” Olivia was the one reaching out now, a pained and terrified look on her face, but the girl just stood up from her chair and went to the coat rack taking her coat and the bag that was discarded by it.        “No, you asked what I thought.” Tears had started to form in her eyes while she shrugged on her jacket. “This is what I think. If you even for a second assumed I’d be alright with this shitty stunt, Harry, then through the last two years we've spent together, you’ve learned nothing about me, and to me, it means it’s not worth it.”        Harry was now standing, desperate to touch her face, but Y/N once again pulled away.         “You two,” Y/N said pointing between Olivia and Harry, their faces twins of fear and regret. “Have never needed publicity. Not like this, so don’t try and bullshit me that this will make great promo for the movie. There are so many other ways you could drum up interest, but this…” She let out an unamused chuckle. “How could you think I’d be okay with you pretending to be in a relationship with someone else?”        “No, please… just hear us out. You don’t know what it’s like.” Harry tried to plead, hands in his hair, but it was the wrong thing to say, as she took a step back, eyes wide in disbelief.          But Y/N was calm, and with how rigid Harry became he knew he’d fucked up more than before.        “I don’t understand?" she breathed. “The number of things and events I’ve said ‘no’ to… the…” Her voice was as still as the sea before a storm as she took in a deep breath and exhaled. “Harry wants Y/N there for the opening of his tour, so Y/N drops everything and flies out even though she misses a presentation that could have her up for a promotion. Harry doesn’t want to be seen walking inside a club with someone, so Y/N goes to the back entrance to save his face. Harry is tired and just wants to sleep, so Y/N passes on her friends’ birthdays because he wants cuddles. What Harry wants, Y/N does. And I did. I did all that happily while keeping our relationship private while snaking in and out through back doors like I was some dirty secret of yours just so you could keep the illusion you’re single…” Y/N shook her head. “I think I understand very well… But now… it’s my turn, my time to ask of you something.”        “Anything,” he pleaded, probably thinking that Y/N was going to ask him not to go with Jeff’s stunt, and he’d gladly tell them all to fuck off if it meant her staying. “I’ll do anything.”        “Let me go.”        If Harry’s heart hadn’t been in his chest you would’ve been able to hear it break as it smashed against the floor.        “Let me go,” she repeated. “And don’t come after me. Because I won’t take any part in this.”        “But –,” he was choking on his words. “But I don’t want to. I love you; I can’t just let you walk away like that. I won’t do it, none of this is worth it.”        “And I didn’t want to do a lot of things, especially sit in a meeting on Valentine’s day where my boyfriend was talking about faking a relationship to promote a fucking movie, but here we are.”        This time when he reached out to cup her cheek, Y/N let him. “Please. I swear I won’t do it, just please let’s talk about this. Don’t give up on me.”        But she was unwavering. “For the rest of our relationship, however long that might’ve been, I would’ve wondered if you hated me if you despised me for not agreeing to go with it if the movie didn’t do as well as your management predicts it will with this. And I won’t have that. I won’t be in a relationship where every second will be spent in doubt that I’m stifling your career and you could potentially resent me.”        “I could never hate you.”        “Yeah.” She let out a sob. “You actually claim to love me but would be willing to put me through that kind of fuckery, so something has to be a lie.”        Without looking at anyone else in the office, Y/N stepped away from the man who once made her feel like she could conquer the top of the world and opened the door, but didn’t even manage to take a step outside when the voice of the person she never wanted to hear from called after her, and although Y/N had been calm and collected, she snapped at him. “Oh, don’t worry, Jeff,” she snarled. “It’s not like I can talk about anything that happened here. You made sure of it. Smart move, by the way, I’d say you should continue it. NDAs right before any meeting… I guess that’s how you keep your clients' careers spotless, so your stunt won’t be exposed.”        The way she whipped around to move towards the door would’ve given her whiplash, if not for Harry standing in front of her, arms weaving around to keep her in place.        “I’m sorry." He was verging on hysterics. "Please just… please Y/N don’t…”        It seemed like he no longer even understood what he was pleading for. For Y/N to not break up? To not leave the room? LA? All he knew was that if he let her walk out of the door, he’d never see her again, and she’d make sure of it.        “No, Harry, I think I actually will, because the thought of being in the same city as you, is going to make me throw up right now,” Y/N said eyes not daring to meet his, because if she did, she'd break and her resolve would dissipate. “Besides, you have loads of things to talk about. By the time you get back, I’ll have my stuff out of the hotel. And Jeff?”        His manager looked sheepish as she glanced at Y/N.        “The least you owe me is a ticket back home. The first flight you can find.”        He didn’t answer, just nodded. She didn't deign to thank him.        “Happy fucking Valentines to you two.” She looked at Olivia and Harry, who was breaking apart at the seams, but no longer could she find it in herself to care. He didn’t care enough about her anyway. “Hope you have a very happy relationship.”

Tags (crossed out wouldn’t take):

Harry Styles tags: @sarcasticallywitty15​ @breezykpop​ @girlboss99​ @harrystylesdoesntknowiexist​ @alliyjane​ @sirtommyholland​ @raylovessarcasm

Everything tags: @lumelgy @palaiasaurus64 @supernaturalbaesduh @breezy1415 @crazy--me @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @sea040561 @staryeyedgirl @deathbyarabbit @s-c-a-r-e-d-po-t-t-e-r @reblogger-not-a-blogger @m-a-t-91 @dalilx @i-need-a-hero-i-need-a-loki @maladaptive-ninja-returns @averyrogers83 @in-the-end-im-still-trash @gallifreyansass @dewy-biitch @avxgers @unlikelygalaxygiver @magicwithaknife @ollyoxenfrees @bnhvrdy @tvwhoresblog @celebsimagines @thatkindofgurl​ @sj-thefan​ @teenwolflover28 @lestersglitterglue​ @im-squished​

A/N: I’m (kinda?) back? I guess. I dunno. I’m in this weird place where I’m writing my books and then I get inspo for fics and I start writing them, but can’t seem to finish them so I dunno :D

P.S. what did ya think?

P.S.S. please don’t repost my works on other platforms (Wattpad Ao3 etc without specific written permission)

P.S.S.S. my tags are always open :)

#Harry Styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #harry styles smut #harry styles angst #harry styles and you #harry styles and y/n #harry styles and reader #harry styles x reader #harry styles x fem!reader #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader smut #don't worry darling #olivia wilde #one direction #one direction imagine #harry styles fandom

[let-it-raines]

I Hope We Never See October (8/12)

When his personal life and football career go up in flames, Killian Jones escapes England for America, finding seclusion in Martha’s Vineyard in order to hide from his demons. It’s a fresh start, or at the very least a paused moment in his life, and all he needs is a few months alone to allow his heart to heal. He doesn’t count on meeting Emma Swan.

Emma’s life depends on tourists who come to the island every summer. It’s how she makes her money working in restaurants and clubs across the vineyard, but every year, she cannot wait until autumn comes and her life returns to normal. She especially cannot wait for Killian Jones to leave.

Rating: Mature

a/n: Okay, so that cliffhanger, huh? I thought our mystery guests were obvious, but then again, I'm writing the story. But We'll answer all those questions here!

AO3: Beginning | Current Tumblr: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8

-/-

Killian’s side of the bed is cold when Emma’s alarm goes off. She expects him to still be there either sleeping or on his phone – he seems to do most of his work in the mornings when he doesn’t want to get out of bed – but he’s not there.

She hates herself a little bit for even noticing the cool feel of the sheets beneath her fingertips.

Emma groans and stretches her legs out, wondering how much time she has to go back to sleep before she absolutely has to go into work. She squints at her phone. She’s got two hours before she has to be at work. She could definitely sleep for another hour and a half and then look like shit at work. That might be nice, actually.

But then she smells something cooking downstairs, and almost on cue, her stomach growls.

Slowly, she gets out of bed, and the floor is cold against her bare feet. She should really go take a shower before she goes downstairs, and despite the good smell, she goes into the bathroom and quickly showers, leaving her hair dry. It’s curly and a bit frizzy from leaving it wet after her shower at the Nolans’ last night, but that’s a problem for another time…tomorrow. She’ll make it look better tomorrow. Emma grabs a pair of shorts and a button-down, putting them both on, and she pulls out a pair of sandals from her closet for later. She’s not as presentable as she should be, but maybe she can stay in her office and away from customers.

Besides, this is better than what it could have been had she not at least rinsed off the remaining sunscreen and sweat from her skin.

Emma smooths down her shirt and fluffs her hair. There’s the slightest bit of red on her chest from Killian’s beard, so she buttons up one more button before heading downstairs. From the smell of it, Killian is either cooking pancakes or waffles, and she’ll take either.

As far as her seasonal friends with benefits go, Killian is definitely the winner.

For the breakfast, the sex, and maybe the conversation. She thought about that for too long yesterday, and it’s too damn early for her to be thinking about any of this today. All she wants is food and coffee, so that’s all she’s thinking about. It’s all she can.

“Damn, Jones,” Emma shouts from the top of the stairs, “something smells delicious.”

She’s at the bottom of the stairs when she hears other voices. For one brief second, she thinks Killian is on the phone, but she’d know those voices anywhere. One haunts her nightmares, the other is the voice of her dreams, and neither was supposed to be here for three weeks.

Three fucking weeks.

Shit.

Holy shit.

What the hell has Neal done that he has to show up like this without even giving her any kind of heads up?

And how does she fix this? Killian was never supposed to know about Henry. He was the one question she’d never answer. He would have been her veto had it ever come up. When he got home from spending the summer with his dad in New York City, Emma was going to start phasing Killian out. They’d only ever spend time at his place, she’d never spend the night unless Henry was sleeping over at his friends. Usually, she doesn’t have this problem because the guy leaves way before this. He doesn’t have the chance to ever know about Henry, and Emma likes it that way.

The last guy that met Henry was Walsh, and that was only on accident. Or at least that’s what Walsh said, but Emma’s always thought Walsh showed up at the Blue Dog at that time on purpose because he knew Henry would be there with Emma. The guy never understood why Emma didn’t let him meet her son, but when you’ve never been able to trust a man besides David and possibly Graham with him, you have reservations.

His dad’s a full-blown asshole who has upended her life more than once, and she’s already so done with whatever bullshit excuse he’s got for bringing Henry home early.

Emma jumps in place, trying to breathe without really inhaling, and then she turns the corner into the kitchen.

The sight is as bad as she expected. The first person she sees is Killian, and if it were any other morning, this would be a good view to wake up to. His joggers hang low on his hips, he’s standing by the stove shirtless, and his hair is sticking in several directions from where her hands tugged on it last night. Then she sees Neal, who is standing in the corner with his arms crossed, frown on his face. He looks older since she saw him at the beginning of June. His beard is filled with more gray, his hair unruly in a purposeful way. He looks pissed, and Emma already knows this is about to be hell.

And then she sees Henry, and the tenseness fades from her shoulders when she sees his smile and the giant backpack he’s wearing. He’s got to empty that damn thing out.

God, she’s missed him so much.

“Mom!” he squeals, running toward her.

Emma opens her arms and embraces him, holding onto the back of his head and breathing him in. As much as Emma sometimes likes the freedom her summer affords her, she does miss her son. A lot. Him being gone is the entire reason she picks up shifts at The Oaks. She needs the distraction, not so much the money, until the summer is over and Henry comes back home for school.

“Hey, kid,” Emma laughs as she keeps hugging him. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too. Can I have the waffles?”

“What?”

He pulls back and grins. “The waffles Killian made. Can I have them?”

“Killian,” Emma slowly repeats. She looks over Henry’s head toward Killian who is furiously scratching behind his ear, and she realizes just how much he has a deer in the headlights look going on. As confused as she is right now, she knows he’s just had a few bombs dropped on him. “Uh, yeah, why don’t you and my friend Killian eat. I’m going to talk to your dad in the backyard for a minute. Neal.”

“What? I don’t get a hi?” Neal asks.

“Backyard. Now.”

He smiles, and once upon a time, she would have found that charming. Right now, she wants to slap it right off his face. Whatever he has to say, she knows it won’t be good. Emma closes the back door behind them and moves far enough across the deck to keep Henry from hearing.

“What the hell, Neal?”

The smile falls, and Emma crosses her arms over her chest. She has to put up a barrier with him. “Why are you so angry? Are you not excited to see Henry? He has been gone all summer, you know.”

“Of course I’m excited to see my kid. But I wasn’t supposed to see him three weeks from now. And with a head’s up. We have a schedule, Neal. Like, a court-mandated schedule that you made us get, and you’re not sticking to it.”

“That I made us get?” he scoffs. “What’s that supposed to mean? If I recall, you’re the one who kept my son from me for seven years and then didn’t want to give me custody.”

How is he such an ass? Seriously. How does he still not get it?

Emma steps closer and straightens her back. She doesn’t need to make herself taller, not for him, but she does anyway. “I got pregnant with Henry when I was sixteen. You were twenty-four. Do the math on how that’s wrong in about eighty-two different ways. And if I recall, and trust me I have a pretty good memory of this day, when I told you I had something important to tell you, you disappeared off the face of the planet. That doesn’t really seem like a guy who deserves to know about his kid.”

“Oh, come on, Ems. You can’t still be mad about that, can you?”

Is it still considered assault if Emma punches someone who deserves to be punched? There must be a law making that okay.

“Why are you here early, Neal?”

She doesn’t want to get into this with him. He’s never going to understand how much he fucked up Emma’s life. There’s no need for her to try to get him to understand now when all she wants is to know why he just showed up early.

“Who’s that guy in there?” he asks, evading her question.

“A friend.”

His mouth crinkles when he laughs, and she hates it. “A shirtless friend who fixes you breakfast? I hope you don’t make a habit of this when Henry’s home.”

“You don’t get a say on my dating life. Or my parenting skills. Now answer my question.”

He blows out air, and rolls his eyes, like she’s the one inconveniencing him. “Look, Tamara wants to go on vacation before summer ends, and she didn’t want to bring Henry with us. So I thought I’d bring him back to you and it wouldn’t be an issue. I’m sure you can keep him entertained until he goes back to school.”

“Oh my God. Oh my God, Neal, are you serious? You are breaking the rules of our custody agreement because you want to go on vacation with your girlfriend? How is it possible that you’re so selfish? I mean, God, seriously.”

Emma groans and buries her face in her hands before screaming. Or at least screaming as loud as she can without Henry knowing.

“Henry is a good fucking kid,” Emma continues, slowly breathing to calm herself down, “and he loves you. He doesn’t see all the shit I do because I’ve hidden that from him, but you can’t just do this, Neal. You can’t decide you’re done playing dad and give him back to me when you nearly made me go broke fighting to keep custody of the kid I’d raised since he was born. That’s not how being a parent works.”

“That’s rich coming from the woman who has used her time away from her kid to fuck British tourists and is upset her kid is back early because her vacation has to end.”

Emma looks up into the eyes of the man she once loved, the man who gave her son his eyes, and she says, “Go say goodbye to Henry and get the hell out of my house. I’ll see you next June, if you still decide to show up then.”

It’s a dismissal, and Neal never takes those. Not sitting down at least. She’s sure there will be arguments and petty jabs for the next few months. He’ll make her life hell while playing as the good guy. He has this act where he says things like “he’s a good person now, can’t she just move on from the past?”

There’s a difference between forgiveness and moving on that not a lot of people get. They say you have to forgive to move on, but that’s not true. You can move on without forgiveness because some people don’t deserve it. At all. Sometimes all you can do is stop letting them live in your head rent free, and you have to forgive yourself for ever falling for the lies.

Emma’s chosen that route. She’s forgiven herself, has moved on with her life even with Neal constantly trying to pull her back down, and she’s not about to stand here and let him criticize her personal life when he has no business in it.

Through the window, Emma watches Neal hug Henry goodbye. It takes less than a minute before he’s gone and Henry is back to eating his breakfast. Emma would laugh, she wants to at how ridiculous this all is, but she’s not finding anything about today funny. Because while Neal will go back to New York and will be happy, she’s stuck here cleaning up the mess he just made because she has to do everything in her power to make sure her kid never knows the version of his dad she knows.

A phone call would have been nice. At least then she could have gotten Killian out of the house. She still would have been pissed, but at the very least, she would have been able to make things a little better than they are now.

“Shit,” Emma breathes out, looking toward the sky. “Shit, shit, shit.”

Emma inhales and exhales several times before forcing a smile and walking inside where Henry is eating the breakfast that was meant for her and talking to Killian about soccer of all things.

Well, not of all things. Most of the time, Emma forgets that Killian plays professionally. Hell, they talked about it yesterday, and it still isn’t at the forefront of her mind. That part of his life has nothing to do with hers…except for right now when Killian is talking to her son about it.

He still doesn’t have on a damn shirt.

“Mom, did you know Killian used to play soccer? Like, as a job. That’s so cool! Do you think he could coach my team?”

“I did know that, kid.” Emma kisses his forehead, and he squirms away. It’ll take him a week or two to get used to her kind of affection versus Neal’s, so she’s not too offended. “How do you know that?”

“I recognize him.”

“Since when do you watch a lot of British soccer? Or football as Killian calls it.” She mimics Killian’s accent, but she also knows she did a terrible job with it.

Henry shrugs and stuffs a large bite of waffle in his mouth. “Dad doesn’t have anything to watch on TV but sports channels. All I did during the day was watch old soccer matches.”

“Wait. Where was your dad?”

Henry shrugs again. “I don’t know. At work I guess.”

Neal works from home most days of the week. What an ass. Emma bets he didn’t even get someone to watch Henry. He just used old sports reruns to keep him entertained.

“Hey, kid,” Emma says, finally looking to Killian, “can you stay in here and eat breakfast while I talk to Killian in the other room?”

“Sure.”

Emma flashes a tight smile and then nods her head toward the stairs. Killian gets the message and walks upstairs without being asked, immediately heading toward the bedroom. He stands by the window, arms crossed over his chest, and Emma watches his jaw tick, the smile he had on for Henry a moment ago, gone.

Softly, Emma closes the door behind her.

“I have my personal question of the day, Swan. You have a son?”

Okay, great, so this is how it’s going to be. Emma opens her dresser drawer and pulls out a shirt for Killian. He catches it after she tosses it and tugs it on. It doesn’t help as much as she’d like it to.

“Okay, look,” Emma begins, “you were never supposed to meet Henry. He wasn’t…his dad was supposed to have him for three more weeks.”

“The contract on my rental house has more time on it than that.”

Emma runs her hands through her hair and sighs. “I don’t know. I would have figured it out. Only go to your place, spend less time together. I mean, it’s only natural, right? Because you’re going to leave, and it would make sense for things to die down between us.”

Killian laughs, but Emma gets the sense he doesn’t find any of this funny. “Yeah, it makes perfect sense. This was only about sex, right?”

“Killian.”

“No, no.” He holds his hand up. “It’s fine, Swan. I get it. It’s my fault for thinking we might be mates on top of that.”

“I mean, we are – kind of, maybe. I don’t know.” Emma sighs and sits on the end of her bed. She doesn’t know what to do. Even more, she doesn’t know what to say. She definitely doesn’t know how to feel. “It was never supposed to be like this. I’m usually better at not blurring the lines. I don’t know what happened with us that made me drop my guard.”

“I knew you found me charming.”

Emma laughs and falls back on the mattress. “I have a kid, Killian, and he’s back. I can’t be like I was. We can’t just fuck whenever we want or stay out late or eat pizza at three in the morning. I’ve got to make sure Henry has a place to stay and Mary Margaret is across the country visiting her parents so that’s out for awhile. And I’m still working two jobs because I thought I had time to do that. I don’t, God, I don’t know what to do about anything in my life. Plus, you know, I want to spend time with Henry, and I don’t have a lot of free time.”

“I could watch him, love. He’s a bit older than what I’m used to with my nieces, but I’m sure I can find ways to entertain him.”

Emma sits up. Her heart is beating way too fast, and suddenly, the true reality of this situation hits her.

The man she’s been sleeping with has met her son.

And he’s offering to babysit.

What the actual hell?

She needs time to think. And scream. She definitely has to scream into her pillow for at least an hour because she literally cannot think of another thing to do. This is all too much, and she needs Killian to leave. He makes this all too complicated. She needs to go downstairs and eat breakfast with Henry. That she can do. That’s not complicated. That’s something she’s done every day for ten years, even if it’s usually Pop Tarts or a bowl of cereal, not homemade waffles and eggs.

“Can you, uh,” Emma starts, biting her lip, “can you go home? I need to spend time with Henry. He won’t show it, but I know he knows why his dad brought him home early. I’ve got some crap to deal with, but I’ll text you later.”

His eyes narrow, and Emma knows that look by now. He knows she’s lying, but she doesn’t expect him to call her out on her lie.

And he doesn’t because as quickly as his eyes narrow, they widen and a slight smile creeps onto his lips. “I’ll see you later, Swan. I’ll get my clothes out of the machine downstairs and go.”

“Thanks.”

Killian doesn’t move, and Emma has a hard time looking at him until she does. His eyes are so damn blue. It’s ridiculous.

But then he moves. Leaves, actually, just like she asked him to, and she hears every single step as he leaves the house and gets into his car. Emma breathes out a sigh of relief, maybe a little confusion, and then she grabs her phone of her bedside table.

Not a single warning text or call from Neal, just like she thought. Ass.

ES: SOS. My house. 10 minutes.

RL: Are you dead?

ES: Yes, I’m texting you from beyond.

RL: I am hungover. Give me 30.

Emma tosses her phone on her bed and heads downstairs. The life she was living is over. Henry’s home, and she is his mom. That’s what she has to do, and right now, that means putting her anger at Neal and confusion with Killian behind her to go eat breakfast with her kid.

She can only partially ignore that Killian was making this breakfast for her.

For them.

-/-

“King Harold,” Ruby says when she walks through the door in her pajamas and immediately sees Henry, “welcome back to your seaside palace. Come give me a hug.”

“Only if you never call me Harold again.”

“I can’t agree to that, Harold.”

Henry rolls his eyes, but he hugs Ruby anyway. “My name is Henry.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Ruby kisses the top of his head. “You smell like waffles.”

“Killian made waffles for breakfast.”

“Killian did?” she asks, looking over Henry’s head toward Emma. Emma shrugs and cocks her head.

“Kid, why don’t you go unpack? When you’re finished, we’ll go to the beach before I have work.”

“Really?”

“Mhm.” Emma hums and nods at the stairs. “I told them I’d be late today. Get your bags and go.”

Henry quickly grabs his suitcases. They’re nearly bigger than him, but he manages to drag them up the stairs. Emma waits until she hears his bedroom door close, and then she moves to the kitchen and collapses on a barstool. Ruby fixes herself a plate of leftover food and starts eating. “I have eight thousand questions.”

Without lifting her head from the counter, Emma tries to answer at least half those questions. “Killian slept over and was making breakfast when Neal and Henry walked in, so they both met him, which went over as well as you’d expect. Neal didn’t tell me he was bringing Henry back early, but apparently his girlfriend got tired of having him around and wanted to go on vacation. Neal thought ambushing me was the best way to go about the situation, and then he got pissed about me having a guy over.”

Emma peaks up to see Ruby blinking. Slowly. Did she not process anything or is she just so hungover that it’s taking her a long time to figure out what to say?

“Was Neal charming or something when you guys were together?’

Emma laughs. “I was sixteen, and he paid attention to me. He might as well have been Prince Charming.”

“He’s the worst.” Ruby scrunches up her nose. “And you’re not a Prince Charming type of girl. I get more of a rebel vibe from you.”

“Yeah, because mom and restaurant manager means rebel.”

Rub leans over and pokes Emma’s nose. “I don’t think you know how badass you are, Emma Swan. Give me a minute to get some coffee and make more food because I definitely need to dissect everything that’s going on with you. Baby daddy and new boyfriend not included.”

“Not my boyfriend.”

“Oh, right. Just sex friend because you totally invite sex friends to parties at Marg’s place. That seems normal.”

Emma narrows her eyes. “I invited you here to help with a crisis. Not create a new one.”

“I’m just saying,” Ruby sighs, “Mr. Jones is a hell of a lot better than most of the guys you shack up with. Your unfortunate sperm donor included. I’d think about that if I were you. I mean, we both know you’re about to ghost him, but at least think about it, Emma.”

Yeah, maybe she will.

-/-

-/-

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