#Emma close the fucking door there’s monsters

[ghostradiodylan]

Did you notice that when Emma comes back to the lodge while everyone else (minus Jacob) is at the cabins/radio hut/poolhouse, she calls multiple times for Ryan, Abi, and Kaitlyn, but doesn't once call for Dylan or Nick?

Yes I HAVE noticed that! Partially because my ears perk up at mentions of Dylan like he’s my crush or something lmao. But the omission of the two of them is kind of glaring.

This is SO interesting to me though, I’ve actually thought about it a bit before! It makes sense for her to call for Kaitlyn and Ryan as the de-facto leaders of the group, right? And Abi because they’re besties and possibly secretly in love.

Emma’s a smart girl, maybe she knows that she will find Dylan if she finds Ryan and Nick if she finds Abi because she knows they’re following their crushes around like lovesick puppies. Or maybe she assumes that Dylan and Nick are off doing something useless like getting high and eating picklecicles in the walk-in. But either way, she definitely isn’t looking to either of them to help her out. And who could blame her really? We’ve discussed Nick’s whole… deal. And Dylan has so far likely not proven himself to be capable of more than comedy relief in front of Emma.

She also may be hesitant to even mention Nick if she thinks Abi will hear because, well, that didn’t go great. She doesn’t know Nick is injured either so she’s not thinking to be worried about him.

Thank you for the ask and I’m super interested to hear what others think on this tidbit of counselor relations!

[ai-megurine]

HOTD S2 episode 2 "Rhaenyra the Cruel" reaction

• This OST! Djamin Rawadi is a god

• Can we appreciate Aegon's friends? Staying with him despite the state of madness he's in and closing the door to make sure he has some privacy

• oh so that shot of Aemond was him realising that he was the target!!!!

• I'm sorry I'm not that sympathetic to Alicent's tears? I just wish we could see more of Helaena grieving. I love the dress though

• ALICENT B&C IS NOT ABOUT YOU

• Otto shut up.

• Get Tom an Emmy, an Oscar and every single award in the world. His "what?" of disbelief to Otto stuck with me, dunno why

• In love with Larys' entrance. No one notices him until he speaks, he's in the background. Perfectly suits him

• "Bitch Queen of bastards" lmfao

• Love that the Council is shutting up and just letting Aegon rant. They're all scared of him in a way

• Who knew I'd ever be happy to see Larys?

• "I'll kill him myself" feed him to Sunfyre pls. Or Shrykos

• Aegon losing it every time Otto speaks is such a mood

• Jasper Wylde has a lign! Who knew.

• "We know our enemy!" with the little hand thingy was funny, I'm sorry

• Tyland!!

• "you're already seen as weak" oh fuck you Otto

• Why would anyone think that Rhaenys committing mass murder means Rhaenyra should be Queen???

• Aegon "my little son's body" broke me.

• Alicent calling Aegon "my darling" was sweeter than I thought.

• oh so Helaena can be a spectacle but not you??

• HELAENA MY LOVE

• LET ME HUG YOU

• DAEMON WHEN I CATCH YOU

• BALERION HIMSELF COULDN'T PROTECT YOU

• Oh my lord she's holding Jaehaerys' clothes 😭😭😭

• She's grief personified I can't breathe

• Phia is an angel

• THE TEAR ON HER CHEEK

• AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH the "I don't want them closer I don't know them" breaks me. She's my angel, I will fight the world for you

• ALICENT WHO CARES YOU'RE BANGING COLE. IT HASN'T BEEN 24 HOURS SINCE JAEHAERYS DIED

• "This is for my boy" AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH.

• The toy horse 😭😭😭😭

• The music is so good

• (when did they have the time to make all the uniforms and banners??? Sewing ladies have been doing overtime)

• Blood IMMEDIATELY giving up all the information was low-key funny but it really showcases who he is. A big bully who uses his strength to hurt people weaker than hip (women and children) but the second he's caught? He folds like a coward.

• Lmfao Larys' face. Even he was like "damn dude I didn't even start"

• Who the fuck is the herald? I thought Otto would be the one doing this

• OH MY GOD THEY SEWED THE HEAD BACK?????

• ANGEL, BABY, I LOVE YOU

• DAEMON I WILL KILL YOU MYSELF

• The little circlet on his bead 😭😭😭😭

• why barn owls on the shroud? I mean it's Helaena and she's flawless so I like it anyway

• So the death of Jaehaerys has FINALLY been acknowledged as kinslaying as well

• Blood's face when he understands that Aegon is coming and that it's going to be painful

• Noooooo, I wanted more pain for Blood

• Oh no my girl being so overwhelmed. She's in pain 😭😭😭

• Oh Rhaenyra's reaction to B&C

• I mean why wouldn't they accuse you? Like? Bestie? Who would it profit to kill Aegon's heir?

• Is Daemon actually smirking???? This man istg

• Rhaenys immediately knew, this woman is too good for these people

• Rhaenyra's realisation

• "Killing it"??? IT???? WOMAN.

• DON'T YOU FUCKING LAUGH. If you felt any ounce of remorse, you would be screaming in rage about it

• "you have wounded me" BESTIE A CHILD DIED WE DON'T CARE ABOUT YOUR STANDING

• JFC the way she reacted when he broke that glass!!! She's obviously scared, it's definitely not the first time.

• Emma the actor that you are. Rhaenyra looks ready to rip Daemon's head with her bare teeth (which she should do, it would be iconic)

• You are a monster dude

• Oooh that silence

• "because of your virtue" hshshsjsj

• Bestie Viserys named Rhaenyra heir out of grief and guilt

• "You're pathetic" is so iconic, love it

• Baela exists! That coat is atrocious though

• So no risking Jace but Baela is fair game huh? Bitch (and I don't even like Baela). Good scene though

• Behold, Daemon runs away from his family

• HELAENA STILL DOESN'T HAVE A GUARD???? WHAT???? AEGON HAS TWO HE COULD SPARE ONE

• Oh god her and Aegon. Grieving, broken, but unable to connect. I feel like she wanted to reach out in the stairs, but he runs away because he's on the verge of breaking down and be can't have that in public.

• The nodding???

• NOOO THE BED

• I mean, I know it's better but

• Oh god the mattress covered in blood

• The juxtaposition with Rhaenyra being with her son is heartbreaking. The way she realises that this is what Helaena lost, that Jaehaerys was that age

• ALICENT STOP THINKING ABOUT YOU BANGING COLE NO ONE CARES

• Also Cole should be guarding Helaena and Jaehaera

• The religious trauma of consensual sex

• I wished the Alicole storyline would take less screen though, I mean good for them but that mess of a relationship shouldn't overshadow Helaegon's doomism and greek tragedy right now

• Cole needs to stop beefing with the rest of the world, Arryk isn't responsible for it

• Love Arryk for calling out Cole

• LMFAO THE OTHER KINGSUARDS NOPPING OUT. Valid ngl

• YOU'RE MAD SER. Love him

• Cole's hypocrisy is a delight. He's a terrible person, but he's so interesting

• Why don't they use poison though

• Laenor being mentioned? Neat. Him teaching the boys about fishing and Sea Shanty is pretty fun

• Damn that scene is actually good!! A shame I couldn't care less about Baela and Rhaena

• Oh so that's the famous brothel scene?

• Aemond's mummy issues on fill display 🙏🏻

• I love the relationship between him and the madame ngl. Like I know he pays her for it but her gentleness with him seems to be at least partially genuine. Her facial expression when he doesn't look at her are pretty telling

• Hugh Hammer the return! Fuck if I care but hey, I'm not against them developing the Dragonseeds. I wish Nettles was around too. I guess Hugh will join TB after his family's death? Or he'll be a spy for TG? Dunno

• So we know Baela ends up with Alyn, and he looks so much bigger and older than her 😭 Like it makes sense but DAMN

• I genuinely cannot begin to care about Corlys to save my life

• WAIT RHAENYRA DIDN'T KNOW WHO MYSARIA WAS???? THIS IS SO FUCKING FUNNY

• Mysaria being a good character wasn't on my bingo card but I don't dislike it

• Seasmoke following Addam around like a lost puppy is so funny to me. Also his sounds are so cute. I guess Laenor died off screen?

• The focus on the smallfolk is great. It reminds me of Varys' quote about the smallfolk always being the one to suffers.

• Cheese didn't suffer enough and I wish that dog a very nice "find a better owner"

• "Oh, I had them hanged" is so fucking funny.

• Otto is right, though. Like, this was a terrible idea.

• Ooooh mentioning Jaehaerys was a dumb move. You should Aegon isn't going to be rational about it

• Aegon, you can show strength by, you know, USING YOUR DRAGON. Honestly a public execution of Blood would have been better

• Otto's "wtf" face is so funny. I love him. Tom and Rhys are carrying this entire episode. Phia too, but she's less present

• Otto, do you REALLY think Aegon gives a single fuck about Viserys???

• Otto being fired for upteenth time is so funny. This man files for unemployment every three weeks

• Otto's last act of defiance was great

• Yeah, Mysaria isn't exiting the show

• Oh, that's how she'll stay

• Elinda Massey exists!

• I'm glad they didn't make Rhaenyra fight Arryk like some believed. It makes much more sense for her to be genuinely scared for her life. Like, Arryk is a grown ass man in armour and literally one of the best knights of his time

• They deserved better

• Otto unknowingly dissing his daughter's bf right in front of her was peak irony.

• "Petty revenge"? A FOUR YEAR OLD CHILD WAS DECAPITATED

• FUCK YOU ALICENT. Your son isn't "valuable", he's YOUR SON

• DAERON MENTION!!!!!!!! VICTORY!!!!!!!!

• The generational trauma of zero communication 🙏🏻

• Aegon sobbing and breaking down

• Nooooooooooo

• My love

• Let me hug you

• He's so beautiful

• A fallen angel

• CRISTON LEGIT SITTING ON HER BED WAS SO FUNNY LIKE WHAT

• HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN WAITING

• ALSO WHO IS GUARDING HELAENA

Conclusion :

Tom is a god, Phia is an angel, I will start a cult for Ramin Djawadi. The acting in general was top notch, but Tom and Phia have ascended to god-like.

Helaegon's doomism and Greek tragedy will be my death, I love them your honour.

The focus on the smallfolk was very good, and I hope they do it for both sides.

[never-surrender]

@calamxty || Emma & Aubrey

Emma had endured enough ... no longer would she walk by what society demands of her, no longer would she be a primp and proper housewife, it was time to take matters into her own hands before she was no longer able to protect her daughter from the worst of the abuse at the hands of her husband ... or the monster that had once been her husband. She had known the day that he returned giddier than usual that things weren’t what they were ... he had never been a good husband or a father, but she had endured because a single mother that had left her husband was ... well ... 

It wasn’t a good thing. 

She didn’t give a shit anymore. If she had to choose between her daughters life and a life of hardship, she’d choose her daughter every time. Emma had run hard and fast, bloodied blade in hand, a combination of her own blood and his on her clothing from the fierceness of her fight with him .. and then he had shown up. A figure that she had believed to be a side effect of the trauma and sickness she was enduring ... and what happened next? She still couldn’t explain it to anybody that would dare to ask, let alone to herself. All she knew ... was she was fighting for her life, and she sure as fuck wasn’t going to give up. She had always been resilient ... and that wasn’t about to stop. 

That morning something had changed, however ... a few days had passed in a state of delirium from blood loss and sickness both that had nearly taken her life ... it was only by the grace of the man that had found her, and her own sheer willpower that kept her alive. Pale blue eyes opening to gaze at the ceiling ... for the first time in a while, Emma had realized that she was fine ... her mind was clear. Blessedly clear. And her first thought? 

AUBREY!!

Jerking to sit upright, the pain in doing so thanks to the circular stab wound in her side was intense ... but she endured with a grit of her teeth (no matter if she opened the sutures that kept it shut). Wide eyes flew around to look for her daughter ... 

“She’s awake!” it was the call of her daughter’s voice just outside of the opened door to the room that drew Emma’s attention, looking at her daughter who rushed to her. Arms opening wide, Emma barely resisted the tears that rose as she caught Aubrey in her arms, lifting without care for herself and held Aubrey close. Swiping dark hair back from her child’s face, Emma pulled back enough to look her over, her gaze intense as she did so, Hundreds of questions were at the tip of her tongue, moments from being asked ... 

When the door opened further, revealing a man standing there. Instinct had Emma pushing Aubrey behind her without so much as a second to think it through, her gaze hardening at the outline of who stood there ... she couldn’t see details yet ... but she saw enough to know that it wasn’t her husband. 

it wasn’t a comforting fact. 

[thatcatangelwriter]

Invisible

AN : A small semma drabble with some nice Emma angst

"Emma…"

She pretended not to hear him. She didn't want to talk to anybody right now. Unfortunately, she doubted her friends would leave her alone. She could hear him coming closer. She doesn't regret snapping at his friends like that. They hadn't backed off when she asked them and so she went all out and gave them the cold and harsh truth. She would be lying if she said that bitter pettiness hadn't played a role in all of this.

He touched her shoulder "Em…" he hesitated "What was that all about ?" she turned to look at him "It was about putting them in their place" he sighed "That's not what I mean and you know that" now it was her turn to sigh "What do you want me to say Sean ? That you want to marry into a family of messed up women ?" 

Sean was shocked by her words "Emma that's not true"  "But you are" Emma insisted "The reason nobody thinks about it is because it isn't something that they can see" Sean wasn't sure what he was supposed to say here "Emma please.." 

She got up and leaned against the doorframe "I mean just take a look at what Jay and Alex said they were way far off " Sean couldn't disagree with that what these two had said had been completely out of line. 

She went on "My family is teen pregnancy after teen pregnancy and the consequences of that are not pleasant but are unseen" She stayed quiet for a moment "Maybe that was our fault"

Sean blinked "What ?" 

"We came out too strong, too independent and not visibly broken enough for people to notice or to care. Since we were strong the people didn't worry and those who hurt us stopped because they knew we could fight back. But most of all, we were good we didn't become fucks up. Society believes the ones who suffer become bad and failures but not all suffering makes monsters."

Sean didn't say anything.

"The generational pain of my family is not seen by anybody in this school" She hadn't noticed the tears welling up in her eyes "And what's invisible is unspoken" 

They both stayed in silence for a couple of minutes before Sean tried to reach out to her "Em-

She cut him off "I have to go" she closed the door as she left, leaving Sean alone and unsure of what to do next.

[misterjauthor]

THE FUTURE IN-LAW

EMMA grabbed my muscled forearm. "Are you ready to meet him, baby?"

My cold hands started to sweat, and butterflies fluttered in my stomach as we stood outside my fiance's dad's front door next to our luggage.

I looked down at my tight white t-shirt and black sweatpants. "Maybe I should go to the car and change into something more...presentable, you know?"

She squeezed and said, "You look fine. Don't worry about it." 

"Are you sure? I want to make a good first impression."

"How many times do I have to tell you? My dad will love you. Okay?"

After taking a deep breath, I nodded.

My fiance opened the door of the big two-story modern country house and let herself in. "Daddy, we're home," she yelled.

Looking like a pack mule with multiple straps draped over my shoulder and hands full of suitcases, I followed behind her after nudging the door closed with my foot.

"Hey, sweetheart. I'm in the kitchen," a deep voice came from inside. 

The pounding in my chest got faster.

"Dinner is almost ready. Leave your stuff by the door and go straight to the dining room. Let's eat first."

"Okay!" She took some of the bags off me. "You heard him. Let's go."

We left everything by the foyer and went straight for the dining room. 

There was a long table set for three, and the aroma of cooked meat escaped from the kitchen.

"Mmm. Smells really good, daddy."

Cutlery clunked on the other side of the door. "Wait until you taste it," Emma’s father said.

I pulled a chair and waited for her to be seated before whispering, "Only us three? I thought your brother and sister were already here."

"Sorry, I forgot to tell you. My brother will be arriving tomorrow. My twin, her husband-to-be, and the rest of the wedding party will be here the day after."

"Oh, okay." I walked around the table and sat opposite her.

"Everything is going to be fine, baby," she whispered.

With a nod, I acknowledged her attempt at getting me to relax. Where's beer when you need one?

The door swung open. A built man of about six feet with salt and pepper hair and beard entered, carrying a big plate of pot roast. "I hope you brought your appetite, sweetheart."

Fuck! My fiance's dad is way hotter in person than I expected. Wait, what am I thinking? He's my future father-in-law.

"Daddy!" Emma shrieked as she stood up and went to her father.

I got up as well.

The man in his late forties placed dinner on the table next to the mashed potatoes, salad, and dinner rolls before opening his arms to his daughter. "Come here you."

She jumped into Mr. de Luca, and they spun around. "I missed you so much."

"I missed you, too, sweetheart." He kissed her nose and put her down."

Emma pulled him toward me. "Daddy, this is your future son-in-law, Benjamin. Baby, this is my father, Raoul."

Standing a couple of inches taller, I offered my hand as jackhammers continued inside my chest. "It's an honor to finally meet you, sir."

Without making eye contact, he gave me a quick shake and gestured to the chair. "Have a seat."

My fiance and I returned to our places.

Raoul and Emma talked about our drive as he stood slicing the pot roast with a carving knife.

I pretended to listen and gave a few grunts of agreement while discreetly scanning my handsome future father-in-law's body.

His tight navy blue shirt hugged the solid muscles of his torso, and the short sleeves threatened to rip from his bulging biceps at any moment.

Below the belt, a sizable bulge in the front of his khaki slacks hinted at a monster hidden underneath.

Damn, what would it look like without the pants?

Blood rushed to my dick at the fantasy of seeing my straight future father-in-law's dick.

"Right, baby?" Emma asked.

"I'm sorry, what?" I looked away from Raoul's crotch to the two staring at me.

"I said you'll love to cook dinner one of these days and show daddy how good you are at cooking, too."

"No, I'm sure it's not as good as your father's cooking."

Raoul sat down with a stoic expression.

I adjusted the tent in my sweatpants under the table without them noticing.

We started eating, and the two continued to chat.

Intimidated at talking to my fiance's hot father, all I could do was eat in silence and steal glances at him.

"Sweetheart, has your sister told you they have one less wedding usher? Tommy's friend got in an accident and broke his legs."

"No. Did they find a new one?"

"Not yet." Raoul stabbed a piece of meat with his fork and brought it to his mouth.

With eyes wide, Emma looked at me and subtly cocked her head toward her dad.

"I...I'll do it, sir."

Raoul didn't look up from his plate. "Nah, we'll look for someone else. Tommy's friend is a big guy. The suit won't fit you."

I looked at my fiance with a 'what now?' face.

"Daddy, I'm sure the tailor can alter the suit when you guys go for another fitting."

"The wedding is just a few days away. There might be no time to make major alterations."

Well, it's either that or no usher at all.

"Let me take care of it. I'll talk to Emilia." She mouthed at me, 'talk to him.'

"Uhm, sir. Emma mentioned that you're a former marine."

"Yes."

"What do you do now? What keeps you busy? If you don't mind me asking."

"I have a private security business. We employ former soldiers to protect high-profile clients."

"Like movie stars?"

"Politicians like heads of state." He stopped cutting the food and turned his head to me with a threatening look. "And we do extensive background checks on people who could, potentially, pose a threat to our clients and the people they care about. If you're hiding something, we'll find out about it."

I tore my gaze away and focused on my plate. Jeez, was Raoul talking about me?

"Daddy, you promised you'll go easy on him."

"What, sweetheart? I was just telling him what my company does."

"It's okay. I did ask him."

"So, Benjamin. My daughter told me you're a personal trainer."

"Yes, sir. I am. And I have a few celebrity clients."

"And he's a model, too. He did a campaign for an underwear brand a couple of months ago."

"Baby, that was just a freelance gig. One of my clients had a friend who happened to need an additional model for the brand."

"Not exactly a stable source of income." Raoul's delivery had a tone of condescension.

"It's not ideal at the moment, sir. But I have prospects which might get me to where I want to be soon."

"Any backup plans just in case things don't work out?"

"No, sir. But—"

"Personal training is not much of a lucrative source of income, Benjamin. How do you expect to make a living with freelance gigs and few celebrity clients?"

"Mr. de Luca, I—"

"I will not tolerate my daughter and future grandchildren not having the life they deserve."

My entire body vibrated. I gripped the knife and fork tight. "I may not make much money like you as a personal trainer. But I'm good, no, I'm great at it."

"Well, I think it's better—"

"With all due respect, sir. I don't give a fuck what you think. I'm hard-working, and I'll provide for your daughter and our future children the best way I know."

Emma bolted up, pushing the chair back. "Daddy! I can't believe you would do...ugh!" She stormed out.

"Sweetheart..."

"Excuse me, sir." I left my future father-in-law by himself and followed my upset fiance.

BOISTEROUS men from both the bride and groom's side took over the tailor's shop. Some sat on the couches, chatting away. Some stood in front of the mirror, attended to by the staff.

"Excuse me, sir." I walked up to one of the tailors standing in front of a rack of suits. "I'm the replacement for one of the ushers."

"Oh, yes. The groom said one of the suits had to be altered. You must be Mr. Fuller." The middle-aged man browsed through the rack behind him.

"Yes, I am. Do you really need to do alterations? Will it be major?"

"No, not really. You're almost the size as the other one. But I still need to check where to make the adjustments." 

"Okay. So, what now?"

He turned around and handed me a three-piece suit on a hanger covered in a clear garment bag. "Put this on, Mr. Fuller."

"Where's your fitting room?"

He pointed to a doorway with curtains at the back of the shop. "Through there, sir."

I thanked him, draped the suit over my forearm, and headed in that direction.

Through the curtain, there was a large walk-in closet-sized area with two doors on the wall.

I tried the knob of the one closest to me.

It was locked.

There was movement inside, followed by a muffled voice of my future brother-in-law, "I'm in here."

"Oops. Sorry, Marco." I went to the second door and turned the knob.

It was unlocked.

I opened the door to step inside but did a double-take instead.

Inside, my future father-in-law was bent over with his jeans down to his thighs. His tighty-whities-covered butt pointed at me.

"Oh, shit." I backed out quickly and shut the door. My heart raced inside my chest, and the front of my shorts started to tighten.

There was a shuffle of clothes inside the fitting room.

The door opened, and Raoul appeared with his jeans back up but with the fly open. The waistband and an imprint of a fat dick head showed at the front of the white briefs.

I tore my gaze away and looked at his handsome face. "I'm really sorry, sir. The door was not locked when I tried the knob. I thought there was no one inside."

"Don't worry about it, Benjamin." Raoul pointed behind him with a thumb. "We can share the room. I don't mind."

"No, it's okay. I'll stay out here and wait my turn."

"Don't be ridiculous. We're both men. There's no reason we can't change in front of each other. This is just like a locker room, only smaller."

"Can it even fit two big guys like us?" I craned my neck to see inside. 

Raoul's suit hung on a hook on one side of the wall. One wall had a full-body mirror. But the space inside looked big enough for four football players.

"Come on." He grabbed my shoulder and pulled me inside. "The sooner you get inside, the sooner we'll finish getting dressed."

I let myself be dragged inside. Fuck, my future father-in-law is going to strip down to his underwear in front of me.

He closed the door, locked it, and resumed taking his jeans off. Our combined body heat and manly musk filled the fitting room.

Everything was silent except for the sound of fabric rubbing fabric.

My heart thrashed in my chest like a jackhammer as I turned my back to him and placed my suit on an available hook.

When I turned to face him, he had his shirt removed and hung on another hook. Salt and pepper hair covered his defined chest.

Our gazes met.

I immediately looked away, grabbed the hem of my t-shirt, and pulled it off me.

Raoul pushed his jeans down to his ankles, stepped off, and put them on the hook where his shirt was. He stood in front of me in nothing else but white briefs.

My eyes lingered on the large mound of meat pointing upward inside the front pouch. Blood rushed to my dick at the sight of this straight daddy in front of me. 

Shit, not now. I turned away and opened the garment bag to hide the hard-on inside my shorts.

He did the same and went to his on the hook next to mine.

I put the white shirt on and tried to act like I had nothing to hide. Please, don't notice my boner.

"Uh, Benjamin." Raoul faced me. 

"Yes, sir?" I buttoned the shirt closed without looking at him. But from my peripheral, I could make out his brief-covered bulge.

"About what happened at dinner the other night."

"Sir." I turned my head to him. "I'm sorry for what I—"

"No, everything was my fault. I shouldn't have said what I've said to you."

As I let him speak, I forced my eyes to stay on his face and not wander anywhere else on his body, especially his crotch.

"So, I hope you forgive me because I spoke with Emma last night. She said she will not forgive me if you don't."

"Of course, I forgive you, sir. You're going to be my father-in-law soon."

"Yeah. Let's start over." He stretched his arm out. "Since you're going to be my son-in-law, just call me Raoul from now on."

I shook his hand. "Okay, Raoul."

"What the heck?" He pulled me to him and gave me a tight hug. "We're going to be family soon. Might as well get used to hugging it out."

"Ugh!"

My arm got sandwiched between us, and the tip of my fingers touched the waistband of his briefs. His meaty dick pressed onto my hip. But in turn, my hard dick inside my shorts pressed onto his.

To be continued...

---

The complete story is available on Amazon and Smashwords.

I truly appreciate the support. It inspires me to continue writing.

If you enjoy my stories, please let me know. Or at least Reblog it.

[annwrites]

tell me i'm your national anthem. part two.

— pairing: homelander x collegestudent!reader

— type: part of a series

— summary: you & john have dinner together again & you finally come to understand him a bit better. at the very least, what you think he wants. and he lets you in just once, wondering if you can be trusted after all.

— word count: 2,736

— tagging list: @emilynissangtr

You sleep fitfully that night.

It takes hours before your body manages to calm enough for you to find rest after having exhausted yourself from crying, hugging a pillow to your chest for comfort—utterly terrified that he’ll come back.

Every small noise you hear makes you shoot up in bed, staring at your now-curtained balcony doors, praying to God that he’s gone. That he hadn’t meant what he said about returning. He’d been bluffing, you’re sure.

You need for him to have not been serious.

You drag the next day during your classes.

You stay fairly to yourself, not wishing to talk to anyone. But, of course, all that any of them have on their minds, and seem able to discuss as you pass them in the halls is him. Including your best friend, Emma.

It only serves to turn your stomach. The fact that she worships the ground that his corrupting boots walk upon—that she has no idea that he’s a soulless monster. That he had so easily threatened your life before proceeding to humiliate you before stealing away your first sexual experience for his own benefit.

He’d done it to be cruel, you’re sure. To disrespect you like he’d felt you’d done toward him.

As if refusing to make eye contact while hundreds of others gazed upon him with admiration was anything like what he’d done to you.

Trying to wrap your mind around the incredible difference between who he is in front of a camera versus who he had turned into in your apartment last night… He’s a psychopath, clearly. All you can manage to return to time and again was him staring at you with red eyes, threatening your life. A threat that had rolled off his tongue as easily as asking you about the weather.

You wonder how many lives he’s taken that no one knows about, or that Vought has taken diligent measures to cover up. Wondering why they do it—why they would protect him—has a simple answer: he’s indestructible…right? A man with that much power, and with no remorse—with no weaknesses—is a terrifying thought.

You really fucking hope you never see him again. That whatever he was after he managed to get out of his system last evening. After all, what’re you compared to Queen Maeve, or a model, or fellow actress, or supe?

Thankfully, it’s a slow day at work. Usually it is, in truth. Not many people seem to have much of an appreciation for buying and collecting antiques anymore. Unless it’s Christmas time…the store is almost always dead. A fact you’re quite grateful for today as you arrange a shelf of Precious Moments figurines, avoiding the section of the store dedicated to superheros at all costs.

You ring up maybe half-a-dozen customers in not quite as many hours before heading home for the day, practically dead on your feet.

You take a long shower—the pleasant feel of the hot water nearly serves to put you to sleep—repeatedly telling yourself that you’re safe here. He’s not coming back. This is your home. You’re okay. Everything is okay. You’re sure he’s already forgotten about you by now, anyway.

When you emerge back into your bedroom dressed in a t-shirt and a pair of soft gray sweatpants—ready to just throw something in the microwave so you can go to bed straight after—you halt in your tracks when you see a silhouette with wide shoulders and a billowing cape on the other side of your closed curtains.

Your breath hitches in your throat.

You’re seeing things. He’s been on your mind all day and you’re exhausted on top of that, not to mention starving.

It’s not real. He’s not—

There’s a gentle knock against the glass. “I know you’re in there. I can hear your heart. So, you can either open the door, or I’ll just break a window and let myself in. But, then you’ll end up having to pay to replace the glass, and you’ll have to explain things to your landlord, and, well—”

You come over to the door then, frustrated tears stinging your eyes, and you flip the lock, heading in the direction of the kitchen without a word.

You know it’s useless to try and hide, or pretend like you’re not home.

He lets himself in, gently closing the door behind him.

“Honey, I’m home!” He says in a sing-song tune, following you into the kitchen, leaning against a counter with crossed arms and a smug look on his face.

“So, what’s for dinner?”

You open the freezer, throwing a microwavable dinner on the counter, refusing to even look at him.

And then he sighs, grabbing the meal away from you, throwing it back into the freezer.

He leans down toward you. “What? No home-cooked meal for your favorite superhero tonight? And after all that hard work I put into making a meal out of you just twenty-four hours ago.”

You grip the edges of the counter in each of your hands, dragging your nails across it. “I never asked for any of that. I begged you not to.”

He leans in closer, grabbing your hip painfully as he brings his lips to the shell of your ear. “You’re being very ungrateful right now.”

He pauses. “You’re hurting my feelings.”

Your chin wobbles and your stomach fills with lead.

“Now,” he starts again, sliding his gloved fingers into your hair, gently massaging your scalp. “You are going to be a good little girl and get to cooking. I’m not asking twice. I’ve been hard at work all day. It’s the least you can do for me after bothering to fly all the way here to keep you company.”

You bite your lower lip to try and keep your tears at bay. “What do you want from me?”

“I’ve already told you.”

You turn to the side, facing him, reluctantly looking up, meeting his empty blue eyes. “Thousands—no, millions—of women across the world would love nothing more than to throw themselves at you. To be at your beck and call. What the hell do you want with me?”

He gently caresses your chin between his fingers, smirking softly. “I’m no A-Train, but that doesn’t mean I don’t still love a good chase, sweetheart.”

He smacks your rear then, causing you to squeak in surprise. “Now, feed your man.”

You raid a brow at that. Your what?

You watch as he leans down, removing the milk jug from your fridge and you cross your arms. “I’m not doing all the work while you just sit there and watch.”

He looks at you with a displeased expression from your back-talk, but you don’t back down.

You remove a loaf of bread from the bread box, tossing it on the counter in front of him. “You’re in charge of making toast.”

Quite astonishingly, he doesn’t argue. Instead, he looks at you with a surprised look in his eyes and a gentle smile. “How many slices do you want?”

You have no idea that it gives him a sense of normalcy and home, even if just for a moment. Like you’re a mother instructing her child, giving them a small responsibility to see to at dinner time. You’re making him a part of the process, and he likes that. Appreciates it, even.

You’d begun giggling ridiculously from nerves in the middle of making spaghetti.

Homelander had looked at you with a raised brow and a sour look on his face, until you’d explained, with tears streaming down your own. “I’m cooking dinner with Homelander. You’re—”

You’d gasped for breath, doubling over. “You’re in my apartment! Making toast!”

And then you’d begun to actually cry—your exhaustion catching up to you all at once—hysterically, at that. He’d considered multiple courses of action. One: simply leaving. Two: threatening you to shut the hell up or he’d really give you something to cry about. He’d taken the third option with no fucking idea as to why.

He’d gathered you in his arms, ignored your tiny fists beating against his chest and your demands that he let you go, and held you until you calmed.

Once you did, and your breathing and heart-rate had both returned to normal—the smell of adrenaline no longer coming off of you in waves—he told you it was time to eat.

So, here you sit, slowly eating spaghetti and toast in silence with America’s poster boy.

He takes a long sip of milk, studying you.

“You’re very attractive,” he says, briefly pausing. “In an ordinary ‘girl-next-door’ sort of way, I suppose.”

Your eyes flit to his, swallowing your noodles. “T-thank you.”

He hums in response, a small smile on his lips, fingers splaying outward expectantly.

Your brows furrow for only a moment. “You’re…handsome.”

His smile fades at your unsure tone of empty platitudes. “Why don’t you like me?”

Oh God, not this again.

You shake your head, taking a bite of your toast. “You’re asking that after what you did to me?”

“You mean what I did for you? You seem to forget that I gave you an orgasm without so much as asking for anything in return.”

Bile rises in your throat. “You stole my first sexual experience away from me.”

“I think stolen is a nasty way to word it. I gifted it to you.”

You grip your fork tightly in your fist, having half-a-mind to drive it through the back of his hand. But you know you can’t. You don’t want to even imagine how such an action would end. Probably with your apartment becoming a bloody mess and your twenty-one-year-old life at an end before it ever got a chance to truly begin.

So you set the utensil down.

“You want me to like you?” You ask quietly, having no clue as to why your meaningless opinion of him should matter in the first place.

He shrugs lightly, brow twitching in response.

You fold your hands in your lap, leaning back, staring at him. “Tell me something, then. Something real and that no one else knows.”

He stays quiet, so you continue.

“Because the very opposite of that is why I dislike—no, scratch that—despise you: because you just look like an empty suit to me. Something manufactured by the media. A man unable to think for himself without a teleprompter in front of him instructing his every move.”

He grinds his teeth, his face twitching, his gloved hands now squeezed tightly into fists.

And you immediately fill with regret. Being exhausted typically left you one of three ways—all of which you’d experienced in one evening alone. Giggly and easily amused, emotional, or irritable.

The first two he’d tolerated. This one…you worry it ends with your landlord discovering your corpse the next time rent is due.

“You think they control me?” He asks with a sneer.

“I have yet to find a reason to think otherwise.”

“You think,” he says, leaning in toward you, his boot pressing against your foot beneath the table. “I’m just some puppet manufactured by Big Media? Hm?”

He stands abruptly, chair scraping loudly against the floor and you stand as well, your own toppling over in your panic as he backs you into a corner.

He must like doing this—intimidating. Invoking fear.

He chuckles, cupping your face in his hands. “I’ve done things… Things that would horrify you. Things that even Vought doesn’t know about.”

He shrugs. “They’re just the ones who sign my paychecks. See, they work for me. The whole fuckin’ world does. Including you, honey. I’m the real hero. My little tagline where I say otherwise? It’s bullshit. But the people eat it up. They swallow the garbage I feed them with a grateful smile. You think you’re so…different, though, don’t you?”

You brows furrow and you feel completely terrified, but quickly decide upon trying a new approach.

Aggression is getting you nowhere—it’s only begetting more on his part. And you worry how far you can push him before it ends in catastrophe.

And it’s then that you realize that he does have a weakness after all: he’s desperate for approval. Why the hell else would he be here yet again, demanding to know why he doesn’t yet have yours? Is he just that much of a narcissist, or is it something deeper?

You slowly reach up then, cupping his cheek, your other trembling hand coming to rest gently upon his chest.

Touching him in such a familiar fashion may end horribly for you, but something tells you it's well worth a try.

“What happened to you?” You ask in a whisper.

His features shift—softening—the look in his eyes that of…confusion. He even goes so far as to lean in slightly to your warm, comforting touch.

Your eyes flit between his, taken aback by his embracing your kind, physical gesture. “You haven’t always been like this, have you?”

You take a tiny step closer, bridging the gap between your bodies, since you think this attempt might just finally be getting you somewhere.

“You want me to like you? Trust you? Actually enjoy your company, and, much more, want it? Tell me something no one else knows, then. Something that will make me see past all of it.”

Your eyes trail along his suit, before meeting his own again. “Past this. I have no interest in getting to know Homelander. Because that’s not who you really are, even if you’ve forgotten it.There’s still a man in this costume. A human being.”

You watch with shock as tears gather in his eyes that continue to stare into your own, his lips pressed into a firm line as he remains silent.

You shoosh him softly. “It’s okay. It’s just the two of us. You may not want to believe it, but you can trust me. I haven’t even told anyone about you coming here last night, because I’m not the type to gossip. I have no interest in it.”

That’s not the reason whatsoever, but he can think whatever the hell he likes, so long as it gets him to calm down and give you a moment of vulnerability.

You brush a tear away as it slips down his cheek.

“You want to know what people have told me time and again since I was little? That they feel like they can trust me—even complete strangers. They’ll share things with me that they won’t even tell their closest friends and family. For the longest time I couldn’t understand why—what it was about me—and then I figured it out.”

You gently run your fingertips along his cheek. “I know what it feels like when someone betrays your trust repeatedly. When that one person in all the world you’re supposed to be able to rely and lean upon just…uses the things you tell them against you just to hurt you. Because they’re incapable of empathy. And I refuse to do that to others. Because I won’t be like her. I can’t. I just…I guess people can sense that about me. I hope so, at least. It’s the only explanation I have.”

You pause. “What I’m trying to get at is that you can, too: trust me. You’re safe here.”

He blinks, another tear slipping down his cheek, which you softly wipe away.

“John,” he whispers, finally speaking. “My name is John.”

You smile.

“John,” you repeat, and his chin wobbles at the sound of his name leaving your lips.

“Thank you for telling me. That’s all I wanted: to know something about you. Something that comes from you.”

His face shifts then, his vulnerability quickly vanishing. “If you tell anyone—”

You slip your fingers into his hair. “I won’t. I promise. You have nothing to worry about. It’s okay. Everything is okay.”

His eyes flit between yours, debating, considering.

And then he nods and you release a breath of relief.

He leans down then, pressing his lips to yours—tenderly. A wholly different sensation to how he’d been with you last night.

It’d worked.

You pull back slightly.

“Y/N,” you whisper against his lips.

His own twitches. “I already knew that.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “Who was it? You said ‘her’.”

You swallow, chewing the inside of your cheek. “Can we talk about it tomorrow night?”

He likes that you want him back again. That you’re admitting it. That you’re planning on it.

He smirks. “Sounds like we’re finally on the same page, sweetheart.”

[different-worlds-series]

Chapter Ten: You're Not Alone, John

'Many people live and die without ever confronting themselves in the darkness'

-Carmen Maria Machado

Sienna knocked on Emma's door, "Emma, come on! I know you're awake" she sighed, hearing the small giggles coming from her niece. Emma was tucked under her heavy blanket, her phone in her hands as she was typing. Her cheeks were red as she texted Jordan. Their conversation only contained love-sick memes and emojis. It had only been a day since they sort of got together and yet Emma couldn't help but feel like a little kid.

"Emma Victoria Margaret Ní Chroídheán! We need to go, for the love of Rao, just be dressed in the next half an hour!" Sienna gave up, walking away from the closed door. Emma finally left her bed's warm embrace, feeling the cold hardwood floors with her feet. She was too tired to change properly, grabbing the nearest hoodie and sweatpants after putting her bra and socks on. She left her head down, hardly brushing it as she grabbed her flash converse.

Sienna had a look of sweet relief when Emma turned the corner for the kitchen, grabbing the handle of the fridge door. "I thought you had succumbed to your bed" She commented as Emma pulled out a can of monster. "Close but Jordan convinced me to get up" Emma answered bluntly like she wasn't an absolutely flustered mess less than five minutes ago. "Jordan? That's who you were texting?" Sienna asked her. "Yeah, we kinda got together last night" Emma shrugged as her phone buzzed. The minute Emma saw who had texted her, she went from dead inside to a kid in a candy shop.

Her aunt was amazed by the sudden mood change topped by the information she was given. "You're with Jordan, Emma, that's amazing!" Sienna smiled at her. "Yeah, it feels...right. I don't think I've felt like this since I got adopted... I actually feel like I'm fifteen and not like thirty" Emma explained, feeling her heart flutter. She was actually happy which was super weird for her. "You can tell me all about it in the car, come on" Sienna said, grabbing her niece by her shoulders and walking her out the door.

<;><><>

Emma followed Sienna as she entered the school; she didn't want to be near this death trap on a Saturday. Emma almost tripped over her own two feet when she felt someone catch her. She was hoisted back on her feet gently with a familiar laugh behind her. She turned her head, rolling her eyes as Jordan gave her a goofy grin.

"You have no idea how fucking clique this is to me, do you?" Emma asked him, crossing her arms. "Really?" he asked her, raising his eyebrows at Emma. "Do you know how many times I have seen multiple versions of your parents do the whole 'she falls and he catches her' thing that can make any girl's heart flutter?" Emma explained, her cheeks turning red. "Did your heart flutter?" Jordan tried not to laugh as Emma's face went bright red.

She shoved him with her hand, hating that Jordan could turn her into a completely flustered mess of a person. "Do not give me that look, your cuteness is the only thing keeping you alive" Emma pointed at him. Jordan only shook his head, gently taking her hand and pulling her to him.

"You think I'm cute?" Jordan asked with a shit-eating grin. Emma tried to glare at him, but his adorable eyes made her knees weak. "Cute means ugly but desirable" Emma stated, feeling Jordan's fingers intertwine with hers. "I like this" Jordan smiled, his thumb gently caressing Emma's. "Yeah, me too" Emma smiled, walking a bit closer to him. Jordan smiled at her, kissing her cheek. "You sweet, adorable, cute little dork" Emma bit back, wrapping her arms around his middle."Whatever you insane, mess of a fangirl" Jordan said back, resting his chin on her head, praying that she didn't feel the heat radiating from his cheeks. "This is so corny" Emma muttered before breaking the hug.

"What's with the bag?" Emma asked him, seeing the football gear inside. "Jon and I are taking a break after what happened with the guy trying to kill our Dad and the thing that attacked you" Jordan explained, picking it up from the ground. "How about you, since when do you come to school on a Saturday? Aren't you allergic to not being asleep?" Jordan joked, earning an elbow to the side. "For your information Dork, Sienna needs help with some talent show and I'm not trusted to be alone for a couple of hours" Emma told him, the pair walking towards the gym.

Jordan looked at her funny, "Why can't you be alone?" he asked. "Because the last time someone left Emma alone, she had to talk herself out of a grand theft auto charge" Sienna's voice spoke, catching the couple's attention. Jordan gasped while Emma gave him a sheepish smile. "In my defence, that is the least incriminating fact you'll ever hear about me" She said confidently.

"What's the worst?" Jordan asked her, only for Emma to pale. "For another time" Emma patted his arm. "Emma, can you please start putting up the chairs? I have to grab the sign-up sheet and make sure the piano is tuned" Sienna smiled at her niece. "You ripped me from my comfort for this? I wonder if there's an asylum close by that'll take me" Emma groaned at her aunt as she handed Emma the key to the supply closet that held the folded chairs. Emma let out a groan as Sienna ran to run her own errands.

"I'll come help once I'm done with Coach, yeah?" Jordan suggested, smiling when Emma's face lit up. "You are a lifesaver, good genes" She joked, her nose scrunching up as she snickered. Jordan rolled his eyes, kissing her temple before leaving her in the hallway alone. Emma's face went bright red as her stomach fluttered with butterflies. She wanted to jump and squeal like the fangirl she was. Jordan had her wrapped whether he knew it or not.

<;><><>

Emma had finally put the last chair out when Jordan came back from Coach Gaines small office in the locker rooms. "How long was I gone?" Jordan asked looking at her in awe. "Not long, I thought the chairs were like the ones back in my old school" Emma shrugged at him with a smile. Jordan rolled his eyes at her. "So... do you wanna go to the diner or..." Jordan shrugged his shoulders, giving Emma an awkward smile.

Emma's eyes lit up in excitement, grabbing Jordan's hand as she began to drag him out of the gym. "Come with me...I want to show you something" She smiled at him as they left the gym.

Jordan followed Emma as they ran past the lockers and down a couple of flights of stairs. He was almost out of breath before Emma stopped at a marron door. She turned to him, still buzzing with excitement. "Promise me you won't laugh" She told her, with her pinky in the air. "You want me to pinky swear?" Jordan asked her, raising an eyebrow at her. "I trust Pinky swears more, promise me" Emma insisted with a pointed stare. Jordan sucked it up, hooking his pinky with Emma's. With a satisfied smile, Emma opened the door behind her.

"Welcome to my escape"

The room was filled with instruments on every wall. Guitars, Basses, various violins and more. A drum kit sat in the right corner next to a small booth that held a single microphone. A small keyboard was set up near the window to the right, unlike the other instruments it looked to be used much more recently. "The music room?" Jordan asked her, wondering why she would ever think he'd laugh at this. "Yep, when I get angry or scared Sienna brings me here so I don't break something" Emma explained, the feelings of tiredness and anxiety washing away as she stood contently in the room.

"Why did you promise me not to laugh then?" Jordan asked her, tilting his slightly allowing his curls to bounce gently. Emma's face went red for a moment. "Because, before I came to Smallville music was my escape...just like this but slightly different" Emma shrugged. "How different?" Jordan nudged her lightly, an amused grin forming as he watched Emma's cheeks burn red.

"I wascompossingmusicforaSupermanmusical....andwasinit" Emma sputtered, closing her eyes. Jordan looked at her confused, "Em, slowly" He advised her, his grin not leaving his face. "I... was composing music for...a Superman musical and I had a part in it" Emma repeated to him, embarrassed for her life. She watched Jordan's grin grow into a smile before he bit his lips to stop him from laughing.

Emma pouted at him, "It's not funny! You promised you wouldn't laugh!" She shouted at him, crossing her arms and turning away from him. Jordan felt bad quickly, containing his laughter long enough to grab Emma's upper arms and turn her to him.

He gently rubbed her arms, hoping to comfort her before talking. "No it's not funny, I think it's cool that you were composing music for a musical...even if it was about my Dad" He told her softly, stepping closer to her making the space between them smaller. Emma looked at him with disbelief. "You can't tell anyone, especially Jon he'll never let me live it down" Emma warned him, her opposite hand reaching for the one Jordan had on her arm.

"I swear, I won't tell Jon" Jordan agreed before holding up his pinky. "Pinky swear" He added, making Emma's pout disappear. She gladly hooked her pinky with his before kissing his cheek. "Thank you" She smiled at him. Jordan only smiled bigger, wrapping an arm around Emma's shoulders. For a moment Emma tensed up then relaxed, not used to the new meaning behind Jordan's touches.

"Sienna signed me up for the talent show and it's freaking me out" Emma sighed, hesitantly placing her head on Jordan's shoulder. "How come? You were amazing at Harvest Fest" Jordan pointed out. Emma shrugged, "But that was different, for me at least. At events like Harvest Fest, there's a vibe that I can get caught up in like the underground raves back home. Most people are too caught up in their own world to take notice. But talent shows? Everyone is focused on you and only you and it freaks the shit out of me, like the verge of a panic attack freaked" Emma explained to him, finding comfort in Jordan's touch as she spoke about her fear. Jordan could feel the fear from Emma, causing him to tighten his grip ever so slightly. "I get it, when I, um... used to play the piano. I did the whole little kid recital thing. As I got older and my anxiety got worse, it got to be a little too much" Jordan told her, relating to her fear in a sense. "I forgot that... I definitely need to see little Jordan in a suit" Emma teased lightly, a small laugh emitting from her. Jordan rolled his eyes at her, "I'm going to regret telling you that" He sighed playfully.

"I keep your secret, you keep mine" Emma reminded him before her eyes landed on the piano. "My Dad and Aunt Nat taught me guitar and piano. I can't play much now since my hand got injured, but I like to try" Emma mused before breaking away from Jordan's touch and walking over to the piano.

Jordan watched as she sat down, gently placing her hands above the keys and taking a deep breath. "Wanna hear a snippet from the musical that shall not be named?" Emma raised her eyebrow at him with a silly grin that made Jordan's stomach flutter with butterflies. "Totally, Fangirl" He answered, grabbing the chair closest to him and bring up near the piano.

"If I could do it all over, maybe I'd do it different

Maybe I wouldn't be here, in this position

I found you, then I lost you, lookin' back is torture

And it hurts to know I let you go, you live right around the corner

And I could've had it all, could've had it all

True love, I knew I had it, true love was so hard to find

True love, if I could get it back, I'd never let it go this time"

Jordan could only admire as Emma's voice filled the room, her eyes closed gently as she pressed down on the piano keys. "I'd never let it go...I'd never let it go this time" Emma finished as she lifted her hands away from the piano. Emma opened her eyes to see Jordan smiling at her stupidly. "What?" She asked him, confused about why he was smiling like that. "You so good, this talent show will be easy for you" Jordan told her, making Emma blush hard. "If only there were a song that I could sing without totally revealing the family secrets we have" Emma groaned, hitting her head on the piano, making an awful sound.

Jordan shook his head, pulling the chair he was sitting in closer to Emma. "Come on, I'll help you out" He offered.

<;><><>

John Henry Irons sat in the interrogation room, his face showing no emotion as Superman walked in for the second time. He looked at the beloved hero with hatred in his eyes, the familiar surge of rage coursing through his veins.

As Superman began to talk, the veteran stopped him before he could finish his sentence. "I will only speak to Lois Lane" He gritted his teeth. Superman let out an exasperated huff. "She doesn't want to talk to you. Is there anyone else who you would be willing to speak with?" He asked, praying that the man who had been trying to kill him might actually negotiate.

John Henry stayed quiet for a moment before looking up at the camera recording him. "I'll speak with Shara or Elrisia Alor only" He spoke, unaware of the pit he created in Superman's stomach.

Sam, who was in the opposite room furrowed his eyebrows. He waited for Superman to return from the room. As his son-in-law entered the room, Sam gave him a hard stare. "Who are these Alor people?" He asked Clark. "Emma and her aunt, Sienna. Sienna and Emma's mother were from Krypton, they protect the House of El. Emma is supposed to be the boys' protector" Clark quickly explained, taking his civilian phone from the table and dialling Sienna's number.

"I need you at to D.O.D." He spoke. Before the phone left his ear, Sienna stood in between the men, her hair slightly frizzed from the speed she came in at. "What do you need me for?" Sienna smiled at Clark. "The man that has been trying to kill me wants to speak with you or Emma, I had a feeling that maybe you should be the one" Clark told her, pointing to the camera feed of the man.

Sienna looked at him, studying his face before nodding. "Turn off the camera, I've stayed undetected for over forty years, I'm not blowing Emma's chance to be a sense of normal" Sienna warned Sam, walking promptly to talk with John Henry.

Sam looked at Clark with an angry look. "Is she serious!" He exclaimed, not trusting this new alien. Clark didn't answer, only pressing the button to turn off the camera.

Sienna walked into the room, giving John Henry a kind smile. He looked up at the woman, his face softening for the first time since his capture. "Shara, it's nice to see a familiar face" John smiled at her. Sienna sat down, placing her hands on the table.

"How do you know about my niece and me?" Sienna asked him, cutting the formalities. John only nodded, sitting back. "I know of Elrisia because, in my world, her sister was my daughter's best friend" John Henry answered, not afraid of the woman. "Elrisia's sisters are no longer with us" Sienna told him carefully. "I'm aware, Elrisia died in my world. Sithya was the only other Alor besides your doppelganger" John added, making Sienna nervous at the namedrop.

"Why did you want to talk to me?" She asked him, her voice turned cold. John Henry leaned over the table like he was about to spill a secret. "I know your sister... Emma is not safe as long as her half-human heart beats. She cannot become a protector, under any cost" John whispered, his words striking a cord. "How in Rao's name do you know her human name!" Sienna growled, her fist denting the tale as she stood up angrily.

"Because, Emma will help Mal destroy this world just like mine, willingly or not" John warned the woman as she left the room, infuriated at the man.

<;><><>

Emma stood behind the curtains of the stage, her stomach dropping every moment or so. She watched as a senior left the stage with a smile, making Emma's confidence crumble. "Next!" a teacher called, waiting for Emma to walk out on stage.

"You can do this... just like Harvest Fest...just like-" Emma looked up, her eyes widening in fear as the plain stares of the judges bored into her. She gulped, walking up to the mic and giving a shaky smile. "Hi, I write songs and this is one I wrote when... I lost my brother a couple of years back" Emma nodded, taking a deep breath before closing her eyes.

She opened them to see Jordan and Jon, smiling up at her.

"Good morning, you're leaving

I'll see you in the evening

My best friend 'til the end

My better half, no pretend

Our language is sacred

Though people try to solve it

New adventures on the way

You're right by my side whenever I need you

Through the hardest times, I'll be there for you

At the crack of dawn when the moon is gone

I won't be hard to find

'Cause you and me, oh yeah, we're seamless

Whoa-oh-oh-oh-oh, hey

Oh-oh-oh-oh, oh yeah

You and me together

Take on the world forever

I know all your secrets

And I promise you, I'm gonna keep them

I'll be there when you are feeling clueless

You and me, oh yeah, we're seamless

Whoa-oh-oh-oh-oh, hey

Whoa-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh"

Emma finished, tears brimming in her eyes as the judges gave her a small applause. She bit back her lip before leaving the stage. She ran down to Jordan and Jon, a smile on her face. "You did it!" Jordan beamed, hugging Emma tightly. "I did it!" Emma smiled back, still feeling her body racked with nerves and excitement. "You were amazing Em" Jon told her. "Thanks, Jon" Emma smiled as Jordan wrapped his arm around her shoulders. Jon looked at them with a shocked expression.

Emma only nodded, knowing exactly what he was thinking. "Finally! God you two are impossible!" Jon exclaimed at them. Jordan blushed hard while Emma rolled her eyes at him. "Whatever, I was thinking of Vicky May's for lunch" Emma suggested, changing the topic with the agreement of Jon's stomach growl.

The trio walked out of the gym, discussing what they were planning on buying at the local café. Sienna was heard, shuffling towards them quickly. "Emma! We need to talk" Sienna called out to her. Emma quickly looked at her aunt, "I didn't break the law I swear" She blurted out. Sienna gave her a pointed look, "Really, that's what your first reaction is?" She asked her niece.

Emma shrugged, "Daughter of a dealer, I'm the best at revenge. That's why I was known by the local gardaí" Emma explained innocently. "Remind me never to piss you off" Jon muttered, earning a light smack from Emma. Sienna shook her head at Emma before speaking again.

"Did your mother ever call Sophie a different name? Like the one, she called you?" Sienna asked. Emma furrowed her eyebrows, thinking for a moment. "Yeah... It was a weird one too...Sithya like the minor goddess of magic in Kryptonian mythology" Emma answered earning a prideful look from Sienna. "You read the books, I'm impressed" Sienna praised her.

Emma smiled bashfully at her aunt. "John Henry knows about us, the Alors, your human name all of it. You need to come with me" Sienna told her, holding out her hand. "You think I can get through to him?" Emma asked her, stepping away from the boys. Sienna nodded firmly as Emma took her hand.

<;><><>

From the moment Emma and Sienna entered Sam's office, alarms rang out throughout the D.O.D building. Emma felt her stomach tighten as she quickly ran through the halls, no longer fighting the rush of energy she had been experiencing since she first saw Jordan blow up the bonfire. She ran to a room that felt so familiar, punching in a code that had been burned from her memories like fire to paper.

She looked around, seeing that John Henry wasn't there yet and hid away from the naked eye as she heard the door unlocked once more. She didn't feel as weak as she thought in a room full of kryptonite. Maybe it was her human side? 'Thanks, Dad?' Emma thought to herself before she heard shuffling from whoever came into the room.

Emma thankfully hid in a weird closet that held kryptonite katanas. 'Alex Danvers and Damien Wayne would kill for this' Emma snickered to herself before she felt the room shake. She held in her relief as she heard Clark's voice.

"Clark whatever you do... do not give me away please" Emma whispered, praying that the room wasn't covered in too much lead. She felt her eyes glow as the blue shone back in her face.

Images flashed in her head, making her wince over so softly. So, the soldier is a bad guy and John Henry will grab a kryptonite spear. Great just her luck. Emma tried to focus her hearing, but the loud sound of the grenade made her jump. A door slams open and the sound of heavy feet makes the floor vibrate as someone screams, "Drop the weapon now!"

"Stop! Hold your fire!"

"You wanted to see me? Here I am" Lois called out, making Emma breathe out in relief. "You should go, Lois." John Henry warned her. "I'm not going anywhere" Lois answered before Clark started coughing.

"Suit yourself" He spat back at her. "John, I know about Natalie!" Lois called out to him, hoping to stop him." I know what happened on your world, to you, and to your family" Lois told him, her voice sounding strained.

"Then you know why I have to do this" John gritted his teeth. Emma very carefully opened the closet door, her eyes meeting Sam's and Sienna's. She held one finger up, her face pleading with them to give her a chance if Lois failed.

"Please. Please, I see the anger in your eyes. It's covering something I can relate to: the torture that comes from wondering if you failed, if there was something you could've done to save them, but there wasn't. If there had been, you would've found it" Lois spoke to him, pleading with every word she spoke for her husband's life.

"They're gone, and it's not your fault, but it's not his fault, either" She told him, hoping he would see the truth in her words. "You don't know what's coming" John spoke, the anger becoming familiar to Emma.

"But I do" Emma spoke up, catching everyone's attention as she walks past Lois. "I also know that pain you feel and the anger when you look at Superman. I've been in your position, holding a blade to the person who hurt you most" Emma spoke to him softly, not treating him like the villain.

"He isn't Mal, Elrisia, he will..." "Join the surprise Kryptonians, I know. But I know how it feels to have everything ripped away. Mal took everyone from me, my home, family, friends...my life and I wanted to kill her. And I almost did" Emma admitted, feeling a weight lift off her shoulders. John looked at her, trying to see if there were any false claims.

"You're trying to avenge Natalie and your Lois, but what would they say if they saw you try to kill a man who hasn't committed the crimes you believe will occur?" Emma asked him, holding her hand out. "Who would stop you? Your family?" John spat at her. "My sister...my baby girl, Sophie. She saved my life, she was the reason I got out of bed every day and now she's gone... but the love I have for her is the reason I'm still fighting...I know you're only doing this for Natalie but I'm telling you, John, he won't turn his back on us" Emma told him like it was a fact as old as time.

"How do you know that?" John asked, watching Emma walk up to him, her face hidden from everyone's sight. Emma allowed her eyes to glow softly. "I've seen it John... give me the spear" Emma whispered, holding her hand out.

" John...Our Superman is good, he would never turn on us, ever" Lois repeated. John loosened his grip on the spear, handing it to Emma. Emma smiled at him, thanking him silently. "Did you kill her?" John asked as the soldiers began to retain him. "I wouldn't be here if I did" Emma answered him, biting back her lip. John gave her an understanding nod before Sam had him taken away.

Sienna ran to Emma, hugging her tightly. "I'm okay...Auntie your gonna break my ribs" Emma ford out in a laugh before Sienna pulled away from her. "I'm so glad you are safe, when you ran... my mind went straight to..." Sienna stopped herself, knowing the soldiers were still listening.

Emma nodded, smiling at her aunt. Lois came up to her, her eyes sad and pitiful. "Oh Emma" She sighed before pulling the girl in tightly. "I know about the RV..." Emma whispered, only making the woman hold her tighter.

"Is he okay?" Emma asked them both, worried about Clark's well-being after the kryptonite. "He'll be fine, what about you...any lightheaded issues" Sienna asked eyeing the weapons in the room. "I'm fine, a little unnerved but no sicky feeling... you?" Emma questioned confused as to why the woman was still standing in a room of kryptonite. "A story for another time" Sienna told her.

<;><><>

John Henry looked at Superman confused as music blared from his RV. "What the fuck?" He asked, looking at the man confused. "Emma insisted on cleaning it...there was a little accident" Superman said before Emma walked out, a bucket and a big bottle of bleach in her hands. "All done, even sorted out a bed of yours" Emma smiled, hopping onto the ground.

John Henry gave her a grateful smile, holding his hand out. "Thank you, Emma, for everything" He nodded, waiting for her to shake his hand. Emma gave him the 'Are you serious look before hugging him quickly. "No problem" She answered back before letting go. Emma gave the men one last smile before bidding them farewell.

Jordan was waiting for her on the porch, a lovesick smile on his face as he held his hand out subtly for her to take.. Emma felt her stomach flutter as she felt his hand slip into hers. "Since when was 'stopping someone from murdering Superman' one of your many talents?" Jordan asked playfully, pulling Emma close to him. "Since forever, just not the Superman bit" Emma answered, her nose tipping off Jordan's.

Jordan pressed a gentle kiss to her lips, resting his forehead against Emma's fading blue hair. "I'm just glad you're safe" Jordan whispered. Emma kissed his cheek, wrapping her arms around his neck. "You ain't getting rid of me that quickly, Dork" She told him with a cheeky smile on her face. "You bet Fangirl" Jordan looked down at her, grey meeting blue.

Emma could stare into his colour-changing eyes forever if the world allowed her. "I hate to break up to the lovely moment!" Lois called, taking Emma out of her thoughts. She gave her a tightlipped smile before she looked at Lois who was gesturing for her to come over.

Emma walked back to the RV, noticing the small box in John Henry's hands. "Your little sister, Sithya was on my Earth. She wasn't born there so she isn't a doppelganger" He began, opening the box to reveal a small girl with ginger hair next to who Emma assumed was a young Natalie Irons. Emma felt tears gather in her eyes. "Sophie...my sweet Sophie" Emma gasped, gently taking the photo as if it would crumble at the slightest touch. Her fingers ghosted over her baby sister's face, tears falling from her face. "How old is she in this?" Emma asked him, her eyes filled with tears. "It was her eighth birthday. She was fourteen the last time I saw her" John Henry answered with a solemn face.

"Is she alive?" Emma asked, feeling her stomach twitch into knots. "I don't know...It had been three months since I saw her before the attack. She moved here, to Smallville" John answered before handing Emma the box. "She was Nat's best friend, you should have these" He told her with a sad smile. "Thank you... you have no idea how much this means to me" Emma cried softly, feeling Lois' arm wrap around her shoulders. "You're not alone, John. Don't forget that" Emma reminded him before the man entered his truck.

Sophie might be alive...she finally had something to hope for.

[psychictimemachinejellyfish]

Little Boxes.

When people hear about trigger events, nobody ever really grasps just how utterly god awful they truly are. Even other parahumans don’t really understand, most of them will always think of theirs as somehow the worst, as if its some kind of competition to see who lasted the longest before breaking.

Taylor didn’t know if she was just as oblivious as other parahumans, but she hoped that she wasn’t. She wanted to believe that she would never push someone into triggering on purpose in some demented parahuman supremacist bullshit. The worst part was the fact that even after the worst day of her fucking life, even after being driven from her home at gunpoint, even after being shot in the god damn leg, she could not bring herself to hate Emma. Despite knowing that she should hate her, knowing that this feeling of familial affection was fake as earth alaph monster movies, she couldn’t stop herself from missing her former best friend.

It was only after someone wolf whistled at her from a passing car that Taylor realized she had stopped running at some point, lost in thoughts of days long past. Shaking the memories of better times from her eyes, Taylor...

No. 

She wasn’t Taylor anymore. Taylor Hebert was dead, murdered by her sister in that horrid tanker. Taylor didn’t exist anymore. Whoever she was now, whatever she was, she wasn’t that helpless girl in a box anymore. The girl who pushed against the uncaring steel was dead and gone.

Eyeing the opening to the nearby alleyway, top covered by a tarp held down with various detritus, the girl made her choice. Stepping through the closest thing the makeshift shelter had to a door, she activated her power. Her foot never landed on the alleyway floor though, instead meeting the soft sand of Her Place. 

Some liked to call parahuman powers a twisted consolation prize for surviving the worst day of your life. The girl who had been Taylor wasn’t sure if she agreed with that statement, but Her Place was certainly fit to be some sort of prize.

A picturesque tropical paradise, all sunshine and soft beaches without any of the harsh realities of similar locations in the real world. No bugs or dangerous creatures to ruin the idyllic beach or the peaceful forest deeper inland. Despite there being wildlife, birds and wild dogs for a start, there would never be any droppings in her path.  For a moment the girl who had been Taylor pondered if Her Place was even real, or if she might just be bleeding out on her kitchen floor and imagining such a place, but she quickly dismissed such pointless thoughts and resumed her march to her goal. The cottage was just as oddly perfect as everything else in Her Place. Though the girl who had been taylor did not take the time to appreciate that, instead striding through before coming face to face with a single, golden compass. However its needle did not point north, instead pointing directly at the girl’s face. 

Once the girl might have hesitated, worried over what would come from her choice, but with everything lost to her there was no further reason to delay the inevitable. Her hand closed around the golden compass and Taylor Hebert truly died.

Three weeks later, Taylor Hebert lived again. ________________________________________________________________ Alt power, Alt trigger Taylor: This version of our favorite queen of escalation triggered in a VERY different manor to canon, which I hope was properly hinted at in this snip. As for what her exact power actually is, well thats a bit complicated.

At first its a relatively simple power, taylor created “holes” in reality that teleported whatever entered them to random worlds in the multiverse. But unfortunately(or fortunately depending on who you ask) taylor got unlucky and rolled a particular dimension that didn’t take kindly of the intrusion. As a result the dimension latched onto QA, changing taylors power into creating portals to the dimension in any doorway or doorway like place she walks through.

An event at her house leads to her running away, finally entering the place the dimension had been trying to force her towards for nearly a year. As for the compass, well thats an original relic that has some... side effects on taylors power.

Things have changed, and things will continue to change. But the needle will always point at Taylor. till next time.

[awkwardtortilla]

i can’t find dylan’s birthday but i know in my soul he has a summer birthday and we’re going with it for this request-

just imagine making sure dylan wakes up late (maybe recruiting the kids and fellow counselors to tire him out and keep him in his cabin) and getting into the radio hut to make a special announcement on the PA for his birthday before just spending his birthday spoiling him and convincing mr.h to give you back your phones for the day to take pictures of each other

i just love dylan leave me be-

Ohohohoho fuck yea

Birthday

So I was really friggin excited to write this so my brain could not form actual paragraphs so we’re rollin with bullet points. Sorry if you’re not into that

[I’m rereading this and dam I was all over the place but I’m too lazy to go back and fix it so hope you enjoy what my sleep deprived brain conjured]

warnings: none???

You had been planning this for a week, going over it again and again to make sure everything would go as it should

It had been surprisingly easy to get the kids to go along with everything (you supposed they just liked Dylan that much)

But your fellow counselors *cough*cough* Emma and Jason *cough*cough* required a bit of bribing

But $10 a person wasn’t too bad, especially when considering the cause

The day before Dylan’s birthday a group of kids (supervised by Kaitlyn) would do their best to tire him out

Then that night kids would keep him up late with bathroom trips and checking for monsters

In the morning everyone would steer clear of the cabin he slept in

But as a safety precaution Ryan would stand guard and make sure that happened

Abi would be in the kitchens with Emma cooking a small but special breakfast complete with pancakes, scrambled eggs, sausage, and bacon

Nick, Jason and Kaitlyn would keep the kids in line and keep them following the regularly scheduled activities

As for yourself, you’d be persuading Mr. H into giving yours and Dylan’s phones back for the day — just for pictures

One desperate promise to make his coffee for the remainder of the summer later, Mr. H let up and agreed and handed back the devices

Then it was off to the camp radio station

You and Dylan had hung out plenty of times and even had a few dates there so you knew your way around

You plopped into the chair, turned things on, and cracked your knuckles

When the clocked ticked to 10:30am you pressed the button and summoned your best radio announcer voice

“HEEEEELLOOOO HACKETT’S QUARRYY!!! The time is currently 10:30am and from now until tonight it’s gonna be bright and sunny with a high of 92 and a low of 74 with just a couple of clouds. A very fine day indeed. A fine day for a fine man and his birthday!! That’s right, kings, queens, and non-binary beans! Today, [insert date], marks the one, the only, the best, Dylan Lenivy’s date of birth! Be sure to wish this adorable king a very happy birthday when ya see him, I’m sure he’d appreciate all the love. And, uh, that seems to be it for now, so it’s on to the song of the day, which is Just Like A Movie by Wallows, then activities’ll continue as normal. Have a great day, campers, and remember, what doesn’t kill you, will make you stronger.”

You took your finger off the speaker button and tapped the one that played the song

As you waited for it to be over you hummed along and wondered if you had your hand cut off, would that make you stronger?

Especially if it was your dominant hand??

As the song drew to a close you turned it off and got on the speaker again just for a couple reminders

“Once again, that was Just Like A Movie by Wallows, and today is Counselor Dylan’s birthday, so wish him well when—“

The door opened and a very red Dylan stepped in

“Oh, hey, Dyl.”

“Uh— good morning, [your name].”

“Happy birthday, Dyl.”

“Thanks, [your name].”

You’re sure everyone on the other side of that microphone could hear your smirk and Dylan’s blush

He joined you for a bit and as you chatted you got ppl to yell happy birthday to him and almost go them to sing when Dylan cut you off and took the reigns

He quickly and smoothly wrapped things up and couldn’t look at you without turning pink bc of your proud, sly smirk

He “complains” about all the ppl stopping him on the way here to say happy birthday but you can tell he’s flattered by it all

You chuckle and kiss his cheek and get up to lead him to the mess hall for breakfast

You thank the girls and pay Emma as they set a stack of pancakes with candles on the top in front of a chair

Dylan also thanks them but is in kind of a daze

He snaps out of it when you, Emma and Abigail start singing

You don’t think you’ve seen his face be it’s natural shade all day he’s been blushing so fricken much

When you’ve finished eating and the girls have left, you and Dylan chat a bit then head out to do the stuff you’ve planned

I mean other than last night, this morning, and the radio announcement, you hadn’t planned much

But you did intend to spoil Dylan every chance you got and take dumbass pictures

You did both, going on walks in the woods and taking a video of him trying to impress you by climbing a tree but getting stuck

And of him trying to walk across a stream but falling on his ass

Then he took pictures when you fell in too, the images getting progressively blurry as you threw a twig at him and he dodged

There were lots of random ones of Dylan mid-conversation but lookin so dam fine in the lighting

Lots of selfies with Dylan up close showing off his nostrils and you in the back laughing or throwing up a peace sign or finger guns

There are so many fucking pictures of Dylan finger gunning at the camera it could be it’s own album

And he always has this super enthusiastic smile like 😃

Anyways

You have a pretty modest lunch but the kids keep wanting pics with him so it takes forever to finish

Afterward you and Dylan just hang around camp doing random shit with the campers

You paint and swim and end the day with Ryan’s scary campfire stories

And there’s pictures and videos of it all

Pics of Dylan concentrating so hard on his art, the hilariously bad final result

Videos of him doing the thumb measuring thing and spilling his glass of water

Stuff of him doing cannonballs and playing with the kids and posing to show off his nonexistent muscles

There’s only a couple photos of you and Dylan sitting on the ground with your backs against a log full of kids

There’s a selfie two took with all of them

Then another that Ryan took of you passed out against each other

[thekillingmoonmoon]

two | lily love

(purity, innocence, loss, grief)

part one / part two

Pairing: Akashi Takeomi x Sano! Reader

Warnings: NSFW, the older brother’s best friend trope but make it soft, discussion of virginity loss, corruption kink, size kink, smoking, soft sex, cunninglingus, one smol slap

DISCLAIMER: virginity is a stupid social construct created by men to control women. Don’t listen to anyone who says losing your virginity to a stranger/casual hook-up is a sin. They’re the sinner here, for thinking that they have any say over your body and worth as a human being. The discussion of virginity here is for the sake of fiction (fanfiction about a 2d man, for fuck’s sake) so don’t take it seriously, please.

Length: 3,9 k (guess who's back on their bullshit)

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Akashi Takeomi was not a good man. He wasn’t Sano Shinichiro. He wasn’t a leader, a charmer, a saviour. Takeomi was a schemer, a shadow, a side character. He had vice thumping through his veins, fuelled by the cry of his name by a crowd. He was the moon to Shinichiro’s sun, the darkness that gave Shinichiro light. He was War where Shinichiro was Peace, the roar of battle and crack of bones that followed soft words and failed treaties. Akashi Takeomi was not a good man, and when he opened the door of his apartment to you that following Saturday afternoon, he was once again reminded of his ruinous sin. He cast heavy shadows across your sweet character, the light from his apartment spilling over his shoulders and shimmering on your skin as you stood before him. But his darkness was deeper, undivine, drowning you from head to toe.

“Hey, doll,” sin split his smile, simmering as you shyly grinned back at him. God, you were gorgeous. So sweet and lovely in a little sundress that Omi wanted to do nothing but tear off your trembling form. Or fuck you in it, hiked over your hips, the hem in your mouth, muffling the moans and murmurs of your sin. Omi clenched his jaw, the unlit cigarette in his lips twitching with his self-restraint. “Hi, Omi,” you mumbled, adjusting the small overnight bag on your shoulder. The older man noticed, tilting his head. “You gotta good alibi, little one?” he teased, but a tremor of sincerity ran beneath the sentence. He could not bear the thought of his best friend, your brother, barging in, and breaking the unholy sacrament that lay between you and Takeomi. You nodded, “I’m at a sleepover, and Emma is covering for me,” you gave a close-mouthed smile. Takeomi’s brows rose. “Emma-chan knows?” he gulped. You shook your head. “She knows I’m out seeing a boy, she doesn’t know who,” you sighed and rubbed the bridge of your nose, “she even tried to pack my bag – so if you find anything weird in there, it’s Emma, not me,” you dropped the offending bag to the floor, toeing off your sandals as Omi closed the door behind you. “Little girls aren’t meant to know this shit, right?” Omi frowned and you nodded. “Blame Gramps, he wants her to be aware, so he gave the little ones “the talk” very young.” “Did he give that little monster the talk too?” “Mikey? Yeah, although, although the little shit already knew everything. You know how Waka brags about the girls he gets,” you shrugged. Takeomi groaned, herding you to his ‘good couch’, already imagining the horrors Mikey and Baji had heard from his smooth-talking friend. “Jesus Christ, the kids are only, what, eleven? They should be playing with action figures, not learning how to fuck,” Takeomi grumbled, flopping opposite you into his other couch, the one with the suspicious stains and cigarette scorch marks. You gave Takeomi a scrutinous glance, “And what were you doing when you were eleven, Omi? Were you already a lady-killer?”

The man across from you snorted, his nose scrunching sweetly, causing your ribcage to contract. “Not a fuckin’ chance, sweetheart. Was too busy fixing up motorcycles and getting Shin out of fights for girls. Plus, you know how shit Shin is with girls. That applied to me too,” he grinned wryly, reminiscing on those high-blooded glory days. He squirmed into the pocket of his sweats, pulling out a lighter and igniting his cigarette with a soft puff.

“So,” he started. “So,” you winced, suddenly awkward despite the silent comfort that still sat between you. You gulped,   “How are we going to do this?” Takeomi let a solid stream of smoke free from his mouth, hungry eyes watching his prey through the white whisps. “That’s up to you, sweetheart. Do you still want to do this? You don’t have to,” he swallowed down the acid bubbling in his throat. “We don’t have to do anything, just sit and watch a movie…” he sighed, “and then I send you home, and we can pretend that nothing ever happened.” Not likely. Not when he knew how sweet you tasted, not when he knew sacred your little pants and moans were to his desecrated ears, not when you were so close, curled up on the couch just in front of him. “Is that what you want, Omi?” you nearly stammered, biting down the black bile that rose in your throat. But you steeled yourself, ready to leave, to take your dignity and virginity with you. You glanced to the man across from you, who was pensively smoking. He doesn’t want this. You decided then and there to leave. You stood. “That’s okay, Omi,” you clawed the words from your chattering teeth, “I’m sure Waka wouldn’t mind, he doesn’t seem to care much about who he sleeps with.” You turned to leave, reaching for your night bag, arms outstretched to grasp at your last hope.

A calloused hand gripped your wrist, long lithe fingers chaining your arm to your side. Takeomi was behind you. “Wait, doll,” he hoarsely spoke, silently shadowing you with his frame, silky hair tickling the back of your neck. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he confessed, hands curling over yours, lacing his fingers to where you stretched out your hand. You wanted to turn, to look at him, but he wouldn’t let you. So, you looked down instead. “You won’t hurt me, Takeomi,” you could feel his breath hitch across your back, his cigarette long left behind in an ashtray.  “I can, sweetheart. I’m,” he sighed, “I’m not a good person. And you’re, well,” he gulped, “you’re precious.” You felt the air leave your lungs in a rush. You tried to turn again, to see the truth in his wild-coloured eyes. But he wouldn’t let you. Instead, he rested his forehead on the back of your head, his breath fanning across your back. You shivered. “I want this, Omi. I want you,” you spilt your confession softly, barely audible above the sound of your breathing.

And then you were facing him. He kissed you, hard, sliding his hands up your arms to grip your shoulders. He hated this. He loved this. He hated the way you just let him have you, your mouth parting in a gentle gasp, letting him push his tongue into your mouth with ease. He loved this, the whimper you let out as he dug his fingers into your shoulders, the little hum you gave him as he spun you to sit on his couch. You plopped back into the cushions, and suddenly Takeomi was grateful for the plush cushions Senju had insisted on laying all over the place. You looked lovely, loveable, splayed out on the softness of his couch, in his house, in his arms.

He leaned over you, placing his hand just below your jaw to kiss you, his thigh coming up to part your legs. He glanced down and groaned at the sight of you, the skirt of your sundress riding up, exposing the soft expanse of your thighs, the fabric barely skimming the tops of your legs. He kissed you more, stealing the air from your lungs with each nicotine-laced kiss, the sweet scent of the cloves lingering around you in a warm hazy glow. You sighed, looping your arms around his shoulders, clutching at the loose material of his black shirt, losing yourself in the slow, sensual movement of his lips against yours, pushing at nipping at your lips until you were swollen sweet. He laid feather-soft kisses across your face. “You’re beautiful, little one,” he rasped, slipping down your body to begin kissing at your neck. His hands began to wander, slowly skimming down, squeezing and rubbing at all the silken skin he could reach. He sucked at the hollow of your collarbone. Not enough to leave a mark, but enough to make you squirm and shudder beneath him. 

His hands came up to cup your breasts, pulling a startled gasp from your pretty mouth. “This okay?” he asked, careful of every noise you made.  “Yes,” you breathed, “yes, Omi.” He slipped the straps of your dress from your shoulders, lifting your breasts from the dress to knead and grab at your plush tits. “Gorgeous, fuckin’ gorgeous,” he hummed, sucking at your nipple, listening to the sweet keen you made as he tugged his teeth slightly at the flesh. He began to hike up the hem of your dress, one hand wandering as the other rolled your nipple between lithe fingers.

You whimpered, closing your plush thighs around Takeomi’s hand, causing a low rumble to catch in his throat. God, you were soft. Soft, and silken, and sweet, oh so, fucking sweet. “Open up for me, babygirl. Be a good girl f’me,” Takeomi shifted back, both hands moving to spread your thighs, his fingers dipping deep into your flesh. You tried to cover your face then, bringing your hands over your eyes. Anything to avoid that glimmering glittering stare, that hunter’s gaze that fixed you from between your thighs. 

A sharp sting had you flinching and pulling your hands away. Takeomi had slapped your thigh. A huge hand was quick to grip your hands and tug them over your head, pinning them to the pillowy cushions. “You will not hide from me, doll. Especially not now,” he grumbled, “Hands stay here,” he instructed, and you nodded blinkingly in response. “Atta girl,” he gave your cheek a peck before settling himself between your silky thighs. “Watch me when I make you cum, yeah?” he hummed, and you nodded. He pinched where he’d slapped you earlier, “Words, sweetheart. Use ‘em.” “Yes, Omi,” you mumbled, and he gave you a crooked smile. He shifted his eyes down to where your legs came together, and he hissed at what he saw.

White lace. White lace lay over your cunt, all neat and modest swathes of snowy softness over your hips, all tied together with a little bow just below your belly. “Fuck,” he glanced up at you, now noticing the matching bralette that he’d shucked down with your dress. “This for me, little one?” his long lithe fingers slid below the elastic of your panties, barely brushing your tummy as he ran the pads of his fingers along the hem. “Yes, Omi,” you said meekly, careful not to break free of his piercing stare, “do you like it?” you ventured. A string of curses fell from between his teeth, “Fuck, sweetheart,” he groaned, “ I love it,” I love you. He peppered kisses across your stomach, hooking his fingers below the hem of your underwear to pull them off. You helped him by raising your hips, missing the way Takeomi secreted away your underwear into his back pocket. Guilt tinged at the back of his mind, but he brushed it off, more focussed on what lay before him. 

“Such a pretty pussy,” he cooed, leaning down to kiss your clit, his eyes never leaving yours. He couldn’t stop looking at you, gazing at each little gasp to puff past your lips, watching every twitch and flinch fall across your face.  He sucked gently on your clit, carefully separating your folds to fully see your tight entrance. You tensed at the cold air hitting your cunt. “Ssh,” Takeomi hushed you, lapping over your entrance in a thick stripe of his tongue. You shivered. Forested green gazed at you as he began to eat you out, suckling and licking at your clit and occasionally dipping his tongue past the tight walls of muscles below.

“Relax, sweetheart,” he kissed your inner thigh, pausing to suck a dark mark in the inner sanctity of your thighs. He pushed a single finger into your velvet tightness, sighing as you clamped around him. You whimpered, unsure of the feeling as he scissored in a second finger. He sucked on your clit, running his tongue in gentle circles around the nerves. You shuddered, strawberry sweetness filling your body as Takeomi pressed up against your walls, each slow pump of his fingers brushing over the place that had your curling around his crooked fingers. You hummed, loosening around his digits, allowing your cunt to be stretched out by his prying fingers. You took deep breaths, filling your lungs from their furthest end to the tops of your tits, the entire time keeping contact with Takeomi’s wild green eyes. Their iridescence bewitched you, coaxing you further and further into a haze of dark green lust. You moaned, each pass of his tongue sending electric shivers down your spine, each suck of his lips twitching your legs on either side of his head. You were growing closer, a fact exacerbated by Takeomi’s thumb beginning its slow stroke over your clit after his done.

“Omi,” his name spilt out in a chartreuse sigh, your eyes barely daring to roll back before returning to his steady gaze. Takeomi worked you towards a climax, his movements languid and lazy as he tried to soothe your soaked cunt with kisses. He smiled at the desperate way you blinked back salt-shimmered tears, the sides of his mouth as crooked as his conscience, as depraved as the dark thoughts that swirled around inside his head.  “You close, doll?” he asked, speeding his thumb up until your chest heaved. You nodded shakily, the words barely bumping out of your babbling lips. “Yes, c-close, close, close,” Takeomi increased pressure on your pulsing clit and you scrunched your eyes shut, “Cumming!” you keened, a myriad of strawberry suns bursting in your lower tummy, bubbling up in bright colours that set every nerve alight. You twitched and shuddered, your skin burning with every slow stroke and lap of Takeomi’s tongue over your pulsing pussy. 

“Good girl,” Omi cooed, crawling up your body to kiss you, spilling your slick into your mouth with a silken gasp. He groaned, gripping your hips and flesh, his hair splashed in inky waves around your head. Eventually, he pulled back, his skin shimmering with a mixture of spit and your slick. You reached for him, even as he pulled away, tugging him back by the collar of his tee to bring your lips to his once more. Shudderingly, shakingly, Takeomi giggled you upright, holding you beneath your arms and struggling to keep you on your feet. You laughed then, letting him guide you to his bedroom and flop down on his bed beside you, your eyes meeting in a glimmering chuckle as you both looked at each other. 

Silence fell over the pair of you, soft and sweet, barely brushing at the edges of your consciousness as you rolled over to face each other. You kissed, holding his jaw and humming, just enjoying the feel of his lips against yours. This was different. This was right. This was nothing like the few girls Takeomi had fumbled around with before. The way you looked at him as if he was all that mattered, as if you loved him, that was enough to throw Takeomi further into his damnation. You weren't here for the God of War, for the Black Dragons Vice, for the raw power pumping through his veins. You were there for him, for the terrible jokes he made to cheer you up, for the tag team habit of teasing your older brother, for the linked pinkies below tables and beneath sleeves. 

Fuck, he loved you, and he’d be damned if you left his apartment unaware of exactly how he felt. But the same slick words that normally fell from his silver tongue, came out in clumps of sticky honey, falling clumsily over his tongue until all he could do was kiss you as if it was the last thing he’d do.  Briefly, he rocked back onto the heels, pulling his tee shirt over his head. You gasped, seeing the big black dragon that swirled over his pale skin, clawing across his clavicles in thick black ink. “It’s beautiful,” you breathed, reaching out to run your fingertips along his scarred skin. “You like it, doll?’ Takeomi tilted his head, smiling inwardly as you nodded girlishly. You felt your cheeks grow warm and decided to rid yourself of your remaining clothes. You tugged your bralette and dress, Takeomi catching your hands as they tangled in the cloth above your head. He leaned in, hand holding your jaw as he dropped a deep kiss upon your parted lips. He helped you out of the crumpled clothes, giving you only a moment to answer a breathless “yes” before he had you bouncing on your back, soft against his starched sheets. You were bare before him, fully exposed for the first time. You tried to cover up yourself with your hands, but Takeomi lifted your wrists up and over your head. Then he settled himself between your legs, and you could finally see him. “Um, Omi,” you started, mouth suddenly dry. “Yes, sweetheart?” he layered his love down on you, peppering your face with soft kisses, nipping at your lip as you mumbled, “You’re, um, you’re big,” you gulped. Takeomi paused, holding himself over you with a hand beside your head. He hadn’t thought of that. “We can stop whenever you want,” he offered, but you shook your head. He nodded then, taking in the steeled expression in your eyes as his final warning. He reached across to his bedside table and pulled out a condom and lube. “No condom,” you huffed, “’m clean and on the pill,” you reassured. Takeomi frowned at you but threw the condom to one side before dolloping a generous amount of lube on his twitching cock. He breathed in. “You’re so beautiful, my love.”

And there it was, the lily-white petals of your lust, your love, and Takeomi was the one to colour you red, spilling your virginity in scarlet sighs. He entered you slowly, inch by inch, breath by breath, cradling your head into the crook of his neck as he claimed you. Your entire being burned, a red string pulled taut and then snapped as Takeomi completed you. You could feel his tip just inside your walls, throbbing hot and heavy, his hips rocking deeper with each exhale until your bodies met. Salt lined your lashes, trickling down your cheeks whilst you gasped. Takeomi let out a muffled groan into your hairline, then ran his nose along your cheekbone, pressing his forehead to yours. The hand at the back of your neck moved to gently wipe away your tears. "Hush, little one, it's okay, you're okay," he soothed, "you're doing so well for me, you're such a good girl f'me" Your heart shuddered and Takeomi felt the warm velvet of your cunt constrict at his praise. Your delicate hands murmured up his back until your palms came to rest on his shoulder blades. your chest breathed against his, and he listened to your heart thunder through his ribs. "You can move, Omi," it's barely a whisper, more of a sob, and Takeomi immediately stole your words away with a slow kiss. "Not until you're ready, sweetheart," he pulled back a bit and fighting his own need, he continued, "We can stop if you want - if you're hurting -" "No!" it poured out louder than you intended, and your scorching skin smouldered. Takeomi gave you that wide-eyed look of astonishment that you so dearly cherished, that boyish look of sheer surprise that had you stumbling for words and spitting in stutters. "No, Omi," you repeated, "feels good, um, just be slow, okay?" Those lightning eyes softened to a summer shower, and his mouth curved into a slow smile. he rained kisses onto your forehead, your cheeks, your nose, and then your lips. "Of course, my doll," he gruffed, "anything for you."

And he meant it. Takeomi did not live for much. at least he did not live for himself. He lived for Shinichiro, and the dreams in those dark eyes. He lived for Waka and Benkei, for their future, their fight. He lived for his little sister, still so wide-eyed and unknowing. But mostly, in this moment, and for as long as he had held you so close to his heart, he lived for you. Your love, your smile, the way your eyes crinkled when you laughed, the way tears rolled down your cheeks as you clutched desperately onto him. He wished he could hold you forever, tuck you into the echoing hollows between his thudding heart and smoke-stained lungs, and feel you with every heave of his breath and pulse of his veins. for you to become a part of him, just as he was a part of you, tangled in your loving limbs, deep within your soft heat.

He pumped deep into you, moving as slowly as he possibly could, his green eyes never leaving your face. He watched as your brows constricted and then relaxed, your gorgeous mouth opening and closing as you panted on his cock. He spared a brief glance downwards, and groaned, entranced by where your two bodies became connected. Your tight cunt barely took him, your folds thick and puffy against the swell of his cock. And you were warm, so unbelievably warm, despite the thin sheen of sweat that graced the two of you.

He reached down and began to trace circles around your clit, feeling as your pretty pussy clenched and clamped down on him, praises spilt from his lips in poured wine. You were golden, coloured in glittering, burning light, each nerve in your body ablaze with want and wanton lust. With each thrust, each carefully spun circle around your clit, you were growing closer and closer to the edge, near enough for your spine to arch beautifully into Takeomi’s chest. “You gonna be a good girl and cum f’me, yea?” Takeomi increased the pressure on your clit. You felt fit to burst, your body filled with saccharine sweetness and tangy brightness. You came with a cry of Takeomi’s name, a sound that would haunt Takeomi for the rest of his days. Your warm walls clamped down on him, almost forcing his orgasm from him in a rush. You came in a shower of white stars, your body static and burning, filled to the brim with Takeomi’s hot seed. You were sated, lost in a soft warm haze that only had you barely registering that the sun had long sunk below the sleepy horizon. Takeomi pulled out from you with an ill-concealed groan and flopped beside you.

Carefully, quietly, Takeomi cleaned you down and tucked you beneath the covers, lighting a cigarette and sliding beside you into bed. You curled up to him, soft and content. And Takeomi knew then, as you sighed into his chest, lashes kissing soft cheeks, you’re breathing deep and gentle against him. He knew he didn't want to be just your first. He wanted to be your first, and your last, and your always But as much as he knew he wanted your always, your eternity, he couldn't, shouldn't.

Because Akashi Takeomi wasn't a good man. and you were a star he could never reach. You were leaving, living, growing into a future brighter than his dark. Who was he to keep you in his shadows, when you could outshine the sun? But he gripped you tighter, folding you closer into him, wrapping his arms around you until he could feel your heartbeat into his chest. Because Akashi Takeomi wasn't a good man, and he was selfish, and for now, he would have your brief forever

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I do not own Tokyo Revengers, or any of the related characters. Tokyo Revengers is created and owned by Ken Wakui. This story is intended for entertainment purposes only. I am not making any profit from this story. All rights of Tokyo Revengers belong to Ken Wakui. Please do not copy, re-use, or distribute this work as your own

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[hello-im-not-a-possum]

The biggest acquired fears of the BATIM FIFE cast.

Henry - Fear of deja vu and or being seen as a villain/hero. Luckily for him, the toons and Ink monsters tend to make his life calm enough for him to rest easy despite the circumstances but also make his life chaotic enough for him to not panic, better yet, most of them mentally register him as “Just some retired artist that was overhyped by Joey, but he’s made some cool works outside of the Bendy shit.” after things calm down.

Linda - She has a lot of weird, brand new fears stemming from this situation, but can’t really point to one and call it her biggest one. Top five are: Being torn apart and eaten, knowing that Joey has erased Henry’s memories of her before and that he could probably do that again, getting stuck in a time loop, losing her humanity and being warped into a parody version of herself, and Joey figuring out how to unlock their bedroom door.

Joey - Losing his memories and personality in the Ink, Sammy and Buddy do not help this fear by giving him the gory details about what it’s like to lose yourself to the ink first hand.

Wally - Being alone, abandoned, and or left immobile. His time spent as a sentient prop really did a number on his mental state.

Sammy - A lot of things, top five are: the notion of Itself in a romantic and or sexual relationship (liked romantic relationships before the studio, always hated sexual ones even before then, but now it fears being in one again. Platonic and or familial relationships are fine and cool.), losing its regained humanity, losing its recently gained godhood, the knowledge that it will never, ever be even close to being the man that it used to be and being constantly compared to him by old coworkers who also aren’t the people they used to be but refuse to acknowledge that because its changes are “more noticeable” and “He’s completely different now...” well, YOU try keeping your old ideals and personality when the world’s changing, you need to hold an entire town together for your ex-god’s sake, and there’s thousands of other peoples’ thoughts and views on you being dumped directly into your brain every given second you unsympathetic fuck, and Susie, it’s absolutely terrified of Susie.

Jack - The possibility of him having to be in the same hivemind with Joey. Thankfully for him, the former director just became a toon instead.

Norman - Losing his sentience again. He’s also cautious of being left alone with either the Ink Demon or Joey. The former because he’s afraid he’ll be killed again, and the latter because he’s afraid he won’t be able to stop himself from killing again.

Susie - Mirrors, Being used and or seen as stupid, and she’s also not a fan of being feared.

Allison - The woman she used to be, everything and anything she hears about her from anyone other than Tom is... ...not pleasant...

Thomas - Joey being romantically interested in him. (Sammy has hinted to him of this being a possibility due to how Joey shows his love and it makes him shudder.) He’s also afraid of others seeing him as Joey’s “right hand lapdog”.

Bertrum - Thomas. Learning just what the former mechanic was capable of made him see him in a new, more sinister light.

Lacie - Being rendered powerless and stuck in a chaotic situation completely out of her control. There’s a rumor in the Lost and Searching town that this fear of hers is what inspired her to take charge as the head of the council as she feared that without a leader for them to look up to, the town would spiral into chaos.

Grant - Not being able to live up to the (real and imagined) standards of their former leader as he looked up to it during their time in Ink hell. The town (Including Sammy itself AND its psychiatrist) tell him that he’s doing great and that he doesn’t need to try to replicate Sammy to lead them, but that fear still lingers...

Shawn - Himself, he finds it hard to control his new strength outside the studio and it terrifies him.

Emma - The toons. Specifically, she fears that her strict, uptight personality makes her seen as a ‘straight man’ to them and their antics.

Buddy - Getting lost to the Ink again and also the Ink Demon. Just because He behaves like a domesticated Saturday morning cartoon villain doesn’t mean He’s any less powerful than He was before, in fact, the former gofer assumes that He’s gotten even stronger now that He’s no longer being held back by Joey...

Dot - Fire and or getting burned.

Lord Inkwell “Inky” The Ink Demon - Sammy. He doesn’t show it because He thinks it’ll make Him look ‘weak’, but His ex-prophet really struck the fear of god into Him over the course of its journey, especially at the end of said journey when it killed and ate His mom.

Malice - Getting flicked off Susie’s shoulder. And or squashed, swatted, etc. While she’s thankful that she wasn’t destroyed or left to rot, she hates her new size and role as Susie’s shoulder demoness.

Deus Machina “The Ink Machine” - Once She learned what living was like, She feared having to lose it. But She feared the notion of losing Her only real friend and companion so much more than losing Her life.

Bendy - Being feared. He didn’t know how scary that was until his two doppelgangers turned his mischievous reputation into a malicious one.

Alice - The Ink Demon, something about him just makes him seem like the scariest demon she’s ever met, even worse than Papa Pluto himself...

Boris - Getting gutted.

[liansh3ng]

Why can't you hear me!?

Why can't you hear me?!

Mikey angst<3

♡A/N -Suicidal thoughts, crying, oc Mikey(personality), and manga spoilers

♡Under the cut will be the story! Enjoy

♡Also pls dm me or tell me that you wanna get tagged:)

This….

This wasn't supposed to happen…

No…

NO!

Mikey's dark impulses aren't something that can be "easily" controlled. It's a monster. Mikey doesn't want to hurt anyone, but he does..

He sees everything

Kenchin's death.

Hurting his friends.

Hurting takimichy

When he swore to protect them.

I can't move. I can't move?! Why can't I move?! No… no…. He's in control.

"T-this can't be happening.. this can't be happening!" Mikey tried looking around but it was darkness, he found a mirror and ran to it. As he stopped in front of it, he saw it. Him crying but not knowing why…. wait…..

It's behind me.

Mikey turned around to see himself, not really himself since he knows it's him..

Dark impulses

Or

The fucking demon that lives in his body

Mikey ran and hit him but it didn't move, Mikey looked at it then it moved. It grabbed Mikey's throat and threw him. "It's in my control. Don't interfere, or I'll kill that precious friend of yours♡~" it smiled insanely, making him stumble and stare at it with shocked eyes. It was so uncommon to see Mikey scared, he didn't like showing weakness.. but he can't do anything.

He hoped that he would get control again, he closed his eyes, crying. Mikey could see what the monster had done, he cried and cried having to witness his best friend since childhood dead. Even hurting his friend who's heart was gold. He thinks he deserves this pain, Mikey rarely cries because he keeps it to himself, now Mikey wants comfort from his bestfriends, friends,gang and even family.

Well….

Some are dead.

Some cut connections

Rarely some stayed.

He keeps saying he deserves this pain because of all this shit he has done. He wanted to kill himself since the dark impulse is his body. He wants to kill himself to stop all the pain, and suffering his friends had to experience because of him. He looked around and it was formed into a room, someone came in smiling.

Oh.

His brother Shinichiro, who was his older brother, draken, Emma his sister and Baji.. he smiled then realized. It's them younger, he stared at them while they played together with a younger version of himself.

Smiling…..

He's smiling…

Mikey sighed, closing his eyes, crying because a genuine smile was on all of them. Not even a fake one, he was surprised and was grateful to see this memory. It went dark, now his in a hospital where his sister died…

Emma

Mikey hates the memory and looks back but it's still the same. No matter where he looked, it's the same scene, it's like the universe is punishing him. He wanted to leave, so he stood up and ran to the door of the hospital. Opening it made him shock and fell to his knees, an event that made him break into pieces.

The funeral.

No

No

No!!

Mikey went forward and looked at the door where he came from. He opened the sliding door and his eyes met with Takimichy's. He smiled and attempted to hug Takimichy but he was pulled by him. They were outside of the house where his sister's funeral was happening.

"Takimichy! Can you help me…?" Mikey placed a hand on his friend's shoulder who's back was facing him. As the friend turned around his eyes looked dull and disappointed.

It's your fault.

Mikey then woke up in a dark room, where he was when dark impulses took over. He looked beside him and it was a knife. Mikey looked at it in disgust throwing it away but It came back and made a scar on his cheek making It bleed.

Mikey didn't feel any pain…

What's going on…..

…….

Is it asking me to die?

Mikey looked at the mirror to see himself bruised up but no pain was shown or felt. He looked at the mirror and smashed it into pieces on the floor. Big, and little shards of the mirror shattered on the floor. Some made a bruise on his foot and brushed it off. He looked up in pain, grabbing his hair and pulling it out of frustration.

He looks at the shards on the group, big shards turned into good memories while small shards or pieces were bad memories. Small shards were almost everywhere, big shards rarely can be even seen. He sighed and sat down to an area where no shards or anything were near him.

I guess..

This is my new life.

Part 2 ig: link

Tags: @ambrodias @kenmkey

[thelittleboyfromloveactually]

Two Shorten the Road

part 1

joel dawson x reader

warnings: cussing? idk, bad writing.....fluff, cuteness, monsters(is this a warning), mentions of death, SPOILERS

word count: 2154

prompt: when your best friend decides to leave your colony to go find the love of his life, you decide to join him on his journey even if you aren’t so happy about where this journey is going

Welp I did it, I took it into my own hands. I am writing a joel dawson series. Because we👏need 👏more👏joel👏fics👏 it’s basically the movie, almost the same script but obviously slightly different…ENJOY! <3

No one in my generation or later had a typical upbringing, I mean some of us did but then the world ended. This type of thing sounds straight out of some apocalyptic movie, but we basically live in one now. Agatha 616, an asteroid heading straight for earth, I know, so original. So we all came together and did what we do best, blow things up. Yup, we blew up teh asteroid, and humanity was saved! We thought. But here’s the thing about rockets, they are made of a bunch of chemical compounds which eventually rained back down on earth. Suddenly there were these Aileen creatures that mutated and started eating us. Ants, lizards, roaches, crocodiles, you name it. Our president was even killed by a giant moth. Ya….not so original now huh? We suddenly need tanks to kill ants, oh man I remember the good old days when a shoe would do just fine. Sometimes even the tanks didn’t work. Eventually the really big ones and our military took each other out and we lost 95% of the human population in a year! Those of us who survived hid, bunkers, caves, panic rooms, all around the world. So for the last seven years I’ve been hiding in an underground bunker. It’s really not as bad as it sounds, and it’s better than getting eaten alive. It’s a great group of people and we all love each other.

“Are you sure they’re asleep?”

“Who?”

“Y/N and joel!”

“Oh ya I’m sure”

“Joel? Y/n?”

“He’s asleep”

Actually we are both awake. Me and my best friend joel have kinda mastered faking being asleep. Our beds are right across from each other so we normally just lie there and make stupid faces at each other. We are the only two single people in our bunker. Nice huh? Joel is my best friend. I met him when I joined the colony. He’s the sweetest. It’s funny cause everyone thinks we should just have sex already because that’s literally all everyone else does. But we are way above that. Anyway, joel is in love with his girlfriend from before the colony, her name is Aimee. With one “I” and two “e”s. He loves to talk about her, he writes her letters. So in reality, I am the only one who is not in love in this bunker. I’ve never had a boyfriend, ever, even before the world ended.

We don’t really get any sleep. The moaning kinda keeps us awake. I got up and out of my bed and headed for the kitchen. I heard Joel’s bed creak and then his footsteps as he followed behind me. Another annoying thing about being down here is that to get to the kitchen from my room, you have to walk though other people’s bedrooms. Oh shit, they are busy, why would they leave their door open. Me and Joel stopped.

“Oh” joel and I said in unison

“Hey Y/N! Hey Joel!” Ava said

“Oh hey Ava” Joel said, we didn’t dare look over to our left.

“Y/N how’s it going?” Tim asked

“T-totally good tim, h-how are you doing” I asked

“Yeah, good” he responded

“I uh we couldn’t sleep” said Joel looking at the ceiling

“Ya we know the feeling” Ava said with a laugh

“Yeah probably not for the…..same reasons” joel said looking straight ahead

“Your guyses door was open, did you…did you know that?” I asked

“Yeah we know” they said

I shook my head and knitted my eyebrows together

“Okay” joel trailed off

Ever since Tim’s parents were eaten by a swarm of termites he and Ava have gotten really close, in every way.

“Okay, goodnight” joel said as we walked

Basically everyone is coupled up down here, a baby was born last winter! Welcome to the apocalypse kid. Ok if we ever get out of this, that would be an awesome story to tell your kids. “Oh ya I was born in an underground bunker doing a monster apocalypse” “yes exactly like World War Z but with bugs bigger than a 5 story building”. I mean come on.

So your probably wonder how the hell we get food, we’ll we have a cow. Gurdy. Gurdy is great. We also have a hunting party that brings back whatever they can from the surface. It’s gotten harder and harder, cause we ran out of bullets. And facing one of those things with a handmade weapon is just as hard as it sounds. It’s very very difficult. I go with them….sometimes. I still get scared. But I’ve been out quite a lot, especially compared to my man joel over here. I’ve been out maybe 30 times, he’s been out…maybe once, or not even. He’s the chef of the bunker. He makes super good Minestrone.

Me and joel like to hang out with Mavis. A robot. Yup. Not much for conversation, her batter is shot. Just like every other mavis I would imagine. When I’m not hunting we hang out with her. But sometimes I just go read. Reading and joel keep me sane. I mean sometimes joel drives me insane but I still love him. I have quite the collection of books too! I’ve got Emma by Jane Austen, a couple random ones that we found, all the hunger games and Harry Potter books, some mysteries that stopped being mysteries after a while, and then of course some smutty romance books for personal entertainment.

Joel likes to say that his thing is target practice. He has never hit the target but ya know, gotta entertain yourself. I think his thing is drawing though, he has this book that he draws in from Aimee. It’s really cool actually. He’s really good.

I sat watching Joel as he tried to hit the target, laughing a little every time he missed. It was cute how hard he tried.

“Shut up” he said shaking his laugh away

I laughed again, but then suddenly the lights started flickering. You could hear screeches and creeks echoing through the bunker. Joel turned to look at me. Worry and determination in his eyes. We both scrambled out of the room and into the kitchen where everyone was preparing.

“Hustle, hustle people we’ve gotta move”

I turned to look at Joel but then realized that he wasn’t next to me. Where did he go? Worry flooded through me. Suddenly the clanking of our weapon started behind me.

“Hey guys!” Joel said as he rammed into the railing, I shook my head. “Guys! I’ve got the weapons” he smiled at me

A few people walked over to him taking them out of his hands

“Stay” said Tim

“W-what?” Joel asked looking around in confusion

Everyone was talking and barking orders “grab what you need and let’s go! Y/N you coming?”

My eyes shot open “yes! Yup!” I jumped up and grabbed the bow and arrow from Joel.

“W-what's happening?” He asked innocently “what’s going on?”

“There’s a breach” said Tim

“What do you mean? Like inside the bunker breach?!” He asked

“Yes joel! Now come on!” I told him, patting him on the pack as I followed the others

He followed me and watched the plan get arranged

“Anna, Y/N and I will engage. Anderson and Tom plank him”

“Plank him, ya ok where do you guys need me? You want me to uh come through the rear or..?” Joel asked eagerly

“I don’t think your going to pass this joel” I told him

“Pass what? You guys need help, let me help” said clutching his crossbow

“You gonna make me say it?” said Sam

“Say what?!” God he was so adorably clueless

“You can’t handle it joel, your shook” said Sam, we all began getting into positions

“Ya ok, yes so you guys don’t get scared..ever?” He asked still getting ready to fight

“We get scared, we all get scared joel, but you get really scared” said Sam

“They are trying to make you feel bad joel” I said sweetly, trying to calm him down

“We love you joel”

“But your a liability”

“Ok why did that speech feel so rehearsed? And what about Y/N? She’s like…ya know?” He said bobbing his head

“Joel-“ suddenly the bunker shook and the lights flicked again

“Ok 30 meters out! Let’s move!” And we were off

Leaving joel and some others behind. You could hear the growling of whatever we were up against

I followed the others and listened carefully. I was freaking shaking. Don’t ask how I got sucked into becoming one the the hunters. Kinda just happened and I was just-

“OH SHIT!” I heard someone yell, it was too dark to see. Someone was gone, that thing took them. I couldn’t even see it. Oh fuck my life. Everyone began scattering, running away from the monster. I stopped running to take a breath, when I realized I was alone. Nicely done Y/N. The lights kept flickering. I heard something blow up in the distance.

“Conned? Conner?” I heard a whisper, one I knew all too well. Shit, joel. I ran toward the sound, and had no idea I was also running toward certain death. I stopped running. There it was, that thing. I’d never seen this before. I didn’t recognize it. I stayed silent, not moving at all. It slowly crawled over a shower curtain. Oh fuck. He was going toward joel! I quickly grabbed my bow and arrow and shot it. Right though the face. Next to its….eye I guess you could call it. Joel stood there, frozen.

I slowly walked over to him “Joel, hey are you ok?” I asked as I slipped my hand into his. He was trembling. Tears ran down his cheeks. He has a bad freezing problem, so I've been helping him work on it.

About an hour later I sat with Joel, still holding his hand as he stared out into space. We could hear everyone talking. How could this have happened?

“It ripped through steal”

“Anderson and I resealed the Breach point, nothings getting in that way again”

“But why did it happen?”

I tried to toon it out, and I hoped Joel did too.

“Joel, do you wanna talk about it?” I asked squeezing his hand, he looked so sad, which just crushed me

He shook his head

“Ok….” I nodded, I leaned into hug him but was interrupted by his voice

“How far away is Aimee's colony?” He asked

I pulled back, looking at him confused. The talking stopped and everyone look at him

“What?” Tim asked

“Aimee’s colony, how far away is it?” He repeated

“About 85 miles” he said as he furrowed his brows

“How long will it take to get there?”

“What do you mean joel?” I asked leaning closer to him

“Just humor me, how long?” He insisted

“7 days” said Tim

“Someone who’s armed and trained would hardly last 50miles, but you…joel” Ava said, I felt bad for him, he really didn’t deserve any of this

“Alright” Tim continued “now I need volunteers”

“I’m gonna go” joel said

No one said anything, they just stared

“It’s an impossible journey joel” said Tim, crossing his arms

Joel stood up, moving around my chair. “No im serious…I love you guys but there’s only one person in this world who ever truly made me happy and she’s only 85 miles away” he said strongly “I’m gonna go see her” I could see his mind was made up

God he was such a romantic, how could you not love this guy? Sure it hurts when your best friend tells you that you didn’t make him truly happy. Especially when you maybe sorta kinda have a crush on him.

He let out a breath “woah, that felt awesome” he said as he walked off to start packing

I stood there for a second processing and thinking, but then suddenly my mouth took over and well….

“I’m coming with you!” I said, he froze “I mean you can’t leave me here with these middle aged people, and your my best friend so” I shrugged

“I’ll come back for you I promise” he walked over to me “I can’t let you put yourself in even more danger” he said grabbing my arms

“I can’t let you put yourself in danger knowing that I could have helped protect you” I said, he stared blankly at me

I smiled “o-ohK…then I guess…” he trailed off

“Cool I’ll go pack” I skipped past him. Was I scared? Hell yes. But like I said, I needed to help joel and protect him in every way I can. And sure I wasn’t so happy that he was returning to his long lost love but if it made him happy then I would live. And anyway, two do shorten the road.

[justasparkwritings]

Troll In Love: Part 1

Pairing: Park Jimin x Reader

Genre: Enemies to Lovers / Exes to Lovers, Non-Idol AU

Rating: PG-17

Word Count: 4.6k

Warnings: Swearing

Summary: What happens when your work nemesis and your ultimate troll team up to flip your world upside down? 

Note: This piece is for the #thebtswritersclub fic exchange! Look out for Part 2 later this week. 

This fic is dedicated to, written for the incomparable @xjoonchildx​, who I have been lucky enough to be paired with. A major fan, this was an intimidating endeavor, and I’m kind of in love with what I’ve created for her. And if she hates it .... it’s trash okay? jk... kind of. 

Banner by me. 

Monday: Pitch Meeting

           “Everyone has an inherent archnemesis,” Claire began her presentation, eyes peering across the conference room, attempting to make thoughtful eye contact with her peers.

          Finally, a staff writer, this pitch marked her first foray into feature writing. It wasn’t like she hadn’t tried, in her three years at the company as a freelance writer, it wasn’t that she didn’t draft proposals, complete preliminary research, no, she absolutely did. But there was always someone in front of her, someone who always came around the corner, nicking first place with seconds to spare. Claire hated you from the moment you arrived, bright eyed and excited, a recent college graduate gunning for a position at the magazine. While it took her years to pitch a cover story feature, years to move from an assistant to full-time staff writer, you had done so in a handful of years.

          Today, Claire decided, that would change.  She had prepped and planned for weeks, laid in wait for Marissa to give her the go ahead to pitch her idea to the team. Adjusting her Dior, she shifted from heel to heel before speaking again.

          “We all have that one person who no matter what we post, they find a way to demean it, turn it negative, make it about something completely unrelated. Whether that’s politics, or religion, or sex, there is that one troll we can’t help but root against. My proposal is to use a few members of staff to find their internet trolls, to engage with them over a period of time, and if they’re willing, interview them, both separately and together. I want to discover what it is that makes them keep commenting, why they always seem to gravitate towards certain posts, who their audience is and how it relates to our greater understandings of our enemies.” Claire sighed, the heavy lifting of her presentation just beginning.

           “I like it, who do you want to use?” Marissa asked.

           “Someone from each of our most high-profile teams, or the people in our office that have the largest social media followings. For a few that overlaps,”

           “Who are those people?”

           “Y/N, Jaxson, Hoseok, Emma and Bridgette,” Claire explained. “They have an average Instagram following of ten thousand, and on Twitter it’s twelve thousand.”

           “What do you post that gets you so many followers?” Gillian questioned.

           “My ass,” Jaxson laughed. “But really, it’s Drag Race content,”

           “Good, you have a list. I need written permission from each of you to interview you and your top internet harassers.”

           “I’d like to request that my name be off the list,” You asked, hand still raised.

           Hoseok asked, knowing the answer deep in his bones. “Why?”

           “I just, I don’t think it’d be a –

           “Nonsense, you have a large following, I’m sure there’s someone who pisses you off regularly,” Marissa interrupted.

           “Yes, there is! What’s his name? Jimin?” Claire pretended to scan her page, her cursory glance perfunctory instead of practical.

           You heard the gasp leave Hoseok’s mouth before you registered what was happening.

“Fuck you!” You snapped. “I’m sorry, that was inappropriate, but the sentiment remains.”

           “It was, but it also sealed your fate.” Marissa stood. “Start assembling your team and listen to Claire, I’m sure she has a list of things she needs from you.”

           “I do!” Claire chimed.

           “Great, get me the contracts from legal and get it to each of the people you’ve listed before 5PM today, I want signed consent before you leave this building.”

           “What if I don’t want to?” You asked, your final plea.

           “You owe her for the debacle with your last interview,” Marissa reminded you.

           “It’s not my fault they were drunk both times! I got the article done and out. It was one of our biggest issues in the last year and was followed up by two other feature pieces by me that beat that record,” You countered, your success an unnecessary brag in a room full of people who feared and admired your work.

           “I don’t care, Y/N, handle it,” Marissa sauntered out, her assistants following close behind.

           Slouching in your chair, your eyes landed on Claire, glaring daggers into her perfectly straight midnight bob. She was everything you hated, a brown noser, a narcissist, a career driven monster who had been biting at your heels since you arrived. She was jealous, blinded by some lofty goal that she’d be an editor or editor in chief before 28, a feat rare in fashion, unless you were Elaine Welterwroth or Margaret Zhang, of course. They had become editors and editors in chief by ages 29 and 27 respectively. Though Zhang had begun her career blogging at 16, a fact that only infuriated Claire who was too busy popping pimples and trying to lose her virginity to her junior varsity boyfriend.

          Claire could spend days listing everything she hated about you. She hated your easy interactions with coworkers, the ability to have the entire room stop and listen when you spoke, the craft of your written work and relationships maintained with subjects years after interviewing them. She hated how you left work with Hoseok on your arm or went to drinks with the assistants and interns. How you achieved so many bylines, becoming an editor in your own right without so much as breaking a sweat, while she was scraping the barrel to be noticed. You seemingly had everything Claire wanted, and Claire was sick of it.

Monday: Your Office

           “Thank you, for your participation,” Claire said, sitting across from you in your office.

           “You aren’t welcome, I’m actually rather unimpressed with your ability to ambush not only me but the other people you’ve trapped into doing your article,” You crossed your legs, adjusting the waist band of your trousers and continued to scowl at her. Claire had only heard of your less than cheerful personality, though it remained largely rumored, she had never had it confirmed or dared to see it in person.

           “How, charming,” She rolled her eyes.

           “Look, you don’t want to be talking to me, I don’t want to be talking to you. Just tell me what you want so I can send you on your way.”

           Claire watched as you reached across your desk to grab your black and white planner, flipping open to the weeks page and holding your pen at the ready. The inside, covered in stickers and hand lettered phrases, fit the persona Claire so desperately wanted to mimic.

           “I need you to read and sign this,” Claire slid the agreement across your glass desk. “Then, I need you to identify the username of your troll, and I need to borrow an intern from your team.”  

           “You can’t have one,”

           “Marissa said I could have whatever I needed, and I need an intern to comb through your tweets.”

           “I can save you the trouble, I rarely tweet, when I do, it’s addressing the same ass hat,” You explained.

           “Well, I need their handle,”

           “Fine,”

           “And the intern,” Claire was firm.

           You rolled your eyes, before pressing the intercom. “Hey Alexis, can you send Erin to me?”

           “Sure thing,” Alexis replied.

           “Thank you,”

           Claire rolled her eyes.

           “Jealous?” You questioned.

           “Read the contract, sign it and send it back to me along with answering the Form that’s in your inbox,” Claire directed.

           “Great,”

           “I’ll be back on Friday to go over your tweets and exchanges before we decide on a tactic to reach out to them and ask them to come in for an interview,” Claire explained. It didn’t annoy you that she was prepared, but it did piss you off a little to know how much she had thought this through. Maybe you should give her a chance, professionally, not socially, Claire would remain a bottom feeder.

           “Who says they’re in the city?” You questioned.

           “If not, we’ll Zoom with them, okay?”

           “Excuse me, you wanted to see me?” Erin peered through the door; wavy bangs parted slightly to expose her forehead and freckled cheeks.

           “Yes, your projects are on hold. Claire here needs your help with her feature article, and as my intern, you are to report to her for the remainder of the project,” You explained.

           Erin’s eyes widened, never had she been reassigned to a special project, let alone with Claire who was notorious for running interns and assistants into the ground. “Who will take over my work?”

           “Can you make a list of where you’re at and send it to me? I will meet with the team tomorrow to talk about where we need to fill in the gaps,”

           “Okay,”

           “Claire, this is Erin, if you are a bitch to her, I will ensure you don’t ever write a feature piece or move past copy editor here or anywhere,”

           “I don’t know where you get off thinking you can speak to me like –

           “I am your superior, and you will respect my intern or face the consequences,”

           “Fine,” Claire turned and left, leaving Erin wondering what on earth she had been roped into.

Tuesday: Happy Hour

           “You gave the real handle?” Hoseok asked over drinks after work, a little happy hour to celebrate leaving the office before 7PM.

           “What was I going to do? She could easily look at my Twitter and Instagram and find out, why lie?”

           “What happened to preservation?” Hoseok mocked.

           “Either I give in and get Claire off my back, or I get called to Marissa’s and have consequences, like I’m a fucking child.”

           Hoseok eyed you suspiciously. “Did you give her his name?”

           “You saw in that meeting, she already knows. I blame you,”

           “Me?”

           “Yes you, always talking about dance classes with Jimin, the good old days of photographing him and styling him in college. He abandoned me to go to school with you, and you’ve taken it all in stride.” You explained. It wasn’t a new story, a new plea, a new exploration of your tempestuous non-relationship with Jimin. It was sad, really, listening to you express the hurt you’ve never let go of.

           “He didn’t abandon you to come to school with me,” Hoseok laughed.

           “Potato, Tomato,”

           “You should talk-

           “Nope, you made your once monthly ‘you should talk to Jimin’ comment a week ago over margheritas, you don’t get another for ten more days,” You scolded.

           “Fine, fine.”

           “I don’t even know where he is,” You muttered, pink liquid of your Paloma slipping down your throat.

           “That’s a lie,”

           “Can you stop calling me out and let me hate him?” You hadn’t meant to snap, but the constant chatter revolving around Jimin was too much to handle, it was too much in two days, too much in the years since you last saw him. Park Jimin was, and has remained, too much.  

           “Fine,” Hoseok resigned. “Have you looked at your tweets lately?”

           “No, I refuse to go back and read whatever horrors I wrote in 2019,”

           “You should,” He suggested.

           “I guarantee Claire will force me to read them. Probably aloud at some last-minute staff meeting she puts together on Friday to fucking fillet me,” You rolled your eyes again, the last dregs of grapefruit clumping together as they slid down the side of your glass.

           “Maybe if you weren’t so,” He starts.

           “Bitchy?”

           “Your words, then she would like you,”

           “She’s hated me since I got there, I’ve tried being nice. I’ve tried being cordial. Claire and I will never mix,” You explained.

           “He’s gone blonde you know,” Hoseok’s eyes have flittered past you, glancing down the street at the setting sun, glad he brought his latest Gucci jacket to keep him warm in the early spring evening.

           “Didn’t you hit your moratorium on how long you can talk about Jimin in a conversation?”

           “You said his name!” Hoseok argued.

           “He isn’t Trump, Hoseok. I can say his name, sometimes.”  

           Hoseok let the moment simmer, cooling gently before turning it up to a raucous boil. “I’m having a kick back next Wednesday, will you come?”

           “If he’s not there,” You answered.

           “I can’t promise that,”

           “Then I can’t promise either,” Chewing the ice from your glass, you let your mind wander to the possibilities of what might happen should you show up to Hoseok’s party and are greeted by Jimin. Blonde Jimin. Jimin with the sparkling eyes and winning smile. Jimin who harasses you on the internet weekly, Jimin who you haven’t spoken to since you were 22, Jimin whom you hated with every fiber of your being.

           Worst case scenario, you couldn’t avoid him and would be forced to speak words to him. Best case, you time it perfectly and he’s either just left or hasn’t arrived and you can doll out pleasantries before Irish-goodbying and never having to confront him.

           “Y/N, please, you haven’t seen my new place yet and it’s finally furnished,” Hoseok pleaded.

           “I’ll think about it,” You resigned.

           “Great!”

           “I fucking hate you and our friendship,” You scoffed, signaling the waiter to bring you the check. You should’ve ordered food, being buzzed and talking about Jimin was never a good idea.

           “I know you do.” Hoseok winked before picking up the tab for you both.

           “At least tell me you haven’t invited Seokjin,” You asked, slipping your coat over your shoulders.

           “Well-

           “You’re fucking with me, right?” You questioned. “You fucking invited both of my exes to a, I’m sorry, kick back? Hoseok, no.”

           “I love you, and I’m sorry, Seokjin helped me find some great pieces for the place, and you know he’s friends with Namjoon and Jungkook,” He tried to explain.

           “That doesn’t mean I want to stare at them over my tenth flute of champagne and my plate which will be piled high with cheese and crackers and pieces of salami.”

           “You and Seokjin are fine though, you ended-

           “Don’t say amicably,” You cut him off.

           “Well, close to it. Please,” He begged. Begging never looked good on Hoseok.

           Staring into his dark irises, a shade mimicking your own, you couldn’t hold the anger brewing. Being around Seokjin was always a better alternative than Jimin. Though the pity he often felt towards you, at your angered state which has never really subsided, was embarrassing. “I’ll think about it.”

           “I love you,” Hoseok pulled you into a hug.

           “Yeah, yeah, then why do you keep doing this to me?”

           “Because I love you,”

           “Tell Taehyung to call me,” You said, waving to him before stepping into the waiting Lyft you’d called at the bar.

           “I will, can’t make any promises,” Hoseok winked before turning towards the subway, where he’d pull out his head phones and scan through the photos he’d taken throughout the day, waiting to get home to Taehyung to analyze, edit and critique them.

Thursday: Claire’s Makeshift Office

           “Are you ready?” Claire asked, sifting through the papers on her desk.

           “You had me come to your office, after you scheduled a meeting to ask if I’m ready? Yes Claire, I’m fucking ready,” You snapped.

           “Erin,” Claire gestured towards your intern who tried to hold her eye roll.

           “So, I combed through your tweets, sifting through your interactions with Mochimin, which is a very creative username,” Erin began.

           “Yeah, his name and nickname combined,” You rolled your eyes.

           “And we read through them all, well mostly me… and I have to ask, are you sure these are your tweets?” Erin questioned.

           “Yes, and what should be his responses,” You answered reaching forward to grab the printed copies waiting for you. You scanned over the interactions, the subtweets, the blatant tags, the retweets and comments not just by Jimin, but a few of your friends too.

           “Why have you been telling us he’s the troll?” Erin asked.

           Her question caught you off guard, eyes wide, shock echoing in your bones.

           “What the fuck? What do you mean? Look at how he fucking responded!”

           “Y/N, you’re the troll!” Erin laughed. “It’s you, not him,”

           “I am not! This is a fucking joke! It’s not April Fools yet, way to put the cart before the horse!” Your voice radiated throughout the small conference room.

          Claire, not having an office of her own, had requested it to conduct most of her teams work. It was your least favorite of the conference rooms, colder both in décor and temperature than the others, it was situated on the corner leading to the kitchen. Glass on two walls, it was the definition of exposed. Everyone could see your outburst. Everyone could watch you fall to pieces. You guessed Claire had planned it this way, to demonstrate how focused her team was, how dedicated to the project they were, to show everyone her value as a staff writer instead of a freelancer. You also assumed she did this to ensure that whatever break down you were beginning to have, would have at least ten witnesses, ten people to side with her that your behavior was irresponsible and reckless.

           “Oh please, get over yourself,” Claire chuckled. The light in her eyes proved your assumptions, she was enjoying this. “Do you see how you interact with him?”

          “What do you mean how I interact with him? He started this!” You lowered your volume, side glances from colleagues passing by alerting you to the unprofessional decibels you’d began reaching.

          “In almost every interaction, you bait him, hook line and sinker. It’s you, Y/N,” Erin explained.

           “No!”

           “Yes, this poor man, just living his life while you’re purposefully harassing him!” Claire feigned shock, eyes widening, mouth slightly open. It was taking everything in you not to resort to physical violence.  

           “I would never,” You glowered.

           “You have! For years, it’s always you,” Erin said again.

          “I, no, that’s impossible. He started it!”

          “Admitting is the first step,” Claire’s placid smile was demanding to be smacked off.

          “Fuck you! This is ridiculous!”

          “July 10, 2020: Thinking of one man in particular, hoping the bleach in his locks burns in the summer heat.Followed by his comment: thinking of one woman in particular, hoping she knows I wear a hat and use purple shampoo.” Erin read.

          “I, I, no!”

          “October 13: Nothing makes me happier than not being invited to a birthday bash with all my friends. He responded: All you have to do is ask. On your birthday, he tweeted: Happy B-Day to the girl who … oh never mind she hates me. You responded: nobody asked for your half-hearted bullshit, next time I hope you choke on it.”

          “He started it!”

          “Why are you so awful to him?” Erin wanted to know.

          “I am not, he began harassing me first,” You tried to argue.

          “Does Hoseok know?” Claire chided.

          “Know what?”

          “About your vendetta,”

          “It’s not a vendetta!”

          “Then explain why you tweet or subtweet him at least twice a week, and then when he responds, tweet him again! You don’t even tag him, just vaguely mention discernable parts of his personality or appearance,” Erin explained.

          “I do not! How do you know what he looks like?” You tried to counter.

          “His profile picture, and a certain friend of yours doesn’t mind sharing-

          “You asked Jungkook? Or was it Taehyung? Or I’m sorry, both?” Your eyes were wide, breathing labored, anger boiling to inhumane levels.

          “Well, if we asked Hoseok you would’ve kno-

          “You called or texted or DM’ed Jungkook and Taehyung, and asked about Jimin?”

          “Yes,” Erin bowed her head, guilt written into the freckles her blush tried so desperately to hide.

          “I cannot believe you, Erin,” You spat.

          “I’m sorry Claire wanted me to,”

          You turned your gaze to Claire, who had begun to cower in her seat.

          “You did the one thing, the absolute one thing that you knew, you fucking knew, would set me off. You did this on purpose, you fucking bottom feeder, you fucking dillweed you crossed the fucking line, Claire,” You spat. Your volume had lowered into a low growl, far more deadly and intimidating than any yelling you had done.

          “We have the proof, Y/N, you can’t deny it, you attack Jimin regularly,” Claire unskillfully attempted to move the conversation away from Jungkook and Taehyung. Like you would balk at her intrusion.

          “You don’t get to violate my personal life, to violate the lives of the people I care deeply about, to expose sources and put them in danger should this article go south, poking and prodding into the lives of people who are dealing with their own bullshit to push your own fucking agenda, Claire,” You were seething, Te Fiti in Moana, Mrs. Weasley against Bellatrix, Kim Kardashian against the ocean searching for her diamond. Your wrath knows no bounds, and Claire had finally crossed the line into territory she could never come back from.

          “It’s for the job, nothing personal.” Claire shrugged. You could see it in her eyes, she wanted blood and was elated to be getting it.

          “This is entirely personal.”

          “Well, you can ask Jimin about it when we interview him,” She smiled, lips upturning revealing her veneers, red lipstick perfectly matte and shaped against her thin flesh.

          “No, absolutely not,” You shook your head.  

          “Yes, that’s part of the deal you agreed to,”

          “I take it back. I revoke my consent!”

          “It’s non-negotiable,” Marissa said. She had sauntered in during your berating, watching as you tried and failed to continue believing that you weren’t the troll. “You have agreed to this, and you will sit through the interview and cordially answer Claire’s questions.”

          “Marissa, this is crossing a line,” You stated.

          “You have to be held accountable,” Claire said.

          “Fuck you, Claire. Believe it or not, there are somethings that are beyond your understanding and a few that are not appropriate for work,” You continued to scold her.

          “Y/N, why are you being so hostile?” Claire was mocking you, with Marissa by her side, she was invincible.

          “You picked me on purpose. What have you been working with Hoseok? Is this some larger plan to get me to talk to Jimin? I don’t want to talk with Jimin or talk to Jimin, isn’t it bad enough he’s being brought into my work? Oh and let’s not forget you using Erin and Hoseok to gain access to Jungkook and Taehyung, who are beyond off limits.” You listed each of her offenses, careful to leave out indiscretions that occurred before this project of hers began.  

          “You agreed to-

          “No, I was forced to do this by you, Marissa,” You began.

          It wasn’t hard to glower at Marissa, one of the most decorated editors in chief, beloved by Condé Nast, best friend of Anna Wintour… Everyone aspired to be her, but in the last year, through your promotion and growing turbulence within the magazine, her leadership had begun to falter. Her steady hand, guiding each staff writer and editor towards success and elevating everyone’s work, was crumbling at an alarming pace. Yet, no one knew why or if anything was being done to rectify the damage her wake was leaving.

          “I was coerced into this under some pretense that I owe Claire something for a so called fuck up that resulted in the biggest boon in our magazines readership in the last year, which was followed up by not one but two feature bylines and my promotion. I have done more than enough at this company, in this industry, to sit here and be forced to engage with a man who destroyed my world. I will not speak with him, or to him or listen to him. I will not, and if you force me, I will get legal involved. Should this bullshit continue, you can expect my letter of resignation next week.”

          Standing and shoving your chair in, you turned on the heels of your Oxfords and marched straight to your office. Closing your laptop and shoving your planner into your tote, you grabbed your phone.

          “Where are you going?” Hoseok asked. He moved in time with you, following down the many corridors of your office and towards the elevators.

          As you stepped in, you pressed lobby and waited for the doors to be closed before turning to him.

          “Did you tell Erin she could contact Jungkook and Taehyung?” You asked.

          “She did what?” Hoseok yelled, soundwaves bounding off the metal and plastic of the elevator, reverberating in your ears.

          “Did you?”

          “No, I can’t believe she, are you serious?” Hoseok couldn’t lie, a fundamental flaw in his design made it impossible for him to tell the smallest fib.

          “Did you work with Erin and Claire to get me involved in this feature? To get me to talk to Jimin?” You didn’t mince your words or pad your language to make him feel less attacked. You needed the answer, and you needed it now.

          “No, I didn’t know Claire was doing this until she pitched it. You think I would-

          “Hoseok, they called Jungkook and Taehyung. They want Jimin to come in to be interviewed, they won’t stop until I-

          “Until you what?”

          “Marissa has always supported me, championed me. But Claire has her number, she has her locked and loaded, aiming for me and I don’t know why,” You confided.

          “She has been slipping lately,” He agreed. “There’s only one way to stop this,”

          Together you stepped out of the elevator, moving past the turnstiles to the revolving door.

          “Am I crazy?” You asked, the insecurity beginning to overtake your bravery.

          “No, something weird is going on,”

          You clarified, “No, I mean, am I crazy for… for doing this to Jimin?”

          “I don’t know if you’re crazy, but you’ve definitely not been your best self,” Hoseok answered.

          “He makes me so-

“You still love him,” Hoseok interrupted.

          “I-

          “Go talk to him,” Hoseok encouraged. “Call me after, we can get drinks and wallow or pick out an outfit for your hot date.”

          “What if he-

          “Just, talk to him, okay?” Hoseok requested.

          “Okay,”

          “I’ll check in with Jungkookie and Taehyungie,” He assured.

          “Thank you,”

          “I’ll also scope out open positions, we can’t stay here,”

          “I love you, Hobi,” You confided, a statement that flowed so easily past your lips, you didn’t have to think or parse through the emotions that went along with it. You’ve always loved him, always will.

          “I love you too, Y/N,” Hoseok draped his arm around your shoulders before placing a kiss to your forehead, a gentle embrace, a squeeze of confidence, a gesture of love. He moved swiftly from you back into the building, and as you watched him walk away, you took a deep breath.

          Taking your phone out of your pocket, you dialed a number you had tried to forget.

          “To what do I owe this unexpected delight of a call?” He asked. His voice was the same, chipper and cunning in the same breath.

          “I need to speak with you, ASAP,” You told him.

          “Okay, I’m working from home today, come over whenever,” He invited you without hesitation.

          “You still live at the same place?”

          “No, moved up. I’ll send you the address,”

          “You know who this is?” You asked, uncertainty back in your bones.

          “What, Y/N, you thought I deleted your number?” Jimin laughed, one of only a few sounds that shot right to your knees, making any posture unstable in the docile sounds of his joy.

          “I, I don’t know, I guess. Look I’m going to hail a cab, I’ll be there in 20,”

          “I look forward to it, just tell the doorman you’re here for me and he’ll let you up,” Jimin said.

          “Okay, see you soon, I guess,”

          “I can’t wait,” Jimin was smiling, you couldn’t see it, but the lilt in his voice was all the assurance you needed. Bracing yourself for the impact of him, of his voice, of his laugh, of the way he looked at you, you hailed one of the last remaining cabs in the city and prayed for courage.  

Next: Troll in Luv Pt. 2

[elizabeethan]

Watch the Sunlight Fade: 15 / 17

Emma Swan finds out that her boyfriend has been hiding something from her: he’s in a gang and trying to get out. Reluctantly, she decides to support him, sticking it out with him until they have enough money to flee to Florida. All she has to do is wait and ignore that feeling in her gut that something is seriously wrong. With the help of a kind and handsome stranger, she just might make it out alive.

Or, alternate summary: I’m horrible at summaries, please just read it.

Something of a cross between a What Still Remains AU and a Sons of Anarchy AU.

A/N: get ready for some whumpy aftermath

Rated M

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Read on Ao3

~~~~

Emma creeps through the building, eyes scanning each door for any indication of Elsa’s whereabouts. Robin told her in haste as she was leaving that Elsa lives in this building, too, but he failed to inform her of what unit she was in. 

 As she walks the halls, a door opens slowly and reveals the face of someone she recognizes and is relieved to see. “Tink, hi.”

 “Looking for El?” 

 She nods. “Killian asked me to make sure she’s safe.”

 “Is he okay?” she asks with concern. Emma almost smiles at how much his friend truly cares about him. 

 “I don’t know,” she shakes her head. “They really hurt him.”

 Her voice is heated. She won’t get past the anger that boils the blood singing through her veins. They hurt the man she loves, and she isn’t sure how she’ll get past that fact without making someone pay. 

 “Well, let’s get the hell out of here so we can get him help.”

 Tink shows her where Elsa’s apartment is and she knocks on the door, answered quickly and coldly. “Yes?” 

 “Elsa,” Emma greets, confused by her clipped tone, less confused to see that she looks entirely unharmed. “Killian wanted me to check on you.”

 She scoffs, rolling her eyes. “I’m sure he did,” she says sarcastically. 

“We have… we have a safe place for you. Come with us,” she tries. She doesn’t actually want to even bother convincing her, but she knows it’s what Killian wants.

 “Safe? You’re full of it.”

 She knew it. Killian feared that she had the information tortured out of her, unable to believe that she could have betrayed him with her own free will, but Emma had a sinking feeling that that wasn’t the case. Now, she thinks she’s right. “You told them,” she accuses. 

 “Yes, I did. He should know better than to try to betray the club like that.”

 “He trusts you,” she tries. “He loves you because you loved his brother.” 

 “I love my family,” she argues vapidly. “Killian tried to destroy it by shacking up with you and killing one of our own. He betrayed Neal, just because he can’t get over what happened to Liam.”

 Tink laughs, shaking her head, and Emma says, “They killed Liam! How can you not see that?”

 “Don’t tell me what I can or can’t see. You don’t know anything; you certainly don’t understand the inner workings of the club or why Peter makes the decisions he does.”

 Her thoughts are swirling in her head, moving too quickly as she tries to straighten out what Elsa says to her. She’s too forgiving, too accepting of what’s happened to the man she was supposed to love. Her actions have been too cruel. Someone who loves Killian wouldn’t have given him up; she wouldn’t be taking such a black and white stance if… 

 “You knew,” she accuses knowingly, without needing to ask. “You’ve known all along that they killed Liam.” 

 With a roll to her eyes, she says, “Liam’s actions no longer reflected his promise to the club. They did what needed to be done, and I understood that-- unlike you. The club has been my family long before Liam came around.” 

 “How could you…” she whispers, unable to say anything more. She can hardly vocalize how horrified she is to learn that someone she thought was sweet and innocent has been working against the people who love her all along.

 With a scoff, she says, “I don’t have to explain myself to you. Go back to your real boyfriend, you slut. You’re lucky he even still wants you after all you’ve done to betray us.”

 “You’re a monster,” Emma grumbles, backing away from her. “I don’t know how you can do this to someone who really loves you.”

 The sting against her cheek is immediate and sharp, Elsa’s hand delivering a solid slap and making Emma and Tink gasp in unison. “The club loves me. They’ve taken care of me since I was a kid. Now get away from me before I tell Peter what you told me about a safe place,” she goads. “Go back home, and maybe you won’t get hurt.”

 “Like Killian did? And Liam?” 

 “They got what they deserved. If you’re not careful, you will, too. I’m willing to look past this transgression, only because I know Neal loves you and thinks you’ll be a good candidate at carrying on the bloodline. But make no mistake; fuck up again and I’ll be taking this little conversation to Peter.”

 Emma couldn’t have convinced Elsa to come with them if she tried, because she wasn’t even able to try. The door slams in her face before she has a chance to get another word in.

 ~~~~

 His surroundings are barely visible before the pain sets in again. 

 It’s blinding, no matter what he does. Opening his eyes is painful. Keeping them closed is, too. 

 He doesn’t need to be awake to know where he is, either. The waves rocking the boat violently give away their location.

 “I think he’s waking up,” someone says with a voice he doesn’t recognize. “Get over here.” 

 “Mate,” he hears from Rob, his voice vaguely recognizable through the fog in his brain. “Killian, come on.” 

 “You shouldn’t have let him sleep. He probably has a concussion.” 

 “You try stopping him.” 

 “Shut up,” he groans, his lip cracking again as he speaks. Each of the men by his side laugh in relief. 

 “Killian,” he hears Robin breathe. “You alright, mate?” 

 He winces as he tries to take in a grounding breath, his ribs protesting vehemently. “Where is she?” he asks, barely recognizing the sound of his own voice. 

 “Who’s that? The one looking for me?” 

 “Emma,” Robin confirms, and Killian forces his eyes open. He only hopes that the look he gives his friend is enough to relay his fear and anger at him telling this stranger anything about the woman he loves. Doesn't he know she’s in danger already? “Don’t look at me like that, mate,” he says, although Killian can detect a hint of relief in his voice at seeing his open eyes. 

 “What did you do?” he asks, unable to expend the energy it would take to say much more. 

 “This is David. You, and especially Emma, might recognize him as James Spencer.” 

 Killian groans as he lifts his head, the crushing pain of his headache almost unbearable. Truthfully, he thought he would be worse off. Sure, he’s quite certain several ribs are broken, and he worries that he might have a fracture or two in his cheek from how many times Cassidy beat on him, but the pain isn’t quite as bad as he expected it to be. 

 It’s still bloody excruciating, though. 

 “Spencer,” he answers, looking at the familiar stranger. “The cop?” 

 He nods. “You’re girlfriend’s good. I’m with the FBI now, deep undercover. I thought we’d buried everything.” 

 “Of course she is,” he agrees, trying to take a breath deep enough to actually fill his lungs. He digs his fingers into the thin mattress and winces. “So, what now? Where is she?” 

 “She’s meeting me here,” Robin tells him. 

 “You left her alone?” he asks angrily.

 “You told her to round up Tink and Elsa. Begged her. I had to get you the hell out of there before they bloody killed you.” 

 “Why the hell would you listen to me?” he grumbles, rolling his eyes painfully. “How long has she been gone?” 

 Looking down to his watch, Robin answers, “About two hours. But she’s smart, she’ll get out of there alright.” 

 He can’t even answer, can’t even tell his friend how stupid it was to let Emma go off on her own, unprotected, before Nolan speaks up. “Your friend tells me you always seem to have a plan.” 

 “Give me some water and something to get rid of this damn headache and I’ll be much more amenable to talking.” 

 He can barely keep up with his surroundings, too disoriented and dizzy and in too much blinding pain to keep his eyes open or to form a coherent thought beyond his worry for Emma. He isn’t even sure how much time passes, how long it takes for the glass of water to appear in his hand.

 “I checked you out,” David says after what must have been a few minutes, the water finally washing away the taste of blood from his mouth. “I have field training. I think you have some cracked ribs, but I don’t think your face is broken.” 

 With a sigh and a roll to his eyes, Killian says, “Well aren’t I lucky.”

 The medication he gives him sets in after a few minutes more, numbing the pain slightly and making it so that Killian can finally breathe in enough oxygen to not feel like he’s drowning. Satisfied with the lessened pain, he takes another gulp of water and says, “Aye, I think I have a plan.”

 “Go on.” 

 “Peter’s on a rampage, ready to destroy whoever he can, but I’m assuming that if you’re here, the Kings of Elsinore must be close.” David nods in agreement. “He doesn’t know they’re coming. He planned to attack them first. Have your gang found the Lost Boy’s clubhouse yet?”

 “No.”

 “Good. We can tell you where to find them and you can set up a raid with the FBI, take both clubs down at once. On one condition.” 

 A particularly forceful wave rocks the boat again, the one that’s all too familiar to Killian, and sends David stumbling to the right. Killian’s stomach flips once more. “What’s that?” he asks once he gets his bearings. 

 Despite his pain, and his desperate need for some chapstick, Killian smirks. “You’re going to help us get out of this mess.”

 ~~~~

 It’s almost midnight by the time Neal finally falls asleep. His adrenaline and anger has kept him up, his anger directed at his plaything being taken from him rather than his girlfriend potentially being hurt before he finally crashes. He hasn’t even noticed her swollen, red cheek, too busy focusing on his rage. 

 She plays it up dramatically, acting like she’s relieved that he finally found out and got her out of the dangerous situation, while also terrified at the fact that it happened. Really, she knows she’ll be having a similar, but still drastically different, exchange with Killian the moment this is over. 

 She takes a final look around the apartment once he’s sleeping, looking for one thing and one thing only and unable to find it. She isn’t sure what he’s done to her only possession; the children’s book is the only thing she cares about aside from her friends' safety. But she isn’t surprised to know that he stole or destroyed it given his complete disregard for her well-being in any capacity. 

 She sneaks out the front door, content to never return, and creeps down the hall towards Olivia’s unit. 

 “It’s time,” she says once she gets there, her voice just above a whisper. 

 As they quietly tiptoe across the dock once they arrive, she briefly wonders how Robin will know of their arrival, before her question is answered for her. He pokes his head out of the cabin of a rather large yacht, and Emma scans the area before hurrying towards him. 

 “You made it,” he exclaims, taking her backpack and helping her onto the deck of the boat. “Where’s Elsa?”

 “Where’s Killian?” she asks, willing to ignore his question and put her out of her mind a bit longer. 

 “Below deck. He’s awake.”

 She’ll tell them about Elsa soon. Right now, she has more important things to worry about, and she can’t imagine bursting Killian’s bubble once again by telling him the truth. 

 Stepping down into the cabin is daunting. The boat reminds her of the clubhouse, weapons on display wherever they can fit. She wonders about how safe that can be, the clubs and knives and primitive looking tools bound to fall eventually with the way the waves are rocking the boat. 

 “Killian,” she exclaims, excitement to see him sitting up on his own taking over her resolve to stay strong for him. The tears are leaking from her eyes before she even realizes she’s about to cry, and she hurries towards him. The last time she saw him, he was so broken that she was worried she would lose him. 

 He breathes her in when she collides with him, wincing as she puts too much pressure on his ribs but not releasing his firm hold on her. 

 “You alright?” he asks her, his lips brushing against her neck as he speaks. Leave it to him to worry about her after he was beaten within an inch of his life. His hand reaches up to touch her cheek, the redness fading but evidently still noticeable enough, at least to a man who truly cares about her. “What did he do?” 

 “I’m fine,” she answers. She wants to crawl onto his lap and hold him in her arms for the rest of their lives, but she knows she can’t. They have to move. “Can we go now?”

 “Where’s El?” he asks, confused. 

 Robin interrupts, not letting Emma answer, and says, “we can’t go yet, unless we want to get arrested. Emma, meet Special Agent David Nolan.”

 Her eyes widen when she looks up and sees a man she recognizes, stunned to have his identity confirmed for her. “James Spencer,” she says, nodding her head. “So you are undercover?”

 “I am. Props to you for figuring it out, although it’s a bit disconcerting.”

 “I didn’t tell anyone,” she shrugs. The agent laughs. “Plus, I thought you were just a cop.”

 “Close enough.”

 “Emma,” Killian says softly, his hand closing around hers and squeezing again. “Where's Elsa? What happened to you?”

 She bites her bottom lip when she looks into his eyes again and is met with his painful stare. It’s unfair that she has to be the one to tell him this. That a woman he thought was his family should betray him like this and she has to be the one to pass the information along and to see the look on his face when she does. 

 “Killian,” she answers softly. “Olivia and I went to her and tried to get her to come with us. We told her we had a safe way out, that we would help her escape. But she wanted nothing to do with us.” 

 He touches her face again, the concern written across his face pulling at her heart. “What happened?” he nearly whispers. 

 “She said some awful things,” Tink tells him. “Emma told her she was being stupid, essentially-- ripped her a new one for selling you out-- and El gave her a good slap.”

 His fingers dance along her tender skin once more as he shakes his head in disappointment and disbelief. “She did this to you?”

 “I’m sorry, I didn’t want to tell you--”

 His lips find hers effortlessly, his touch gentle and delicate and careful not to let things between them get too passionate while they still have an audience. She’ll have to tell him about Liam eventually, but it’s too much right now. He’s so broken, and she worries that telling him that his sister-in-law knew about his brother's death could put him over the edge when he has to focus on healing. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I can’t believe she would--”

 “I’m sorry to interrupt, but we really should get moving. The SWAT team will be here soon.”

 “SWAT?” 

 “Love, David is planning a raid on the clubhouse. We’re going to give him the club’s location in exchange for our freedom and immunity during any investigations.”

 She lets her jaw drop in surprise, her expectations of their evening completely shattering before her. “Oh shit…”

 “Aye,” Killian confirms. “We just need to figure a way to get them all to the clubhouse. We need Peter to call another family meeting, but me simply being gone likely wouldn’t be enough of a reason.”

 “If I may,” David offers, Emma looking up from Killian’s distracting eyes at him. “Isn’t she the leader’s girlfriend?”

 “She is called Emma, and if you think she is going back there, you might as well just haul me off to jail right now because I’ll bloody beat--”

 “Killian!” she insists, placing her hand on his and squeezing to try and calm him down. “Just hear him out. He might be onto something.” 

 He turns to her, his cheeks flushed in his pain and anger. “I’m not sending you back there! You just left; I’ll die before I let anything more happen to you.”

 She rolls her eyes, but it’s only to protect herself. The fact is, he did almost die in favor of letting anything happen to her. “No you won’t,” she says definitively. She stands from her place beside him and looks seriously at the agent. “What did you have in mind?”

 “Emma--”

 She turns around sharply. “After everything you’ve been through today, don’t you dare tell me I can’t do something to protect you. We can end this, Killian. We won’t be on the run; we’ll be completely free to live the lives we want.” Turning back to David, she asks, “Right?”

 “She’s right,” he agrees, though he’s looking at Killian. “With all of your cooperation, I’m positive I can get you off scot free.”

 “Killian,” she whispers, sitting back at his side and taking his hand once more. “I can do this.”

 “I know,” he agrees immediately with a firm nod, a look of consternation on his pained face. “I’ve yet to see you fail. I just hate that I have to put you through this.”

 “You’re not,” she promises. “I am. And I’ll be fine. I can handle Neal.”

 “Aye, you’ve proven that much,” he smiles, his hand finding her cheek again. His eyes are starting to look heavier and heavier, whatever he was given for the pain taking over his consciousness again. “You’re a mighty strong lass.”

 “You sound so much more British when you’re high,” she laughs, leaning over to kiss his broken bottom lip softly. 

 “I just happen to know you like my accent,” he flirts, and she giggles in response, pecking the tip of his nose. 

 “Alright, my love,” she whispers. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

 ~~~~

 “Neal,” she whispers when she arrives in his bedroom. Their plan is a solid one, fully formed and ready to be put into action. That fact doesn’t make her any less anxious. 

 Killian gave David plenty of information on the club before she’d arrived. He told him about the millions in merchandise they’ve stolen, and where to find the pieces and the blueprints for evidence. He told them about the countless murders they’ve committed, including that of his own brother and where his body can be found. He told them about the illegal pornography business they’ve been running, and in exchange, David and his team will look past Olivia’s involvement. 

 Now, all that’s left is to gather the club for a family meeting and wait for the shooting to start. 

 She won’t be there, though. She and Killian made sure of that, making a plan just before he fell asleep and just after David left to make a call to his superiors. 

 “Neal, baby, wake up,” she says, appealing to his distorted senses and shaking his shoulders. 

 “What is it?” he asks grumpily, pushing her hands away. 

 “I found something.”

 He groans and snaps, “Just tell me what it is.”

 She clears her throat awkwardly and says, “I was able to pin Spencer’s last known location. He’s here, in Storybrooke. I think the whole gang is.” 

 He sits up suddenly, his eyes glowing meanly in the moonlight and making her shudder. “An attack,” he says, his tone definite, as if he’s the one who figured this out. 

 He doesn’t bother to even question how she found out, but she’s fine with that. “I think we should ask Peter to call a family meeting. This changes the whole plan, right?”

 “You’re right,” he agrees. “Come on, get dressed.”

 For once in her miserable relationship with him, she happily does as he commands. 

~~~~

~~~~

@courtorderedcake @kmomof4 @stahlop @klynn-stormz @laschatzi @emelizabeth88 @lfh1226-linda @kday426 @elisethewritingbeast @timeless-love-story @captain-emmajones @gingerpolyglot @ebcaver @ilovemesomekillianjones @teamhook @superchocovian @itsfabianadocarmo @tiganasummertree @gingerchangeling @jrob64 @onceratheart18 @xhookswenchx @winterbaby89 @swampmedusa @ultraluckycatnd @dancingnancyy @love-with-you-i-have-everything @shireness-says @snowbellewells @hollyethecurious @ouatpost @daxx04 @the-darkdragonfly​ @donteattheappleshook @therooksshiningknight @eeteeaytay @xsajx​ @itsfridaysomewhere​ @alexa-fangirl-forever​ @jonesfandomfanatic​ @wefoundloveunderthelight​ @qualitycoffeethings​ @rapunzelsghosts​ @spaceconveyor @badcats-andmice​ @batana54​ @sailtoafarawayland​ @deckerstarblanche​ @zaharadessert​ @xarandomdreamx @pirateprincessofpizza​ @captainswan21​

[spartanguard]

untitled monster loving fic (1/?)

Summary: A mysterious event ten years ago left a number of people in Boston with unusual abilities and physical attributes...whether they like them or not. Killian Jones is one of them; so is Emma Swan. Are these things curses, or blessings? Will finding each other help them decide?

rated (eventual) M | 2.4k | AO3 coming at some point

A/N: So full credit for this idea goes to @thesschesthair and her ramblings on The Deep while watching The Boys. And since it’s spooky season, and monster f***ing is a thing, ideas started spinning and....this happened. I’m not sure where exactly it’s gonna go and ngl, I definitely borrowed a plot point from Static Shock, but...it’s here. (And there will eventually be some monster loving for real.)

The door rattled in the frame as Killian Jones slammed it shut; frankly, he was surprised he hadn’t shattered it, flimsy as it was. He’d probably do it yet one of these days, but not tonight—not when he was already making a beeline for the bathroom. He needed to get out of these stifling clothes once and for all.

Granted, all clothes did that to him, so this wasn’t a new occurrence, or born of any particular stress or lengthy day. He supposed he should be used to it after all these years, but not yet. 

He tossed his jacket...somewhere, probably the sagging sofa, on his way across the flat, and kicked his shoes off equally haphazardly. There was no door for him to open to get into the restroom, and muscle memory told him where the switch was, filling the tiny space with dingy light. Only three of the four sockets above the vanity worked, and he’d been meaning to replace another burnt out bulb for...well, months. But less light meant it was harder to see the cracks in the ancient tile.

The one nice thing—the only nice thing—about this place was the tub; he probably could have afforded a slightly (very slightly) nicer apartment, but they only had stall showers, and he needed the tub. The squeaky knobs and the thud in the pipes as hot water poured out the faucet were familiar sounds. 

He almost forgot to put the stopper in the drain, but managed to get it in there before losing too much; hot water was a precious commodity, considering the water heater was older than him. He wiped his hand dry on his threadbare jeans, wondering in passing why he bothered, but forgetting it.

Like he did every night, he took stock of himself in the age-spotted mirror. He supposed he was still what would be considered attractive, even if he mostly kept to himself nowadays. Dark hair, blue eyes, a bit of stubble; lean, muscular frame. The front he gave the world still looked like the man Milah fell in love with, before...everything. The shadows under his eyes and the weight of painful memories resting on his shoulders were more recent acquisitions, though.

His tshirt was mostly clean and in decent shape; like most of his clothes, he bought it second hand and it was a couple sizes too big. It had to be. He couldn’t stand the feel of anything touching his upper body—but at the same time, couldn’t be bare. Wouldn’t dare.

He wanted to tear it off, but first had to work off the mechanism that held his prosthetic left hand on. His fingers methodically knew what to do, even if the bit of webbing between them hindered his dexterity to some extent. Once it was off, he carefully set it on the counter—the only possession of his he treated with any sort of care—and then reached for the hem of his shirt and tugged it up over his head.

For the first time all day, he found relief, and was able to take a deep breath. He closed his eyes at the sensation of finally breathing freely—partly to revel in it, and partly to avoid looking in the mirror. But then another breath made him twinge, recalling the hit he took to his side while working on the docks earlier, and he had to inspect it. 

Sure enough, there was a bruise—right on top of one of his gills. 

No wonder it stung when he breathed.

God, but he hated to look at them—they perhaps weren’t as monstrous as they were right after the accident, but they were far from pretty. Deep slits arced on either side of his abdomen, the longest one sitting just above his waist and running parallel to his rib cage; subsequently smaller ones followed up his sides, ending just below his pecs. There were times he laughed at how well they framed his body hair, but those were few and far between. Scar tissue surrounded them from where the skin had healed when it first split, and he could feel the stiff skin move with every breath. It...fluttered, almost, rippling along with his muscles and lungs. 

He shuddered at the sight and turned away, continuing to strip until he was naked. The tub was full, so he shut off the flow and stepped in. He sighed again as he sank down into the warm water; it was a balm on his aching muscles. He sometimes wondered if that was another side effect—after the accident, after everything, they’d gotten a lot denser, it seemed, and he was certainly stronger, his muscles more defined. But it also meant that he was always tired, always sore, always in some sort of pain, and he only knew of two ways to deal with it. He didn’t have the cash for rum right now, so a hot bath would have to do.

Unnecessarily, he took another deep breath, and slipped below the surface of the water. His lungs quickly adapted to the change, and he was hyper aware of the constant movement coming from his gills as they worked. He exhaled and started to breathe normally—at least, as normally as was possible underwater.

He couldn’t drown, but maybe his demons could, just for a bit.

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

Emma Swan would never understand why the landlord kept locking the door to the roof; she’d just pick it again later. Besides, she was the only one that ever went up there, and unless the dude wanted to install a camera and evict her, she’d keep going. 

She had planned on taking a long, hot bath when she got home, but some asshole had used up all the hot water. It was probably just as well; she kind of didn’t feel like dealing with the inevitable mess. That’s why she had her dollar-store spray bottle, right?

It had been dumb of her not to bring it up here, though; she could already feel the itch forming between her shoulder blades, making her shift uncomfortably beneath her leather jacket. It was definitely time to get that off. (The July heat certainly didn’t help in that regard, but she could bear the discomfort; she could stand that easier than the alternative.)

She easily slipped off the red leather and let it fall on the cracked concrete of the roof, leaving her in a well-worn long-sleeved tee; it was the only way to make sure that puting the jacket on was as easy as taking it off. Plus, an extra layer helped keep things under wraps. Just one of the many things she’d learned about her situation in the last 10 years. 

(“Situation” seemed like the best term for it. Someone might call it a blessing; some might prefer curse. Honestly, it was more of an annoyance, so she figured it was best to use as neutral a term as possible.)

This was the part she both loved and hated: taking off her shirt. She knew it’d feel good to remove it, but it always hurt in motion. Oh well—like ripping off a bandaid. Quickly, trying to ignore the thousands of pricking and tugging points across her back and arms, she pulled it up over her head and let it fall on top of her jacket.

Now down to just a cami, she rolled her shoulders back and flapped her arms a few times. Yeah, flapped; what else was she supposed to call it when they were covered in feathers?

The biggest ones extended from her triceps and forearms, with smaller ones covering her skin from shoulder to wrist and between her shoulder blades. The tiniest ones blended in with her natural peach fuzz; the rest varied in size from a few inches to a couple feet and layered on top of each other like...well, like a bird’s wing.

She had wings, okay? But not like the kind you’d see on an angel in a Christmas pageant—freaking swan wings where she’d once had normal human arms. Even her hands vaguely resembled talons, but thankfully, it was easy to pass off her thick, dark nails as a really good gel manicure.

A few feathers drifted to the ground as she stretched, and she stared at them in annoyance, trying to determine if they were indicative of an oncoming molt or just incidental. She was incredibly close to catching a high-paying skip; she didn’t have time to be laid out with a molt for a week.

(Those were the weeks she did label it a curse. Last year, it had overlapped with her period. To make a long story short, she was now banned from ordering at the pizza place down the street due to some things she may have said to the teenaged delivery driver.)

She shook her arms again, watching in disdain as a few more feathers came loose, confirming her fears; damn. She did not need this right now. 

A breeze blew in from the harbor, ruffling her feathers. Some foreign bird instinct leaned into it, holding her arms out behind her to brace against it. For a minute, she let herself forget about everything—her finances, her schedule, her ever-present loneliness, the constant weight of whatever this was—and let her feathers float on the wind like they were meant to.

Fuck it. She needed to fly. 

Quickly, she undid her ponytail and threw her hair back up in a messy bun as she took long strides to the edge of the roof. There, she unlodged a loose brick, revealing a small hidden compartment below containing a white mask. It wasn’t anything fancy—the kind you could get from a party store any time of the year—but it did the job, so she slipped it on. It was best to hide your identity when you were one of the local cryptids, she figured.

(Maybe, one of these days, she’d meet another one; she somehow hadn’t in 10 years, but they had to be out there. They had to.)

Without any further hesitation, she stepped up onto the ledge, spread her arms wide, and jumped.

There was always a bit of fear that it wouldn’t work this time, that the pavement would meet her hollow bones and crush them—but then she caught an updraft and rode it up over the next building.

For at least a few hours, she could pretend to get away from everything, before the inevitable weight of her baggage brought her back down to the ground.

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

Ten years prior

The explosion came from nowhere. Not that most explosions ever gave warning, and if it was going to happen anywhere, a seemingly abandoned waterfront warehouse was as likely a place as any.

The official report said it was a gas explosion; that was true enough. 

Two fatalities were listed: the building owner, one Mr. Gold, who was inside when the blast hit; and his wife, Milah, who was just outside.

[She’d asked Killian to meet her there—he didn’t fully know why, but she’d asked, and he was at her beck and call. He didn’t care that she was married; he loved her, and she loved him.

She was scared; it was visible in her darting eyes and hunched-over position. But she immediately relaxed when he rounded the corner of the building and ran to him, immediately wrapping her arms around him.

Frantically, she started to say something about her husband—that he was inside, she was worried about him and her son, and she wanted to go somewhere—anywhere—when suddenly there was a deafening sound, a wall of heat, an acrid stench, and Killian was in the water, fire at the end of his left arm and in his lungs and Milah—where was she?

It took far too long to break the surface of the harbor, only to be greeted by a scene from a war film—and the undoubtable form of Milah’s lifeless body, under smoldering debris where the building had once stood.]

The number of casualties was unknown; only one person went to the hospital, due to losing their hand in the explosion. 

There were more people in the area, within the radius of the damage, but most fled as quickly as they could.

[Emma still wasn’t sure why Neal had wanted to wander down by the docks; most of his deals went down in other parts of town, but she didn’t think too hard on the change of venue. The salty brine of the ocean was and oddly refreshing scent, compared to the typical smog and gas of the parts of the city they usually haunted.

It was kind of romantic; they were walking hand in hand, snacking on the Pop-Tarts they’d just nabbed from the corner store. She’d had a pretty intense craving for them lately and he’d been all too happy to oblige.

They took a turn down what looked like a row of warehouses in varying amounts of use; he seemed to know where he was going so she followed, taking note when he was starting to slow. She was about to ask what they were doing, but then a deafening roar screamed from the building across the street, immediately drowning them in dust and debris, and something that smelled like gas, but also not?

It didn’t matter; they needed to get out of there. They immediately sprinted off in the direction they came, not stopping until they were sufficiently out of breath. They didn’t dare linger in case the police wanted to talk to them. No thanks.

But, ugh, she’d dropped her Pop-Tart.] 

The smell of the gas lingered—though it was only labeled as such because none of the experts could place it. It was more than natural gas, more of a chemical note to it—but it didn’t match any other known chemicals. Gas was easier to explain, so that’s what they went with.

Besides, that was the only thing that got hot enough to completely disintegrate human remains; what other reason was there to explain why they couldn’t find Mr. Gold’s body among the melted, charred remnants of the building?

The site was razed, but never rebuilt. But urban legend quickly grew to talk of a mysterious figure rising out of the shadows there, said to be his ghost.

(Or possibly something worse.)

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