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lyssismagical · 5 years ago

Note

could you please write something irondad were peter gets caught sneaking out when he was supposed to be at home because he had gotten in trouble earlier in the day. thanks in advanced!

This kind of went on some little adventure away from this lol but hope you still enjoy :)

There’s nothing he can do but hold on as the two halves of the ferry fall away from him, held together by him and two webs that’ll snap any second now. The bad guys got away, civilians are everywhere, and there’s nothing Peter can do.

And then he hears it, the Iron Man suit arriving on scene to clean up the mess he made.

“Iron Man?” he calls out, keeping his voice pitched lower than his regular squeaky teenage voice. “Is there anything I can do?”

The cold Iron Man mask turns to him, eyes glowing blue. “I think you’ve done enough.”

It’s like the nail in his coffin.

See, his dad doesn’t know he’s Spider-Man. He doesn’t know what Peter does instead of going to Academic Decathlon and instead of band and when he’s ‘studying at Ned’s’. Tony doesn’t know and now that Peter’s gone and fucked everything up…

“Mister Stark!” he shouts, swinging to the top of the ferry just as the older hero finishes melding the halves of the ferry back together.

But he doesn’t even get an answer. The suit just stares at him for a second and then turns and flies back towards the city, leaving Peter by himself on the ferry.

Nausea rolls in his stomach as he shoots a web at the nearest helicopter, swinging hard towards the city as well. He doesn’t want to find out the casualties, doesn’t want to see the blame pointed at him, doesn’t want to know the FBI’s wrath.

His head feels split in two, the same way the ferry had been. He wants to see his dad, wants to be comforted and hugged and told that he’s doing a good job even if he messes up like he did today. He wants help, wants his worries about the alien tech to be heard.

But he doesn’t want Tony to know. He doesn’t think he could handle seeing the anger, the disappointment, the betrayal written across Tony’s face. He doesn’t want to know how that conversation would go. He can’t lose Spider-Man.

He finds himself sitting on the edge of a roof on the edge of the water, overlooking the mayhem out on the horizon.

“Is everyone okay?” he asks when he hears the telltale Iron Man suit landing behind him.

“No thanks to you,” Tony says, anger already coloring his voice.

The irritation snaps within him and he stands up, turning on the suit. “No thanks to me? I tried to tell you and you wouldn’t listen to me!”

“I did listen to you, but obviously you didn’t listen to me. Alien tech isn’t for some vigilante in a onesie to deal with. I was looking into it.”

“What was I supposed to do? Just watch them hurt people?”

He doesn’t know why he’s so angry, why his hands are shaking so badly, why he can’t seem to look the suit in the eyes.

But, like he’s sealing Peter’s fate, Tony steps out of the suit onto the rooftop, face set in stone.

“Mask off.”

Peter’s face crumples, he knows he’s made a mistake, made it too obvious. “Mister Stark- I- I don’t-”

“Mask. Off.”

There’s no room for an argument, so Peter tugs the mask off his head, letting his hair fall into his eyes as he ducks his head.

For a long few moments, nobody speaks, silence thickening between them.

And then, “This, whatever you think you’re doing, is done.”

“Dad, please, you don’t understand- I-”

“You’ve been lying to me for what? Four months? Five? Academic Decathlon, Band, weekends with Ned, afternoon studying sessions,” Tony’s saying, but Peter won’t look up, can’t look up from where he kicks at the ground, swallowing thickly. “So, yeah, I do understand, and you’re done.”

His lungs won’t expand properly anymore, but he still makes himself lift his chin, eyes trained on Tony’s tie, so he won’t have to see the disappointment on his face.

“I don’t even get to explain myself?” he says, voice small and young. “I don’t even get to try to talk to you? I- Dad, it’s-”

“I’ve been really lenient with rules for you, Peter.” Tony never calls him Peter. It’s always kid or some silly pet name. “The only rule I’ve ever had for you, one rule, is that you keep yourself safe. I never gave you a curfew, I never looked through your phone, I never made you have a guard or security detail. I’ve been so lenient. One rule, Peter, and you broke it.”

Peter runs a hand through his hair, tugging on the ends to try to think past the tears that threaten to fall. “Please, I-”

“No, this is where you zip it. The adult is talking,” Tony stresses. He lets out a humourless laugh and it cuts Peter deep to the core. “I gave you one fucking rule, Peter, one rule, and you decide to do the complete opposite? And you still expect me to give you the benefit of the doubt? That’s not how this works. You’re going to give me the suit and whatever tech you’ve taken from the lab, and you’re grounded until I say otherwise.”

There’s nothing Peter can say, no arguments he can make, and Tony steps back into the suit anyways.

“Happy’s waiting,” is all Tony bothers to say before he flies away.

Curling up in the backseat of the car, Peter cries. He just wanted to help and now his suit’s going to be taken and irrational fears begin to crawl up his throat and settle in his mind.

*“Homecoming’s in a few days,” Peter says. It’s been a few weeks since Tony found out he was Spider-Man and they’ve been walking on eggshells around each other since then. Tony’s been so busy with The Move upstate that it hasn’t even been hard to avoid him.

Tony looks up startled, he blinks a few times like he’s making sure Peter’s real and then he gently pats the couch cushion beside him.

Peter sits down, not on the cushion Tony offered, but the one over from it, leaving a wide space between them. He can feel Tony’s disappointment radiating off him and tears spring to the teenagers eyes that he refuses to let fall.

“I’m not trying to make your life miserable, buddy,” Tony murmurs quietly. “I’m not trying to be a bad guy here. But, kiddo-”

“Please don’t,” Peter says, eyes trained on the couch where he picks at a loose string. “I don’t want to talk about it. Can I have a break from being grounded to go to homecoming?”

Tony sighs heavily and something in Peter’s chest seizes expecting the worst, hating himself for even bothering to ask.

But, surprisingly, “Yeah, kid, you can go, but please, for the love of god, just have a normal night, okay?”

“What am I supposed to do when you took everything from me?” It’s snarky and Peter knows he’s just pushing Tony away to try to pretend he’s not hurt by all of this.

“Pete-”

“Never mind, I promise I’ll have a normal night. Thanks for letting me go.”

He ducks into his bedroom before Tony can say anything.

*It wasn’t his fault. He wasn’t planning on getting into trouble, he swears, but when his date’s dad turned out to be The Vulture? How in the world was he supposed to just get out of the car and enjoy the dance?

And then the warehouse collapsed.

He pushes the thoughts out of his head, choking down a sob as he stumbles away from the fires, maskless and bleeding and pain flaring in his body.

He wants his dad. He wants him so badly, but his phone is in Toomes’s car and he left his watch with Ned at school and he’s meant to be at stupid homecoming. Tony probably isn’t even worried about him yet unless any of it has hit the news.

Tripping through the sand, Peter lets out a quiet sob, desperation overtaking the fear of how angry Tony will be when he finds out Peter disobeyed every rule once again.

Webshooters empty, suit torn to pieces, mask gone, tech free. Peter’s running out of options.

And then, like a beacon of hope, a grim old gas station just over the edge of the beach and across the street.

Feet dragging and stumbling, blood trailing behind him, Peter makes it to the dusty telephone booth on the side of the gas station. He doesn’t have any money on him, but there are old coins left on the ledge.

The call nearly isn’t picked up and dizziness is washing over Peter to the point where he has to sit down against the brick wall, phone cradled in his burned and bloody fingers.

“Hello?”

“Dad?” Peter cries, dam breaking when he hears Tony’s voice. “I- I need help, please, I- I’m sorry, I-”

“Peter, baby? Where are you? I thought you were at homecoming?” Tony murmurs, voice soothing and gentle.

The teenager presses the phone closer against his ear, trying to provide any sort of comfort. He’s crying in earnest now, shaking and black spots dancing across his vision.

“I- I made a mis’ake,” he sobs, wanting nothing more than for his dad to make the pain disappear. “I- Dad, please, I-”

The sound of the Iron Man suit and wind rushing by the phone settles something within him, the desperate part of him, knowing his dad’s coming for him. Despite everything, his dad’s coming.

“I’m coming, okay?” Tony reassures. “I’m on my way and you’re going to be okay. We’re going to be okay.”

The last part is what gets Peter’s shoulders to relax for the first time since he became Spider-Man.

“Dad?” he repeats carefully. He’s using most of his energy trying to stay conscious, so he doesn’t make it past the one syllable.

“I’m coming, buddy, I’m coming. I love you, okay? I don’t say it enough, but I love you and I’m so proud of everything you do, you know that, right?”

Peter opens his mouth to respond, but the I Love You Too gets caught in his throat as his vision goes dark.

*When he comes to, the only thing he knows for sure is that he’s so fucking sorry.

He scrunches his nose and blinks his eyes open slowly, almost immediately closing them again when the pain washes over him.

“I know you’re awake, buddy,” Tony says, somewhere near Peter’s hospital bed. He squeezes Peter’s hand gently. “You feeling okay?”

Peter hates how quickly he crumbles, tears falling from his eyes and running into his hairline.

“I’m sorry, Dad, I’m- I’m so sorry. I- I-” He cuts himself off, swallowing thickly and squeezing his eyes tighter shut.

Tony’s thumb runs soothingly over his knuckles. “No, bud. I’m the one who should be sorry. If I had just helped you instead of grounding you. If I had just thought for even a second, you wouldn’t have been out there fighting Toomes by yourself… I just- I’m sorry, Peter.”

“S’okay,” Peter murmurs, words slurring as he turns his head into Tony’s palm. “’m I still grounded?”

Tony chokes out a teary laugh, thumb brushing across Peter’s cheekbone. “We’ll compromise, okay? But not until you’re out of a hospital bed… I just- The only thing I wanted was for you to be safe. That’s all I wanted. I needed you to be safe. So seeing you out there, on the ferry, I just… I don’t know. I trust you, I just, you’re my kid.”

“Just wanted to be like you,” Peter murmurs, opening his eyes and for the first time in what feels like a long time, looks at his dad. Instead of the disappointment, the anger, he’d been expecting to see, all he sees is love and adoration and pride.

“You’re so much better, kid.”

#lyss answers #lyss writes #irondad #irondad fic

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jincherie · 5 years ago

Text

intermission • i | moonface

• ☽ — pairing: bts x reader • ☽ — genre: crack, fluff, angst, college/uni au • ☽ — words: 3.7k • ☽ — rating: sfw • ☽ — warnings: oc feels regret and gets her first taste of murderous urges • ☽ — notes: this isn’t a full fledged chapter! this is more like.... a little dabble of backstory. in between each chapter, there will be one of these intermissions. they give a little extra info and context not included in each chapter... i hope u enjoy!

— posted; 11.05.2019

When the love letter you wrote and submitted as an assignment is leaked to the entirety of your university, it becomes a race against time to dispel rumours and convince the seven suspected muses of the poem that they aren’t the subject before anyone realises that you are the author. Easy, right? Well… maybe not as easy as you think.

— • masterlist | prev | intermission i | next • —

[first year, semester one]

Coffee. Waffle. Bathroom stop. 10AM Lecture. Food. Class. Food. Booze? No, no booze.

That’s today’s agenda, and to be perfectly honest despite your brief moment of temptation, you’re pretty impressed with how far you’ve gotten into your first semester without turning to alcohol to cope. You’ve remained strong so far, but now as finals are right around the corner and you suddenly find yourself drowning in assessment, it’s getting harder and harder to resist the siren song of the conveniently bottled happy juice.

Smacking a hand to your cheek to snap yourself out of the thought before you start longing for it for real, you ignore the resulting sting and continue your trek into campus. You’re spectacularly early this morning, and while you’d like to take credit and say it was because you’re a morning bird who is on top of her life, the slightly less attractive and kind of sad truth is that you stayed up most of the night completing an assessment and only slept for one or two hours. Well… perhaps closer to one, two is a bit generous. You’re but one woman.

To be honest, the assessment piece you’d stayed up to finish isn’t even due for a few more days—you really wanted to put your all into it though, and you were actually thinking of going the extra mile and adding a cover page. You have a plethora of ideas for it but, regrettably, don’t have the graphic design skills to make it happen, so it seems it’s going to remain just a thought for now.

It’s as you plod into the section of your campus that you like to call your own little square of heaven, that fate decides to slap you in the face with an answer to your unspoken inquiries—quite literally.

You don’t get two steps past the corner of the first building in the food court before your face is suddenly meeting cold glass, the door pane making painful contact with your nose and mushing it so hard against your face you could almost smell the peach fuzz above your top lip.

“OW! MOTHERFUCK!” it’s a primal scream of pain that escapes you, your legs just barely saving your from falling right on your ass. Your eyes tear up from the sharp pain that throbs through your entire face, and when you attempt to crack your eyes open to find the culprit the area is barren and they are shamelessly long gone. So much for being even a little remorseful.

Sniffling and touching beneath your nose to make sure its snot and not blood dribbling from your nostrils, you wipe it on the back of your hand and spin your head to glare at the offending shop door that had caused you so much pain. It’s a combination of wood and glass, and the large, glossy wall-size windows next to it, as well as the glimpses of mirrors and squishy chairs you catch inside, tell you it belongs to a salon. The glass on the door, unlike the window, is littered with a bunch of flyers and posters and an obnoxiously retro open sign. You squint, momentarily distracted from your anger by a pretty A5 page of soft purple with flowers curling along the bottom right corner (astilbe, cornflowers and pink carmellias are what you manage to pick out— and that's only because you spent the past weekend with Sera trying to decode the bouquet of flowers someone left on her car and they're fresh in your mind) and cursive font across the middle. It seems to be a flyer advertising an art exhibition from one of the photography students that you've heard has managed to make a bit of a name for themselves.

You find yourself entertaining the thought of attending for a brief moment, before your attention is torn to the flyer next to it that glares obnoxious peach orange, black and blue background into your retinas. You blink, taking a second to observe it before realising that it's actually advertising the salon right in front of you. There is an attractive male posing dramatically against a hollywood vanity, wearing a princely outfit that has ribbons and tassels and probably isn't all that practical for hairdressing but damn is it something that he looks good in. There's some sappy bullshit scrawled along the bottom to lure hapless, lovestruck young adults who were probably Team Edward in Twilight, but you're not caught up in that. No, you're caught up in the pure genius of the design, the talent of whoever was behind the creation of this poster. As if by perfect coincidence, your eyes flick to the side just in time to catch sight of the same man on the poster inside the salon, a broom in his hand as he tidied up the fallen hair of whoever smacked you in the face with the salon door.

Making a split-second decision, you rip the poster from the door and burst into the salon, nearly tripping on the welcome mat as you do so. The male doesn't even flinch or jerk in surprise at your abrupt entrance— on the contrary, he finishes his sweeping motion and slowly straightens, spinning around with such grace and flair that you realise immediately he must be a theatre student.

"Oh, hello," he greets with the most charming smile you've ever seen.Your heart might have skipped a beat if you didn't by chance glimpse down and catch his toes wriggling at you in greeting from his slides. What the fuck. "You must be my ten o'clock. Come right in, and do hurry. As you can see we're very busy."

Your eyes flick to the rest of the room — there is no one, he is the only other person in the entire establishment — and then to the reception beside you, where the schedule book sits open and desolate— the entire day is saddeningly barren, with not a single time slot filled in that you can see. Brows raised, you turn back to the male. He knows you have found him out, yet he is unwavering in his act. Well, you're not going to break first.

"I'm here for this," you say, slapping the poster down on the counter. The male peers over with raised brows and puckered lips, making a face of realisation once he sees what you've procured for his viewing pleasure. "I need someone good at graphic design— did you make this?"

Perhaps, you think upon seeing the peculiar gleam his eyes adopt, you have made a mistake in entering this salon.

"I can help you out," he says, cocking his hip and leaning on the broom. He lifts his hand to examine his nails. "...For a price."

You don't even dwell on the fact he didn't exactly answer your question, and squint at him in suspicion. "I'm poor. The most you'll get out of me is three dollars and two food vouchers for the sushi place next to the salad bar."

"Food vouchers?" the male breaks character at the mention of food, eyes widening before he catches himself and clears his throat. "Fear not, little gumdrop, I don't want money from you. No, I want your hair."

"My hair," your tone is flat and you feel a bit like the second you stepped foot in this store you also set foot in another realm.

"Yes," he beams, striding forward and extending his hand with all the flair of a female pop idol dance move to grasp a strand that has come loose from where it was pinned. "Your ends... they pain me, they're a cry for help and I'm nothing if not a benevolent god aiding my creations in need. Well, I say ends, but..."

His eyes sweep over the mop atop your head and he inhales through his teeth. "Yeah, we're gonna have to make some sacrifices. But fear not! I'm very good at sacrificing! There's not a customer that leaves this salon that I'm not satisfied with!"

Something about that strikes you as off— isn't it meant to be the customer satisfaction that matters most? Even so, you find yourself considering his proposition like a fool. It's true, your ends are in a tragic state— you've been so busy with everything else in your life that your hair has, admittedly, suffered for it. Now that he's mentioned it, you know you're not going to be able to stop thinking about it, and all he's asking is a haircut in exchange for the graphic design service you're also in need of? Technically, he's doing you two favours.

You ignore the voice in your head that tells you not to trust this too-attractive, slide-wearing hairdresser, and give him a narrow-eyed look. "I let you cut my hair, and you'll offer your graphic design services?"

The male nods distractedly, already discarding his broom and taking you by the elbow to guide you further inside. "Yes, yes, I'll help you with what you need. Now, come sit over here! This shouldn't take too long at all, I already have an idea for what I want."

You send him a dubious look at his wording, wondering once more whether it should be what you want that matters more, but decide since you're essentially getting this for free in the money sense, you'll sit and be quiet. He points you to a chair and you plop down, barely having a second to orient yourself before he's snapping an apron over you and slipping a towel underneath.

The male slaps his hands together, zipping around behind you and wheeling a cart over. "Alright, my name is Seokjin and I'll be your hairdresser today! Sit back, relax, and I'll bring you up from your negative rating status in no time!"

It's hard to ignore the urge to punch him that arises at his words, but ultimately you manage. To pass the time while he goes to work — and also because you don't like watching hairdressers work in the mirror since it often ends in accidental eye contact — you pull one of your textbooks from your bag and begin to catch up on some readings you haven't been able to get through yet. Despite your reservations, you find yourself relaxing easier than anticipated as you read, enjoying the soft brushing and tugging of your hair. He has gentle hands, you note, but still don't bother to look up and verify. You're content to go off of sensations for now.

Unfortunately, it seems you're a bit of a fool, and this is just one mistake of the many you've unknowingly made today.

He mostly hums to the odd tune, but once he does attempt to make conversation with you. "So, Miss Dead Ends, the time has come for me to ask the most important question that can arise in any conversation. Where does your allegiance lie?"

You freeze where you're reading, squinting at the page but not bothering to look up. "What?"

You hear him huff, as though he can't believe you didn't give him the answer he wanted straight away. "I mean, who is your campus ship. Are you team Jihope, or team Namseok?"

For a moment, you sit there reeling. It was like he just asked you something in another language— you have no idea what the fuck he just said. Unsure what to do but panicking because you know he expects an answer, you pick at random one of the two options and throw it out there. "Uh, Namseok?"

Seokjin's movements in your hair still, several beats of silence passing before he eases into motion once more. "I see," is all he says, and from that point on he doesn't attempt conversation again. You feel like you've made a blunder of sorts, but also can't bring yourself to care. It's his fault for being so hard to understand, you suppose.

You sit through each phase of the haircut process, letting him comb, snip, spray and blow dry to his heart’s content. When he eventually drops the hair dryer back into the cart and claps his hands, you finally allow yourself to look up into the mirror. You freeze.

"Ta-da!" Seokjin the hairdresser is clearly more than overjoyed at the results of his hard work and toil. You barely register his voice through your shock. "Thoughts? I mean, I know it's the perfect funky little 'do for your funky little self, but I'm not the type to withhold praise from myself, you know? Let me hear it."

"It's..." you squint at your reflection, hoping that it might have just been your eyes playing tricks on you for what you see looking back. "It's..."

Seokjin waits eagerly in anticipation like a puppy awaiting a treat after performing a trick, beaming at you in the reflection. You balk, feeling your soul leave your body for a moment before it suddenly slams back to earth and you regain the ability to speak.

"It's hideous?"

The male is absolutely unphased and even has the audacity— the audacity— to grin and reach out and pat the hair he's massacred atop your head.

"Actually, my sweet little padawan, it's high fashion." He sniffs, a sympathetic simper curling his plump lips. "But since I know you're one of those... poor folk, I'll let it slide this time."

You sputter, eyes whipping over each detail they can and making you more and more horrified at each new one that brings itself to your attention. The sharp angles, the texture, the layers? You have no idea how he got your hair to behave this way with only a comb and a hairdryer but you're terrified its permanent. You've never been so affronted at the results of a haircut before and you're quick to let him know.

"This is the ugliest haircut I've ever had in my life!"

Still remarkably unbothered by your displeasure, the male hums. "All high fashion looks ugly when you look at it with poor people eyes—here, try on my slides. Gucci should help get you in the zone."

You just about blow your top, unsure whether you're about to scream or cry but accepting it’s probably going to be both. He's really about to step out of his slides to let you try them on when you stand from the seat, ripping the apron from your body.

"I'm not paying for this!" you cry, indignant. The male merely blinks at you.

"Correct. I believe this was the payment, wasn't it?"

You falter for a moment, having forgotten that you'd literally let him do this and signed away your reputation and self esteem without any prior knowledge of whether he was actually a good hairdresser or not. Alright, you're a fool, but at this point that's in the past.

"Alright— I'm going to kill you, but first you're going to do what you promised and help me with that graphic design thing I need or so help me Zeus I will sniff you out like a bloodhound and tie you down to give you a rat's tail in front of a crowd in the quad with your own scissors."

You've stomped over to the damn poster that brought you in here in the first place, and turn only at the sound of his voice.

"Oh, a tsundere? What is it about you tsunderes that you're all drawn to me, huh? I'm collecting you like pokemon at this rate. Oh well, lucky for you I like that sort of thing. Sounds like a date— will you be using rope or leather?"

On second thought, you don't need your cover page that badly. You're going to kill him now instead.

x x x x x x x

Unfortunately for you and the repressed anger that resulted from that whole event, the tall male had been saved from the full brunt of your wrath by someone actually walking in for a haircut. They did a double-take at the sight of you, clearly questioning their choice of salon, but Seokjin managed to swoop in and save his reputation while dragging yours through the mud in the very same breath— which, you hate to admit, takes talent.

"Wack, right?" he'd said to the confused male, holding a hand up to hide his mouth like it would remove your ability to hear what he was saying. "She came in wanting that, and I couldn't refuse; in this salon, we focus on what the customer wants, after all."

You were going to kill him and you were going to enjoy it.

Needless to say, you couldn't have a witness, and the rat bastard knew it too because he used it to his advantage. He whipped up a sharpie from the front desk and scribbled a series of numbers on your hand, telling you to send him what you wanted done. Then he dismissed you with a turn of his back and began guiding his next customer over to the seat next to yours, kissing their ass to kingdom come.

You left, stewing, and made a beeline for the chemist on campus that was the only place you knew that sold hats, even if they’re ridiculously overpriced. You'd rather be bald than walk around with the mess that demon gave you.

You sent him what you wanted done, begrudgingly, because you weren't about to let your suffering be for nothing. But after that, you didn't hear from him and, quite frankly, completely forgot you were even waiting for him to come through with his end of the deal. You blamed the fact that your brain was currently on damage control and trying to repress as much of the memories as possible.

In actuality, it isn’t until the very start of the next year that you even remember he exists.

You’re midway through the morning drama class you elected to take this semester when the doors burst open, a tall figure with dusty pink hair and obnoxiously familiar features striding right in as though this was his home and he’d just returned after a long trip away.

“Professor Kang!” he bellows, making a beeline right for your very suddenly tired looking teacher. You can barely snap your mouth shut at the ridiculousness of the situation you find yourself in. “I’ve missed you, you’ve been well? I know these months we’ve spent apart have been hard but I’m here now—”

"YOU!" you seethe, unable to contain the word as it bursts forth from your chest, absolutely ready to roll your sleeves up and end his career. The male whips around at your screech.

"Dead Ends Girl!" he cries, looking astounded to see you. His eyes zero in on your head and he seems almost disappointed to see you didn’t keep touching up the humiliating cut he gave you after visiting his salon. “Back to poor people looks, I see.”

Your fingers twitch with the urge to wrap around his throat and you barely contain the urge as it spikes with his next words.

“You must be really obsessed with me huh, tracking me down and following me all the way to my class. You really did sniff me out like a bloodhound!”

“Seokjin,” your professor rubs his face, adjusting the glasses slipping down his nose. “You haven’t taken this class in three whole semesters, you can’t keep coming back here? Why must you continue to torment me.”

Seokjin, evidently having found another poor soul to torture (read: you), doesn’t even acknowledge your poor professor. “So why are you here, huh? If you’re here for an autograph, I regret to inform you that autographs are a Tuesday only event. You’ll have to come back on a Tuesday.”

You’re too angry to even bother telling him that it is a Tuesday, about to tackle him to the ground in front of your whole drama class without a single regret. Well, if there ever was a time and place for theatrics, right?

“You absolute dinkleberry, where’s the graphic design task I was promised in return for letting you butcher my hair?! You were meant to do it in a week! It’s been a year!”

Seokjin has the nerve to appear oblivious. “Graphic design task? Listen lady, the most I’ve ever graphically designed is the banner for my nsfw tumblr account, and even then it kept getting me reported. Cons of having a massive schlong, I guess. But graphic designer? That ain’t me.”

You’re about to burst a blood vessel, the few classmates who were close enough in the beginning to see the whole thing going on continuing to watch avidly from the sidelines. Food isn’t allowed in this room but you bet if it was they’d be shoveling popcorn in their mouths with all the ardent desperation and energy of a horse grazing from their palm.

“You said you were the one that made the poster!” you burst, pointing at him in accusation. “You said you’d help me!”

“No, I think I only said I’d help you— and I did! I brought you from a -2 to a solid 3.5 in good lighting! You should be thanking me!”

“You made me look like Sideshow Bob!” you cry, the urge to kill him stronger than ever.

At this, Seokjin is unable to contain the giggle that tears from his throat, teeth sinking into his bottom lip. “And it suited you, so well.”

“ARGH YOU ABSOLUTE—!”

Before you can really release the anger that had a whole year to simmer and build, your professor steps in and tells Seokjin to leave and go to his own class before he starts setting up security measures to zap him the second he enters the door. Affronted but not prepared to call your professor’s bluff, the pink haired male begrudgingly listens and leaves, but not before he stops in the doorway and calls over his shoulder, “I’LL BE BACK! JUST YOU WAIT! YOU’VE NOT SEEN THE LAST OF ME!”

You wish you could say that that was the last time you saw him, but the unfortunate reality is that Seokjin lingers like a bad smell and consistently rocks up to your class to both torment your professor and you in one go in the lessons following. Two birds with one stone for him, you suppose. It becomes an unfortunate routine.

You still haven’t received that damn cover image.

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buriedinbleach · 6 years ago

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The Goddess in the Glen - Pt. 1

When I originally signed up for the Big Bang, I requested prompts for the story that is now Kensei’s long ass fic. I promised that whoever’s prompt I used, I would write a fic as a prize! This is that prize. Well, the first part anyway.

I ended up going to town on this and splitting it into two chapters. Smut in both, so pace yourselves, drink plenty of water. Apparently, no one makes me spawn multi-chapter fics quite like Shunsui. He’s just so hot. Can you blame me?

Train anon asked: Shunsui said he had a script idea but Nanao is all like "I do not allow any movie with the rating of adults only". Write Shunsui’s porn.

For reference, that exchange takes place in episode 298.

-The Goddess in the Glen-

Shunsui had locked himself away in his study every night that week as soon as he returned home from the Eighth division. It was rare enough for Shunsui to set foot in that particular room once a month, let alone staying there – working furiously – night after night. It was baffling. You had tried to find out exactly what he was doing, but every time you asked he simply gave you a wry smile and said, ‘Its a secret, Petal.’

Dim, flickering light trickled out into the hallway underneath the door as you crept close and pressed your ear to the cold wood.

“You look lost. Perhaps I can help.” It was definitely Shunsui’s voice, but it sounded odd. Almost… feminine? Well, at least as feminine as Shunsui was capable of sounding with his deep timbre.

You were torn between utter confusion and trying to stifle your laugh as you called to him through the door. “Shun? Are you coming to bed?”

“I’ll be there in a minute, love.”

You cast one last suspicious glance at the door, listening to his quiet, indistinguishable murmurs before heading off to bed.

***

Two days later, you went looking for Shunsui as soon as you arrived home from the Thirteenth division. You couldn’t wait to tell him what ridiculous idea Kiyone and Sentaro had come up with as your division’s entry for the film festival. Poor Jushiro.

You were still laughing to yourself when you headed straight to his study, expecting to find him hard at work on his mystery project once again. But when you arrived, the door was open and the room was pitch black. He wasn’t even napping on the couch.

“Hmmm…” You shrugged, wracking your brain, trying to think of where he could be when it hits you. Smiling, you know there was only one place you need to look – its the one spot no one else ever bothers checking for him. You walk out to the gardens, warm spring air swirling lightly around you when you see Shunsui leaning against a sakura tree, staring off into the foreground at the expanse before him.

Shunsui gently swirls his cup of sake – distracted. His eyes never leave the fixed point he regards in the distance. He didn’t need to look directly at you to feel your presence, he knew your reiatsu well enough by now. Instead, he raises his arm as you smile and curl in beside him.

“Is something wrong, love?” You ask, nuzzling against him, placing your hand on his firm chest.

He sips the cup of sake slowly until the cool liquid is gone, his brow is contemplative, but you wait patiently for him to speak. “Nanao-chan won’t let the division use my script for our entry in the film festival.” Shunsui reaches for his bottle, pouring another cup of sake, offering you the first drink before carefully nursing it once more.

So that’s what he had been working so hard on. You smiled softly, kissing his cheek and nuzzling in closer. Suddenly, excerpts from ‘The Rose Colored Path’ began swirling through your mind. It became slightly harder for you to fault Nanao for turning his script down now. But, that was also an easy fix. A few simple edits and Shunsui could try again.

“Why don’t I look at it? Maybe I can help make a few suggestions and then we can try talking her into it? Let me see your script.”

Shunsui sighed lightly, downing the last drops in his glass before pulling out a rolled bundle of papers from behind his back and passing them to you. He knew there wasn’t much use. There was nothing you could have said that would make Nanao change her mind now, but a part of him was now eager to see your reaction.

“Hmmm… ‘The Goddess in the Glen’.” You sat up a little straighter, flipping open the first page. It was a little bit of a cheezy title, but that was kind of to be expected given his usual standard. You couldn’t help but wonder what kind of sappy romance you were about to find. “Why did you say Nanao wouldn’t let you-”

Heat immediately began rushing to your face as you scanned through the pages, not bothering to read the script word for word. Your heart was racing, blood was coursing through your veins at a furious pace. All the while, Shunsui sat next to you looking as calm and casual as he always did.

“I believe her exact words were, ‘I will not be associated with any film rated ‘adults only’. But now I’m more curious what you think of it petal.” Shunsui smiled lazily, the heat of his stare only compounded the boiling fire roaring through your body.

“I-” you choked on your next words, trying to clear your throat, to make them come out but they were stuck. Taking a deep breath, you started over. “I had no idea you could write like this.” It was the first thing you could think to say. Truthfully, the script was good. Surprisingly good – and very hot. You couldn’t stop the flood of images that began racing through your mind. Your nails dragging through the dark hair on his chest; fingers groping his muscles and sinking into his shoulders; Shunsui’s lips against your neck; his callouses grazing your breasts-

Shunsui laughed, “What do you mean? You’ve read my column before!”

Your mind scrambled to free itself from your daydream, to cover your faux pas quickly. “Right! I just mean this is even better! But, I think I understand why Nanao wouldn’t allow you to make it. Even if she did, there’s no way Head Captain Yamamoto would allow it to be shown.”

“I’ll admit, you have a point there.” Shunsui conceded, relaxing back against the tree.

“But Shun, who exactly did you think you could talk into being the Goddess and this warrior she’s supposed to seduce?” Setting the script aside, you curled against him, bringing your hand to rest against his bare chest. You let your eyes drift closed, ready to slip into a lazy nap at Shunsui’s side where you could have all the time in the world with your fantasy – uninterrupted.

However, the way his fingers began inching up your leg underneath the hem of your Gotei kimono made you reevaluate those plans. For the better.

Shunsui turned, bringing his lips down to your neck, letting his deep voice sink into your skin and down to your very bones. “You and me, petal.” The sinful way his lips parted to lick and suck his way over your neck nearly blocked out his words, you would have agreed to almost anything if he would just keep going.

Almost.

“Wait, what?” You place your hands on either side of his face and reluctantly pull him away.

Shunsui leaned back against the tree, but his hand resumed its pace – inching up your thigh. “Well it doesn’t matter now.” As his hand moved higher, your heart began pounding with excitement, an interesting idea crept into your mind.

You sat for a moment, mulling over your choice, pulse now thundering in you ears. “Love?”

“Mmmm?” Shunsui acknowledged. His lips pressed against your neck again, this time moving lower. The vibration of his hum rattled straight to your core.

“Maybewecouldmakeit?” You blurted the words quickly while you could still get them out. You knew Shunsui heard – and understood – when his fingers paused just inches from his goal at your breast.

His eyes met yours while your face blazed with the heat of embarrassment. Shunsui’s pupils looked like deep pools and you were about to be swallowed by their depths. You were anxious to look away, but couldn’t bring yourself to pull your eyes from his sinful stare. While he had you awestruck and trapped, Shunsui wrapped an arm around your waist and maneuvered you to lay beneath him on the soft, cool grass. You cast a quick, sly glance around the garden, cautious of prying eyes, only to find the estate was silent. Shunsui’s private area of the gardens was completely undisturbed by anyone but the two of you.

The tickling stubble of his beard against the center of your chest pulls your focus back to him. His callouses graze over the swell of your breast, opening the collar of your kimono, softly kissing the newly revealed skin. “Maa… really? Its not even my birthday.” Shunsui resumed his present course - kissing his way to your nipple. But this time, he was watching you, hypnotizing your mind with his erotic, dark stare.

“Y-Yeah-ah!” You inhaled a sharp, gasping breath when Shunsui’s teeth grazed the sensitive bud. Winding your fingers through his hair, you held him against your body, arching up to meet his face. Shunsui worked to keep you at ease, nearly breathless; he wanted to hear every pleasure-fogged, uncensored thought crossing your mind; he needed to taste every whimpering moan that skipped past your lips.

“I mean, we – hhnn – w-would just keep it to-oh! Yessss,” you hissed. Shunsui’s finger drifted up and down your slit over your underwear, pressing lightly to test the fabrics resistance. He watches your face sharply. Though his smokey eyes seem hazy with lust, he catalogues every motion as you lick and purse your lips, memorizing the sound of your gasping breath. “For our – mmm – eyes only.”

Shunsui pulls your underwear aside, sinking a finger slowly into your heat; his lips covering yours, drinking down your moans. “Of course, Petal. Now that I think about it, I wouldn’t really want anyone else hearing the beautiful sounds you make, just for me.”

He kisses your neck - licking and sucking just enough to lightly color and mark your skin. Once you’re lost in a haze, he slips another finger in to join the first, turning and curling his digits to brush your sweet spot again and again. “Hhnn – you’ll have to-” you hissed with pleasure, feeling warmth creeping over your body, “learn your lines. Yes! Shunsui! Mmm, right there!” Shunsui presses his lips to your neck, kissing as your pulse throbs and cries of his name are ripped from your throat; your release floods your muscles like the waves of a tsunami.

As your eyelids flutter, bringing you back into the present, Shunsui kisses your lips – long and slow. He settles between your legs, his kimono open and hanging loose around him. Shunsui frees himself from his hakama, never once pulling his lips from yours.

Your leg wraps around his bare hip, urging him closer. He smiles against your mouth before kissing along your jaw. As his lips trail over your jawline, Shunsui’s hand – calloused, wide, strong – smoothes over your leg. He starts at your ankle, dragging up your calf, caressing your thigh until he holds your leg against his hip. The hot head of his cock presses against your entrance, just lightly parting your folds, making you hiss and shiver with anticipation. Shunsui slowly pulls your leg up his hip as he inches forward into your heat – claiming and filling.

Cool silk kissed the back of your hands, juxtaposing pleasantly with the warm, bare muscles of his back underneath your fingertips sliding underneath his kimono. “Are we really supposed to – mmm, Shunsui – to a-act through…”

A light breeze drifted through the garden, but neither of you felt a thing. Shunsui covered your body completely with his own, stoking a fire that promised to burn you from the inside out with each surge of his hips. He loved hearing your breathy voice climb higher as you desperately try to keep yourself together just long enough before he rolled against your clit again and you were lost.

“I don’t think either of us will be acting. I can’t keep my hands off of you.” His voice is like liquid honey trickling down your muscles – warm and satisfying – it only feeds the consuming heat stretching and filling your core. Shunsui pulls his hips back lazily, wanting to be sure you felt every ridge of his cock. He kisses away your hitched gasps and thrusts forward, burying himself again.

He was right, there was absolutely no need to act. Shunsui knew how to work every pleasure point on your body, how to turn you into liquid in seconds. But could you make his movie? Shunsui pulls your leg up, just an inch, but it leaves you dizzy and gripping his shoulders for more. Gods how you wanted more. Even if it meant filming a highly explicit home movie. Hell, the more explicit the better. You were aching to make it now.

One more precise tilt of your hips combined with Shunsui driving into your heat, rolling against your clit when he bottomed out was your undoing. Flames of pure ecstasy blazed out of control, licking and kissing your nerves. You wind the fingers of one hand through his thick waves, pulling him into a kiss.

Shunsui holds your hips tighter, thrusting harder – deeper – allowing the constricting, steady clenching of your core around his shaft to drive him higher. He chases his release right along with yours, managing to work you through one last, weaker orgasm before filling you with a satisfying warmth unique to Shunsui.

While you lay together recovering, his favorite floral kimono wrapped around your body in place of your own disheveled one, Shunsui huffed out a laugh and you giggled like a naughty child. The two of you were going to go for it. You would make his movie and keep it safely hidden away to be watched together whenever the mood strikes. Or when one of you was on a mission...

The sun was beginning to go down as you curled underneath his long arm and the two of you walked back inside. When you make your way into the bedroom, Shunsui walks silently behind you and stops to kiss your neck. You dreamily stroke his cheek, encouraging him to continue. “Shun, just one thing. How is this going to be filmed? I don’t want – “

“Relax, love.” That sinfully warm velvet voice of his poured into your ear as he stepped around to face you. Shunsui moved the collar of your borrowed kimono out of his way and kissed the skin before speaking. “I’m sure Kisuke could make something that didn’t require an operator.”

You froze. Your entire body went stone still until you narrowed your eyes in suspicion, pulling Shunsui’s eyes up to meet yours. He looked positively clueless as to your reaction. Clueless and gorgeous, but seemingly very aware of the warning edge to your voice.

“Kisuke Urahara better not get his hands on a copy of this.”

#Shunsui Kyoraku #shunsui x reader #buriedinbleach #warning: smut ahead #ao3 #reader insert #train anon #im thirsty #shunsui x wifey

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hollandroos · 6 years ago

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The Price We Pay | Chapter 1

Summary: A one night stand was all it took for your entire life to change. You're shoved into unknown territory, agreeing to fake date the prince long enough for his parents and the media to get off of his back only there are a few issues... one of them being that you really can’t stand each other.

Series Masterlist | Wattpad

Words: 4.2k

Warnings: Mentions of a one night stand & semi-sexual content

A/N: The prologue is really important to the plot so uhh maybe go read that first!!! I’m so excited for this, please remember to send asks and comments because they keep me motivated!

The sheets beside you were anything but empty, in fact, an entire body lay there– just as naked as you were.

His brown curls were tousled over his forehead brown eyes stuck in a daze. He looked amazing post sex and you were sure you looked a wreck but still– you both wore matching smiles, giggles spilling from your lips whether it was from the alcohol that still lingered in your system or the fact that you felt as if you were floating on cloud nine. But it was a very sweaty cloud nine at that.

“That was…” You trail off, staring at the ceiling of your bedroom.

“Amazing?” He replies for you with a thick British accent. His voice was raspier then you remembered, and you only just noticed the lipstick marks that trailed down his neck. Tom felt free, he felt euphoric and he wasn’t sure he wanted things to change.

Laughs erupt from your lips that were now bare, lipstick smudged on either side but you didn't realise until much later when you popped away to the bathroom. A warm shower was exactly what you craved.

“Spectacular.”

Spectacular was surely the right word and it was only confirmed when you rolled over, groaning at the slight ache that settled.

Tom felt no sense of remorse for sneaking out of the castle as of yet, not when it had as good of an outcome as this. Besides, he doubted that anyone realised he was gone– and if they did, what were they going to do about it? But he did have to admit that his mind was slightly plagued, because while he laid with the girl from the bar– he had to wonder about someone else. About another girl that was playing in his head like a hive of bees who he’d only forgotten about for a set period of time. And if this… if laying with you had really been the best thing to do.

He finds himself rolling over, chest pressed against the sheets and plants his lips on yours, one arm curled behind your spine and your alcohol scented lips mixing with his own. “You were fantastic.”

The sheets were definitely not as expensive as his own and the shoebox bedroom wasn’t even one-quarter of what his was but he didn’t care one bit, showing no ounce of remorse or distaste.

If you only knew what you’d just gotten yourself into.

“You’re an absolute dick, you know that?”

The blinds were torn open with a forceful grip, an angry Harrison marched around the room tugging them open one by one, already dressed and alert despite it only being six in the morning. Tom only groaned, rolling into his pillow to cover himself from the blinding light and Tessa growled, though Tom willed her to be quiet considering she wasn’t supposed to be sleeping on the bed in the first place.

“You’ve told me plenty of times before, but what did I do this time?” He mutters, words slightly muffled thanks to the pillow.

“This.”

A paper gets chucked onto the Californian king sized bed, pieces falling out and mixing with the sheets and the duvet that was a plush white mixed with gold, and Tom struggles to comprehend what he was supposed to be looking at, still attempting to wake himself up. He didn’t even attempt to hide the few scratch marks that laced his back, too tired to care. Because that’s all he seemed to do lately– care.

“What is this?” He runs a hand over his face, glaring at the cover page. “What do you– oh.”

Then Tom finds it. He finds the reason for his best friends glares and the harsh tone he carried and he swore he felt his stomach drop dramatically. It made his eyes widen in absolute shock and memories from that night to flood back. He thought that he’d moved on from it, carrying out his duties as the prince but the media never let him rest.

“Yeah, now explain.” Harrison demands, snatching the paper out of the royals hand. Harrison was the only person that would treat Tom that way– everyone else was too afraid of the prince. Not including his parents, of course. “Please tell me that isn’t you, for fuck sake.”

“That’s me, that’s definitely me.”

Harrison groans loudly, once more having to watch his best mate fuck things up for himself– but something this stupid? It almost made him laugh and only two years ago the blond would have laughed. Because then they were practically kids, finding humour in things that back then they didn’t realise had an impact on their image.

“You know how bad this looks, Tom, your parents will be furious when they see this.” He points out the obvious, ripping the sheets off of Tom who was still trying to process the situation. “I woke you up before your dad can read the paper so you can fix this somehow. Do you even know this girls name?”

“Of course I know her fucking name! I’m not that bad.” He tries to defend himself– key word tries. “God, what am I meant to do?” Tom pulls the sheets back, shivering as the cold air hits him. “How did the paps even find me there?”

Harrison sighs, gazing over the papers once more. He hadn’t even noticed that Tom had snuck out that night like he so often did… he didn’t think anybody did.

“They do keep bugging you about getting a girlfriend...” He mutters.

“I don’t want one.” Tom hisses, quick to reply. He smacks his hand against the duvet like a child. But his glare was that of a full grown adult.

“I’m not saying that! I’m just trying to say that your parents will be very unhappy when they see this and hear that you were out drinking– no scratch that, sleeping with a damn stranger!” Harrison sighs, seeing the rather confused and overwhelmed look on his friends face.

Tom glares at his friend, finally feeling the winter breeze hit. He willed himself to get up and fix this but he also wanted to crawl back under those covers and hope it’d all go away on its own.

“What? so I’m not allowed to have at least a little fun?” He complains. “We were safe and she didn’t even recognise me. Can you relax now?”

Seeing the look on Toms' face, Harrison releases his crushing grip on the papers.

“I’m sorry for bringing up the girlfriend part, I know what happened with April and I just… I’m scared for you, for what these photos will do to your image. It’s not like you’re just innocently kissing, Tom.”

Throwing his legs over the side of the bed, Tom gets out of the bed and his feet land on the floorboards with a gentle thud just enough to make Tessa look up from her spot on the bed, tilting her head to the side as her owner makes his way over to his closet, searching through masses of clothing.

“I know. Look, it was just a one-time thing, but surely my parents won’t listen to that.” He sighs, pulling a shirt over his tousled curls. “Her name is Y/N. She lives in the town.”

Harrison cocks his head, leaning against the bed and watches with a confused gaze as Tom digs through his many drawers. Ultimately landing on the one with his sports gear in it. “So she’s a towns girl?”

Tom throws items of clothing onto the floor, some scattering across the bed and landing on the bedside table. For a prince, he truly wasn’t that clean. But he was kind-hearted– even if sometimes he came across as an ass, arrogant and cocky.

He shrugs, finding the things he was looking for. “Yeah, I think she mentioned that she works at one of those little restaurant things but we were pretty drunk.”

Harrison was confused but his anger had somehow vanished and with very little faith that the boy in front of him could fix this, he raises a single brow. At that moment Harrison Osterfield looked neater then the royal and he would gladly flaunt it– even with the current situation chewing away at them by the moment.

But it was Harrison's duty to keep Tom out of these messes– to keep him grounded and he felt like he failed. It was the anger of the King he’d be facing later that he feared.

“Do you know what you have to do?” He questions.

“I think I know what to do but I don’t know if it will dig me further into my grave or get me out of this mess, at least with my family.” Tom looks at himself in the mirror, seeing that the last thing he looked like was a prince in his unwashed horse riding gear. There were mud stains on the front from where he’d simply fallen off and patches on the knees of the pants. He looked more like a beggar than a prince. “Do you think you could cover for me for an hour or so?”

Work, eat, sleep, repeat.

That was your routine. Sometimes, if you had a little extra time on your hands and got out of work early then you were able to go out and have a little fun, or even run a warm bath at your shared apartment and soak in a pool of bubbles and pretty smelling salts. Those were the best days, where you were just able to let go whether that meant dancing everything out and getting drunk off of your face or treating yourself to a spa night.

The spa night included bath bombs and a glass of wine and maybe a hair mask or painting your nails a fresh colour, scraping off the chipped paint from the weeks before. But the other nights were more hectic, filled with booming music and bodies on bodies.

Your last night out had been two days ago with Tom, the curly-haired boy from the bar. Though you remember him better for the lips that trailed down your abdomen and right to the hem of your underwear, from the hands that gripped your hips and left gentle, blue and purple marks there and the way his demeanour quickly changed from gentle, slightly flirty to confident and dominating.

You did, however, briefly remember the glint of mischief in his eyes as he bid you goodbye.

Okay, calm down.

What was even better? You hadn’t got his number, nor his address and all you knew was that he went to the same, grungy and rather run down bar as you and lived somewhere near the edge of the town. The only pieces of him that you had left were the marks down your neck, fingerprints on your hips and the fact that you woke up with his jacket sitting on your bedroom floor, a tube of chapstick on the inside and a necklace– a simple chain with a key dangling from the bottom. Not a proper key, simply a decoration.

The memories were still perfectly inked into your brain and you may or may not have only zoned out at work once or twice the next day, brain still fuzzy from the alcohol you consumed when you arrived back at your place and the feeling of being on cloud nine. It only made your expectations higher.

You slept with him.

But that was two days ago, and this was now.

You race around the house, a cup of now cold coffee resting in the centre of the coffee table, mug stained with your lipstick. Shoes pad against the carpet, leaving ugly prints that as a child, your mother would have scolded you for. But now as a grown up you were more focused on the clock that ticked away on the corner wall, every second indicating one more until you were late for your job that you were barely hanging onto by a thread. You were opening today– the biggest job of all right next to closing up.

If you pushed the thought of the shoes to the back of your mind, then you also tended to ignore the blisters swelling on the heels of your feet and the splotches of blood that stained your pantihose by midday. Because as much as you wished you could simply run around in leggings all day, you weren’t allowed.

Being a mostly mature adult with a lot of time on your hands, (because work was boring) you could write an essay about the things that you liked and didn’t like, an entire scripture on your interests because you were simply very adamant. And grumpy bosses was at the very bottom of that list. The thought of him scolding you again, coffee-stained teeth and warm saliva spilling past his lips and landing directly on your cheek was enough to make you grimace.

He was a gross old man, recently celebrating his sixty-fifth birthday and had recently lost his very last standing patch of hair and now relied on glasses to get him through day to day life. You wondered if he slept from the bags under his eyes or if they were just natural by now or if his wife was just overwhelming– and if he had always had nose hair that long or if it was a development within the last few years.

You were so distracted that you nearly tripped on the rug and you would’ve ended up flying forward– papers and work gear spilling onto the floor. That perfectly explained your level of focus right now. But life was boring, a cycle of the same events over and over and it wasn’t that you were just waiting for something interesting to happen, but you were just waiting for something interesting to happen.

The house was messy, things scattered around but what could one expect when you put two young girls together? Absolute chaos. You nearly miss the sound of footsteps that weren’t your own, hurried yet cautious as they step down the hall.

You grip the keys in one hand, stuffing your phone in your pocket with the other, your bag was slung over one arm and you were sure that you looked a wreck but what had changed? You mentally checked things off, not wanting to forget your keys again or sanity for that matter.

Taking a sip from your second coffee– yes second, this one was in a flask, you open the front door, nearly walking into a stranger. At least you thought he was a stranger with his hood pulled up and over his features, dirty clothes and a slight hunch.

That was until he looked up.

“What the fu–”

He puts a finger out, using the hood to hide most of his face. But you’d never forget those dirty brown curls. “Shh, I need you to let me in.” He instructs, voice shaking as the words slipped a little faster then they should have.

Your mouth opens and closes like a fish, the coffee burning the palm of your hand as you hold it. “You’re at my house at six o’clock in the morning.” You were beyond confused to see Tom, especially this early and so soon.

Tom glanced around, watching one of your neighbour's eyes. Her name was Mallery and she nearly had a heart attack seeing the royal, being as big of a fan of them as she was. Only you didn’t realise that was the cause of her widening eyes and other star stricken features. Glancing back, Tom wanted to smirk seeing the purple and blue marks ‘hidden’ by a thin scarf but was in too much of a hurry to. He only had around forty-five minutes until his father woke up and saw the paper and while that was inevitable, a good story that’d please the man wasn’t.

“Something bad has happened and by your reaction to me being here I assume you don’t know and that makes me feel worse about this entire thing.”

You were still in slight shock, what felt like a hive of honey bees buzzing around your brain as he waited for a reply. You get yourself together, deciding questions were better to come later.

“I really have to get to work, Tom, I can’t be late again or I’ll get fired and I can’t lose my job. Can we talk about this later?” You practically beg, tapping a foot against the floor. He shakes his head wearily, knowing that if you left that house you’d be noticed as the girl from the pictures in moments. It was clear as day, your face was in it. “Fuck… okay, come in.”

He steps into the familiar apartment only this time he wasn’t as drunk and was able to point out just how small the room really was. He recognised the woollen blanket that was slung over the couch and the multiple cups that were scattered around the room, and the ugly grey that the walls were painted as well as the pastel blue backdrop in the kitchen.

“I didn’t mean for this to happen and now that it’s out there, there’s really nothing we can do and I don’t know how to tell you this…” He trails on, fumbling with his fingers.

You tilt your head, glancing down at your wristwatch as the minute's tick by.

“What are you even talking about?”

“I didn’t tell you who I am the night we… you know.” Tom grimaces, running a hand through his curls as he throws the hood off. “I’m not a mechanic, I don’t even really know what they do. I’m the son of Anne and Derek, the King and Queen–”

You want to laugh at his statement, and maybe you did because it was absolutely wild, so bizarre that you shook your head, not believing it for a second. But he stood there straight-faced in your living room while you stood in disbelief.

“I’m not falling for that shit, if you came here to try and fool me then you should just leave before I lose my job and my patience.” You shake your head, frustration beginning to course through your veins.

“I’m not trying to trick you!” He says, a little louder then he originally meant to. “I’m being dead serious right now because what I’m about to show you is even worse.”

You saw the sincerity on his face, even if you didn’t know him at all yet and slump your shoulders. Toms gaze wasn’t faltering at all and you were still confused. Not that the situation was weird enough, but you couldn’t exactly imagine the boy in front of you in a crown and fancy clothes. Not when he looked like he’d just fallen off of a horse and rolled into a puddle of mud.

“What are you talking about?” You question, placing your coffee onto the entryway table.

“These.”

He hands you a folded up piece of paper and you take it, unfolding what you now realised was today's version of the newspaper and gape at it.

To say you were humiliated was easily an understatement. The photos on the cover were clearly of you and him from your night at the bar– that one night that ended up at your place. There were photos from every angle, from close up and further back. It was an absolute invasion of privacy, that much was for sure and you felt sick to your stomach.

There were pictures of Toms lips on yours as you locked in a heated kiss, his hands beneath your shirt and running up your thigh. Blood ran to your already flustered cheeks at the photo of you hiked up on the wall right outside the bar. Of course the two of you had been impatient and of course, Tom couldn’t have taken more care. Suddenly, you hated the previously charming boy.

“This is insane– they can’t do this, can they? Oh my god, my parents are going to kill me– I’ll lose my job and my life. This is humiliating.” You gasp, not knowing exactly what to say so you ramble, a hundred and one questions and statements running through your mind as you stare at all of the photos on the print. You felt embarrassed, blood running straight to your cheeks.

The title was even worse reading ‘Prince Holland out for some fun with a mystery girl.’ You swore you felt bile in the back of your throat. It was a wicked, wild and cruel dream, it simply had to be.

“They can do this and they’ll continue to do it.”

You swallowed thickly, growing angry and concerned and anxious all at the same time because god knows how many people would see these photos and god knows how many people would judge you for it. In a world where people were judgmental and parents were strict, where saving yourself for marriage was a strong belief held by many you could count yourself as good as screwed.

“Why didn’t you tell me about how you were and the consequences before we slept together?” You growl, passing the paper back to him. Staring at the photos made you feel nauseous and suddenly turned a great experience that you had previously basked in, into a scary one. Suddenly you were even afraid to step outside, seriously debating calling off on work.

“I didn’t want you to think any differently of me and can you blame me? I just wanted to be normal for once and I had no idea they followed me, nor how they found me.” Tom replies with wild hand movements. Maybe you should have been working together instead of tearing each other apart but with such frustrated and panicked minds, you were practically running on adrenaline.

You sigh and kick at the ground with your clothed feet, trying to snap yourself out of this in case it was a wild dream, which it sadly was not. “What do we do now?” You ask quietly, staring at the ground.

“I have an idea but you’re going to hate it, just hear me out, okay?” Tom waits for you to nod and you do so hesitantly. “We fake date.” He watches your mouth open nearly immediately and puts a finger up to silence you. “Just long enough to get the people to back off and to make my rep look… the slightest bit better.”

“What’s in it for me? It sounds like this is just a way for you to make yourself look better.” You cross your arms across your chest, glaring at the man. You couldn’t believe the insane offer– it sounded like something he’d come up with while drunk.

He sighs and grips the roots of his hair, looking at the clock to see he had to leave as soon as possible to get back to the castle on time. Harrison could only keep him covered for so long.

“You won’t have to work as long as we’re together, you’ll get to see the castle and–”

“I have no interest in seeing the castle.” Maybe you were being a little harsher then need be.

Tom stops and grits his teeth before continuing. “You won’t have to work, you’ll get to see parts of the country you haven’t seen… maybe even parts of the world. Think hairstylists and makeup artists, designer clothes. Plus, what would your family think of you dating a royal?” Tom stops, taking a deep breath as you stand and tap your foot, playing with the ends of your shirt. “We screwed up and now we have to deal with the consequences.” He says. Tom was just as angry as you, biting the inside of his lip to prevent himself from losing his temper at the girl he’d only know for a little over a day. He’d barely count a one night stand as ‘getting to know someone’.

“No way, I don’t want this.” Your arms flew over your head, anger and frustration coursing through your veins but you were hiding it over layers of what still had to be confusion or the fact that you were overwhelmed. This wasn’t real, none of it was, it had to be a dream. “This is all fucking crazy.”

“I’d watch that mouth of yours, princesses don’t swear.” Tom tutts. He was just as frustrated as you. He found himself circling your apartment, the small stains that decorated the carpet and ornaments that sat above the fireplace were nothing you’d see at the castle. Blankets were strewn across the couch covered in wrinkles and empty coffee mugs lined the bench. The apartment was nothing more then a shoebox and the boy didn’t remember it being this messy the last time he’d shown up. “C’mon, just for a while then things will go back to normal. Your family won’t be able to hate you and I can sort everything else out, I’m Tom Holland.”

“I’m not a princess.” You cross your arms over your chest like a child throwing a tantrum, the sweater hugging close to your chest. It was a simple grey one from target. You bet princesses didn’t buy their clothes from target. “And this doesn’t mean that I have to like you, does it? Because quite frankly I’m not as nice when I’m sober.”

It was easily the beginning of something big– something totally out of your comfort levels and maybe you were ready for something new, and maybe you just wanted to stay right where you were but the offer was intriguing.

“Look, you just have to pretend that we get along until this all blows over.” Tom shakes his head, brown curls brushing against his forehead. “We fucked up– I fucked up, but this was a two-sided thing. This is the price we pay.”

Leave comments or asks, reblog if you wish!! let’s talk about this chapter

two

Everything tags: @cosmetologynerd @holland-ish @smexylemony @thewiseandfree @zendayacolemen @dej-okay @hollandsletters @ive-got-some-lies-to-tell @liz-gayllen @marvelismylifffe @lovelyh0lland @tomhollandandmarvelsworld @woah-jess @southsidefandoms @justannothermonday @its-claire-louise @sophiatomlinson23 @mockingjaygirl1221 @joyfullyjenny @damnhisfaceisliketheskyatnight @bride-of-loki-odinson @in-the-corner-coffee-please @futuremrsb-r-main @spideyyypeter @saturn-aka-six @c0prolalia @buckykinz @ashtonsbandannas @dennasaur @amyyleblanc1999 @fnosidam @randomfangirl1701@maybeandperhaps @acciorinn @marvel-language @micki-smiles @justmesadgirl @converseskyline @niall2017 @gavemylifetotomholland @tomuchmarvel @leslieandjensen @painted-soulss @practicallylivesonline @mischiefmanaged49 @its-the-unknownspidey @holyrose96 @for-my-mind @mlxbm @erindillon11 @captainbuckyy @shawnandhisroses @converseskyline @smitten0-0kitten @parkeroos @whileinparis @unicornio-vomita-mierdas @draqcnheartstrinq @rainyboo-posts @mikalaka @petxrpxrker @tony-starks-ego @thedaydreamingwriter @peter-quackson @kateelyse96 @lesbian-jesus-jr @wheresmyquill @elyshugh @hollanderheart @tomshufflepuff @marvelismylifffe @tomsh0lland @obsessed-fandoms @girl-in-the-chair @trashqueenbitch @dramatic-and-young @honey-honey-5644 @parkerluvs @chingonaconcha @captainbuckyy @jes-sica1 @tomsfireheart @Rainbow-marvel @spideysimpossiblegirl @spideys-gurl @thomasstanley-holland @mlxbm @ixchel-9275 @parkerssweb @peter-parkersbb @tom-hollands-eyelash @starlightfound @vldlvj @paradoxparker @lustfulcry @mlxbm @musiclover1263 @justatheatredork @peterparkerscamera @fandomnerdsarecool @thequeensardine @cutesy-angst @httplayer @mischiefmanaged49 @loca-lola @softboyparkerr @desir-ae @dangerousluv1 @t-hotland @laucontrerasv @peter-parkersbb @whatdafricklefrackle @thatblondebelgiangirl @fairydustparker @they-call-me-le @jamiemac26

The price we pay: @ambiibambi24 @thiccholland01 @writingisamood @mountainsforwords @joyfullyje @sithskywalkers @youhavemyfantasticbeasts @ohmyquackson @nerfariousporpoises @httplayer @myhopeisinfinite @omfgitscindyy @hollandfieldblurbs @incandescentflor @mlxbm @thescarsweleave @justmesadgirl @dramatic-and-young @marvelousxtsh @rishlo

#Tom holland #Tom Holland au #Tom Holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland imagines #Tom Holland series #Tom Holland imagine #tom holland fanfic #tom holland blurb #royal!tom #fake dating #Tom Holland reader insert #tom holland angst #Tom Holland smut #tom holland fluff #the price we pay fic

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talesofemerald · 5 years ago

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Tale of the Emerald.

Here is a story of my life so far. The ups and downs of my struggles. I’m not kidding when I say what you read won’t be pretty. I’ve been through literal hell and back more times then I care to count. I hold the scars on my soul, body, and heart as prove.

I will be talking about abuse, child abuse, sexual abuse, mental abuse, physical abuse, depression, suicidal talk will be mentioned. You’ve been warned. My life till now has not been great. But I finally feel free. I finally feel okay enough to talk about my struggles and show how it didn’t break me. I’m still here.

My name is Emerald Cipher. That’s not my dead name nor is it my true last name but I am a person that was a product of two people that honestly should have never had children. My boi father is the definition of a deadbeat dad. He was a drunk, a drug addict, cheated and beat my mother when she was pregnant with me, and left without so much as a word when I was barely two weeks old. Fucked up thing is my dead name he gave me. How do you name a child and then just leave. I’m not a pokemon you can just give to the next trainer and take away the ability to be renamed.

My dead name is Amanda. Sound pretty right?? Sounds so lovely... even has a beautiful meaning. Worthy to be loved, that’s it’s meaning. What a beautiful meaning, what a lovely name. If only that name is something I lived up to.

Shortly after I was born and he left our lives, my mother packed up what we could and we moved around a bit. We settled in Kentucky for a bit and there we met the second man who was a dipshit in my life. My brother’s father. I was six and I already could tell something was off. But, even then I was told by him that if I wanted to be loved I had to earn it.

I had to be good, no making mistakes. No stepping out of line. Yet, nothing I did worked. He smacked me around and treated me less then human when my brother was born. I never took it out on my brother. He didn’t know and I didn’t fully understand what was happening. What was worse he beat my mom and I daily when he was home. There was constant yelling and glass breaking.

I made my first mistake when I was sent outside to play while my brother’s father watched a football game. I was playing on a chair and I rocked the chair back and forth and it fell. My forehead directly landed on a nail. I don’t remember anything beyond the chair rocking and it tipping over. My next memory is being in the hospital with strangers all around me. I can’t see their faces just shadows and lights then nothing. My next memory is being in the house and hearing my brother’s father telling me what mistake I was and how the nail should have killed me.

Time went on and the abuse continued. Finally my mom had enough and in the middle of the night when he stormed out after a particularly bad fight that even dragged me into it. They had been arguing and I had just wanted the screaming to stop. I wanted to protect my brother. In my attempt I smacked my mom’s arm and screamed stop at the top of my lungs. But as soon as my hand struck her I knew I did something terribly wrong, but my brother’s father was just leaning against the wall. He looked at me and said, “Good, do it again.” I was so jarred even at my tiny age of six I was terrified.

That night when he left my mom picked up my brother and I and we ran. We hid at a friends place for a night then to a woman’s shelter for battered women. Eventually he started to go after my mom at her work so we ran again. We became truly homeless durning that time. We drove from kentucky all the way to miami. Some days we didn’t have food, some days we didn’t have anything to drink. Sometimes it was so cold the three of use huddled together in the car to stay warm. Finally we had a home again because my nanny came back from norway to america. She got us a condo and we lived there.

I started to heal and things felt good again. But it was only for a moment, a simple illusion. My brother’s father had followed us. In the eyes of the Kentucky court my mother taking us and running despite the well known abuse. It’s considered abandonment of the marriage and as such the parent has forfeit the children by default. Thankfully he couldn’t take me as I wasn’t his blood daughter. He had no right to me and he never bothered to adopt me. Cops stormed the condo and my brother was ripped from my arms screaming my name as I was held back. I screamed at the cops to give my brother back that this wasn’t fair. I was only a child and they didn’t care. They were simply following orders.

He was gone, and my mom lost the battle in court when the judge simply said, “I’m sorry but rules are rules.” I had my first ptsd/anxiety attack when I was seven. Sitting at the day care playing a game. I guess all that happened started to build up, but I didn’t want to show anything was wrong. So I hid all my emotions. I let them build up in my tiny body. I was just looking at the screen of the tv that I was playing and suddenly pain. Suddenly it felt like a thousand daggers where stabbing my chest over and over. Suddenly I couldn’t breath suddenly everything was to much. I began to cry and beg the adults to help me. They thought I was exaggerating and told me to grow up. It wasn’t until I threw up and started to turn purple did they realize I wasn’t joking. The ambulance came and thankfully a teacher who knew about what happened to my family had been there. She scooped me up and yelled at everyone for not acting sooner. She held me the whole time the EMT came in to figure out was wrong. My mom showed up shortly later. The two of them went with me when I was rushed to the hospital.

My organs were failing and they couldn’t figure out why. I was throw into a shit ton of tests and finally when my mom told them what happened they realize my body was shutting down because it couldn’t handle the stress. Once they figured that out they were able to stabilize my organs till they started to function again on their own. I was in the hospital for a week. A shit ton of cords, tubs, and machines had been hooked up to me to make sure my body wouldn’t start going into failure again.

I was assigned a therapist and realized because I wasn’t outwardly talking about my emotions it was affecting my body. Who knew that keeping everything in could actually kill you....

So life went on and I learned to find a new way to hide my feelings and only show a positive outside. I began to wear mental masks more and more. I didn’t want my mom to be upset because I was upset. She was already struggling and I didn’t want to be bad. I wanted to earn my love so I had to be good.

Time went on and we moved around again this time to the shitty town I lived in from 9 to 19.

I fell in love with a boy in middle school who became my first abuser. While my mom met a man who became my dad and even adopted me. I wanted to be good. I wanted to stay good. I wanted to be loved. I had to earn that love. At first my new dad’s touches didn’t bother me but then when I grew uncomfortable he would tell me, “This is what all normally happy families do.” So I let it happen, I wanted to be normal I wanted to be loved. While that was happening the boy I loved struck my face and told me to never cry. If I cried he’d give me a real reason to cry. He threw me at his friends and had them hurt me but never leave marks. Marks were only allowed by him, because I was his toy.

I smiled on didn’t let anyone know I wasn’t okay. Keep it in don’t cry, earn your love. While this was all going on, I found a way to lash out. I started a gang in my middle school and got into heavy fighting. I would challenged boys who I saw mistreat people and beat the living hell out of them out of school. When they would try to tattle on me the teachers never believed them. I held my mask so perfectly in school. I was the goody goody who always turned in my work, always answered when asked. I jumped when asked to jump. They wouldn’t believe a girl like me could beat up a boy twice my size.

I stopped fighting the day I nearly went to far. I couldn’t step over that line. I cut that side of me off. Smile on the outside keep hiding on the inside. It kept building and building. My next anxiety attack hit me like a train in the middle of church. I was sent to the hospital again and they poked and prodded me. I just let them fix me up as much as they could without answering them about any abuse that was going on. At the time I didn’t even know I was getting abused.

Finally I walked away from the boy I thought I “loved.” He nearly killed me that day. I went to his house which I didn’t know at the time that he was home alone. He pinned me to his wall and tried to rape me. Taking a knife he chased me down when I ran and nearly stabbed when as I got to the door. He pinned me to the ground and held the knife over my heart cutting my skin. He’d cut me before. Glass, blades, nails, he’s made sure I would remember what would happen if I cried. I have the scars from his cuts still today. I laid there shaking but not crying. Couldn’t cry, if I cried he’d hurt me more. Smacking my cheek like he would a dog or a pet he just grinned and said, “Leave and never come back.”

So I didn’t. I never went back to him. I never told anyone what he did to me that day. I had thought at the time I did it! I got away! I even had just gotten into high school and was making a new friend group. I got close with a girl I thought was super smart and kind.

The thing about those who suffer from abuse is most times we keep falling into abusers. We run from one and end up in the arms of another. I might have gotten aways from my physical abuser but now I ran into a mental abuser. With in three years the friend group I built up was gone. I started to become bulimic because of her and my mom’s words how if I was just a little thinner I would be so pretty. My “friend” would say, “You’re lucky you have such a nice face, too bad you’re so stupid.” She torn down my self esteem until nothing was left. I was nothing without her. I wasn’t smart, nor did I deserve to think I was smart unless she told me I was. I wasn’t allowed to make friends she didn’t know. If I did she would tell them, “Why are you friends with someone so dumb?”

While I continued this friendship my father was still doing things to me. All the while using the lie, “This is what normal families do.” I just wanted a normal family. My mother was going insane around this time. Screaming at me because I didn’t do things she liked or wanted. I was into anime and she wanted me to like live tv. I hated reality tv and she wanted me to like ‘real shows’ like reality tv.

“Why can’t you just be normal?” She would only get things I liked if I was “good enough.” I always had to earn anything I had. She’d scream at me and even broke my door and dragged me out of the house trying to kick me out, when I was 16. My dad protected me from her but continued touching me. I was in a weird place thinking my dad was great but why does he do this to me?

I have to be good. I have to earn my love. I have to be worthy of love.

Finally when I was 24 I was able to leave my shitty abusive friend after she very nearly tried to throw me in jail for false charges of physical abuse. She had gotten her friends to send razor blades to my mail boxes and even nearly got me kicked out of college.

When she was gone I realized as I sat in my tiny tiny room in the shitty way too expensive apartment, she convinced me to share with her, that there wasn’t anything of the real me left. I had lived my life being everything everyone else wanted. I didn’t actually have likes of my own outside of the ones people told me to like. That night I also almost took my own life.

Failing, I woke up the next day and decided I wouldn’t let anyone ever tell me what to do again. I would reinvent myself. It was a struggle and it was hard. I nearly tired to take my life again several times to get here. But, in time I finally got away fro my shitty parents. I now am loved and I don’t have to earn it.

I have friends who like me for me, I don’t have to change myself to be liked simply because I like different things. I freed myself of my dad’s horrible touches. It was hard so so hard at times to do because both my parents tired to mentally abuse me to go back to them. Even threatened to take me away. Take away my car, take away my money, ripe me out of my home. They tried it all.

At 28, I stand here bruised, battered, scarred, and opened the cans of words of my mental healthy. I still struggle with being open. But I do try. I don’t wear the masks any more. I’ve found a religion that fits me and doesn’t make me feel like I don’t fit into the perfect mold everyone wanted me to be in.

I finally walked away from the name that held so much power over me. I rev-invented who I am. I realized I’m not fully female. I’m non binary, and I realized I’m not straight or monogamous. I’m pansexual and polyamrous. I’m proud of who I am now. I’m proud of how far I come and I’m proud of my name.

I am Emerald, a strong stone from the earth. Beaten and battered, sometimes a mess at times but I’m beautiful and I am strong.

This is who I am.

I am free.

#personal #long post #goes over dark shit #my life

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aliciagaliano · 5 years ago

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Crossed Roads, chapter 7

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There's nothing that I'd take back, But it's hard to say there's nothing I regret. 'Cause when I sing, you shout, I breathe out loud, You bleed, we crawl like animals, But when it's over, I'm still awake

Silhouettes - Of Monsters and Men

...

The Lockwood gulped and hugged the unconscious body of his friend tight, his eyes showed a lot of fear to then lift her up and start to step back, gulping, shaking a bit... he needed to make her react again somehow, it couldn't end like it, right? That just couldn't be the way it was: the bad couldn't laugh at the end for obvious reasons and mostly because he didn't deserve it, but she was defeated now... it was that moment where they forcefully had to retreat, reach the shelter and get her a medic to check how bad it actually was.

He gulped when he saw the panther moving his tail side to side and crossing his arms, still showing a stupid evil grin on his face, a powerful killer instinct detaching from him, even with the knot in his throat he managed to frown a bit and speak, "You already earned what you wanted, Maximus! She's already down and my home's destroyed!" Honestly it felt worse to say it than it could sound, at least, at the very least, really deep down he was happy that he wasn't the one who destroyed everything with an invention, "Why don't you let her rest and leave us alone?!" She was a major priority now, and even with the most part of the town destroyed there was probably some things that could be saved, right?

He couldn't avoid hugging her more in a protective way, getting back slowly in order to run away as fast as he could – even if probably it'd be futile, the panther man was growling in a low tone still grinning widely with pure malice, to then start to laugh in a low voice that became louder, being a complete madman now and scaring him way more than he already was; he wondered now how many times they fought each other and how many times she's been so close from death; he knew that the last time was when he found her floating to the bottom of the ocean, and she would die at some point if they didn't stop... he didn't want that to happen again.

"Oh, you stupid, naïve boy! That's the thing if you didn't realize!" He laughed again passing a hand across his messy black hair, "You see, this girl and her family did something really, really bad around two decades ago which involves my family and my entire race so..." He looked straight to his blue eyes with torn pupils now, "She's gonna die for it."

Without hesitating any longer he turned around and ran away across the debris and fallen buildings, holding his little girl as tight as he could; he wouldn't let him kill her, he didn't want to see her dying either, he would save her even if it was at coast of his life... it was the least he could do now anyways for the girl who accepted him for who he was, and how even after what happened she seemed to having forgiven him... something told him that the game of the cat and mouse just started, and he was just waiting the perfect moment to go against them. He didn't want to look back and he probably wasn't going to, even if he could be already on his way... or maybe he wasn't turning around out of fear, he didn't know...

The inventor let out a loud yelp as his grip around the girl tightened, feeling his body flying to the front after feeling a powerful air wave from behind similar to one she made early right before she ran away. They flew a few meters to the front violently, he quickly wrapped his own body around hers to protect her from more damage and taking the fall, which of course did hurt, but due his years of having stuff exploding right in front of his face well... he was used to it. Sadly his injured arm didn't take it too well.

Yes, of course he felt the paint starting to come from there, slowly he got up and held her again between his arms, the girl was still unconscious, apparently having not suffered more damage than the ones she already took; ready to go, he felt again the man pushing them away with another powerful wave that sent them flying, apparently with the intention of separating them, and that's how they went a few more times until he got separated from her... it was easy to get filled with despair once again when you knew your friend (and an entire town) was under the mercy of a killing machine, almost instinctively he went back towards her, only to be repelled back as the panther was coming closer.

When the man arrived besides the young girl, he grabbed her from the back of the neck of her shirt and lifted her up at the same time her friend stopped quickly, looking scared, "Look at this little princess!" He said with a huge grin, "She's so petty, weak... pathetic, don't you think?" His free hand was getting closer to her left cheek, then he extended the index finger showing a claw-like nail that started to cut open her skin, making the inventor squeal in horror, "Yeah, just look how stupid and pathetic she is... doesn't crimson red suits her?" As much as he could see, the man then gave her a painful butting on the side of her head as her body flew a few meters away, she didn't even move.

"Stop it, please!" He squealed in horror, "Leave her alone, you've done enough to her!" The air started to lack in his lungs as anxiety started to come back, he felt helpless once again in his life and he completely despised that feeling, and his last statement, what did a little girl had to do with it? A sub-text told him that she didn't had anything to do there and it was a fight between adults where she got dragged in. "Just leave her alone! Whatever happened must've been done by the adults! Why are you blaming her so much for it...?!" Then he felt like something hit his head, like a realization, "You're not strong enough to face the real culprits of the banishment of your race..."

His words made him look at him now with anger, apparently having nailed right in the spot where it hurts. Then that's what it was... for a moment the man almost lost his composure, "Why the hell do you think so?" With the silent ambient of desolation he could hear annoyed growls from the panther man, "Or aren't you seeing what I'm able to do?"

"Of course I can... but that doesn't justifies your abuse towards a girl..." His tone was so serious, not just feeling anger but impotence with the entire situation, "You're just constantly beating her because you are not strong enough to fight whoever vanished your family and race! And I know I'm right because you two can completely destroy this planet if you wanted!" It was so unfair to see a young being paying for the broken plates in such a hideous way, it wasn't an extraordinary case either, but that just showed how universal some things could be, "You're no one but a fucking coward!"

Deep down the inventor knew he shouldn't have said that because it just added fire to the volcano, why? He saw him getting angrier with that, yet he tried to keep his composure even if he was actually losing it a lot. That was his honest opinion and his point of view, and he liked it or not at the same time it was pretty much the truth...

The way he looked at him was different now, with his yellow eyes glowing in pure anger now, his corporal expression seemed to show how he started to grow in size like a threatened cat, his black hair seemed to spike up as the growling sound became louder, making him realize that he totally screwed it up and he was going to die sooner than he actually thought; it was even worse when the man got in four paws, realizing also his nails longer than before. The inventor only gulped and slowly started to walk backwards, whimpering softly, "You really seem to want to die... don't you...?" He asked growling and coming closer like an animal, he was too terrified to run away.

In the right moment he was going to attack there was an explosion to his sides, Flint turned around and saw Alice awake again, her thumb, index and middle fingers extended as a gun while her other hand was holding the lower part as if she was actually holding a real gun, she was shaking slowly showing how tired she was and how she was trying to keep it up, the panther man was going to move again making her start to shoot once again, "Flint, please leave!"

Roar!

The panther man ran towards the girl extending his hands, regardless the endless shooting from her he launched his body towards her like an animal and attacked, pinning her down trying to scratch her face with his claws, the only reason he couldn't yet was because she was holding his wrists tight, to then get a kick on his chest that pushed him away... it didn't last long as he got back to her, leaving claw marks upon several parts of her skin and a powerful blow on her stomach that left her stunned and breathless for a while. The last thing she knew before losing her conscience again was about her body crossing the town and landing in a house...

On the other side, even if he didn't want to, Flint ran away as fast he his legs allowed him from the invader, just taking the chance she gave him, not the entire place was destroyed so he could catch his breath back somewhere behind a building and keep making his way to the shelters; he felt a tight knot in his throat when he saw the body of the little girl known as Alice crossing the town... a scream almost got out from his throat, but it didn't get out, it could've alerted him about his position...

Little he knew about a couple of presences behind him, coming closer and slowly without his realization, when he realized he felt a hand upon his shoulder and almost shouted, only to feel a hand covering his mouth against the fallen wall where he was hiding at; Brent and Alex were making him signs to not scream out loud, "Look, we know what we did early today," Alex said in a low voice, "But your father already shouted at us and sent us to find you. He's giving us a chance to redeem ourselves if we take you back and... we're sorry for it..." Slowly they released him as the bully sounded sincere, "We won't do it again..."

Too many reasons were present to actually trust their word, but right now there wasn't time to actually think about it so it was something he'd leave for later.

Of course he wanted to snap at them so hard because it was also in part their fault he and Alice argued early, yet he didn't, holding it hard and finding himself forced to do it... "Why should I even trust you two...?" He asked repressing the scream as much as he could, his breathing was becoming heavier, "Why should I actually have a reason to trust you two after everything you've done in my life...?" Despite the entire danger lurking around the place he just couldn't keep it inside, he was still completely mad at them, reasons to not trust them at all were many.

"Man we know you don't trust us, but this is not the right time to argue about this!" Brent hissed holding his shoulders tight, "Or we run or we die here...!"

They heard a loud roaring sound coming close, they wouldn't have time to get away from him that easily, and without saying anything else they ran away before getting caught by the panther man, "Also where the hell is your little girlfriend?!" Alex asked rushed, just realizing they weren't together once again without knowing about their argument before the rain; they didn't get a response from him asides of a hurt expression, "Lockwood?"

"The girl who was fighting him was her..." He said with weight in his voice, "She was defeated..." It was fun to say that the face they gave him was a stare of shock, "That man almost killed her and now..." It was their turn. They were next on the list if they didn't find a place to hide, they didn't have another choice than hiding behind a fallen building that belonged to the local TV store, needing to remain as low as they could both in their breathing, voice and any single movement knowing he could track them...

If it was night they could actually be inside a twisted horror movie and it had everything to actually be one: destroyed town, no electricity as the towers were down as well, and a beast-like alien chasing them with the complete intention of killing them. Well, in any case it was almost one without the first part. Taking a peek to their surroundings in the most careful way possible they looked for the panther man, but he was nowhere to be seen for a good while.

They didn't hear anything either, as if the sounds of the predator suddenly went silent... the three teenagers were taking care of each other's back to prevent any attack from behind, the previous roars and growls weren't heard anywhere, which of course was alarming, even more for the inventor, who thought that maybe he could be tracking the girl.

"This shit's actually way terrifying that it should..." Alex muttered, his voice felt like trembling slightly with fear as he kept trying to not lose it, "Where the fuck is he?!" Both Brent and Flint hushed him with some despair in their looks, but the worse part was hear a loud roar again coming close. Again, the latter gave a deathly stare to Alex, knowing they had to run away again, "My bad, I'm sorry."

"Shut up!" They exclaimed, the roaring became closer; they couldn't help but swearing a bit. Flint had an idea, taking a look he saw the man in the distance, but not looking at their direction but otherwise, quickly he gave a piece of debris to Brent and told him to toss it away knowing that maybe Max would follow the sound it made thinking it was them. Without hesitating he did what the inventor told him and tossed it away, as hard his arm could; they heard how it fell and made some noise, instantly calling out the attention of the rampaging beast towards that direction, which gave them a chance to get away slowly...

Without keeping their eyes away from the panther man they slowly walked away backwards, being amazingly careful where they stood to not drag their attention, the only thing they couldn't control was the sound their hearts were making against their chests, drumming hard and loud at the point their heads were in the same way. Annoying, of course it was, yet they couldn't help it, and apparently he wasn't hearing them... yet.

Fear, so much fear, it was far overwhelming than anyone would ever imagine. Their lives endangered...

"Oof!" Well, the cover-up worked less than they wanted as Brent fell down after stepping on a rock, hitting a few rocks. "Fuck..."

In that same moment, the panther man turned around towards their direction with a loud growl and a roar, making the three teenagers run again for their lives as fast as they could. Brent managed to get back up even with the big corporal weight he owned, and even managed to keep the pace of the other two teens, yet being the last one in the line.

The movements of the beast were flexible, quick, precise and fast, yet he looked as if he completely lost his mind due his beast-like constant behavior; in part the inventor blamed himself for the situation as he pretty much made him angry by facing the facts about what was left seen, like a subtext in a conversation but with actions instead.

Incredibly enough, they managed to avoid him all the way to the shelters even if they had their own close calls with some scratches and other stuff, tripping almost falling, trying to delay his reach, until after what felt like an ethernity they finally, finally reached that place... their eyes filled with tears, Tim was right there awaiting for them excited to see them and it was something that filled the young inventor with joy, having never felt that happy to see him again... for a brief moment he felt he was going to lose conscience, having seen a brief pit of black before his eyes, yet a little rock he almost tripped with made him go back to reality.

It felt like a big call of his head screaming to focus without caring his few wounds he got from the air-pushing-thing from before and the lack of blood in his system due that cut of his arm, telling him to get some aid first, let the panther man get away and then get out again to look up for the unconscious Alice somewhere in the island.

The least he expected was seeing Maximus leaping in the air and landing right in front of them with a huge grin, as if he just recovered his composture and then get back in two feet. The mad gaze didn't disappear, the three of them had to brake with their heels and step back in fear, "My, my... I gotta say you made me lose it, kid..." He said staring at the young Lockwood, still growling softly, "My bad, I'll say. I allowed my emotions take over, anyways..."

Their back tensed horribly with the sensation of incoming death coming once again, this time right in front once again. Another thing he least expected was to both Alex and Brent in front of him with the intention of protect him even if it'd be futile for certain obvious reasons... the more the panther got close the more the three stepped back, knowing it'd be completely futile.

"Oh God..." Flint silently mumbled, "Alice... where are you...?

Meanwhile...

Even though she couldn't feel her body, she could feel the cold ambient where she fell at, her eyelids were completely shut not wanting to open up. It didn't matter how much she demanded to open up, it was futile, feeling crushed and too tired to move... all she knew is that she was alive once again, miraculously of course.

In any case, she was used to all of that already.

Being trapped in her own body was awful, even more in the critical situation the island was in, her friend running away for his life while that stupid asshole was chasing him... she could feel them moving, he was with that idiot of Brent and the jerk of Alex, casually enough something deep inside told her that they were helping him, otherwise they wouldn't be running together.

There she felt some cold hands on her back that helped her to sit down, which also helped her to start to open her eyes slowly, squinting, a blurry vision that started to clear a little while after as her body got dragged upon something soft and bouncy and realize it was a couch; then her hands went to her face as she felt everything falling down to pieces...

"What happened to you...?" She recognized the female voice of Lucy McHale, realizing where she fell, "Are you okay...?" The girl shook her head, "What's going on outside?"

"It's all my fault... I brought disgrace to the island... and I cannot stop it..."

"Disgrace?" James McHale asked, "What kind of disgrace...?" She felt them sitting by her sides, and also how they seemed to look at her.

She didn't answer. Their cold hands were caressing her back softly, to then feel one of them wrapping arms around her making her start to break down and cry.

Despite being a fighter, that didn't take away the fact she was still a young girl... then the second presence joined too, making her cry louder and sob uncontrollably...

She was afraid... and all she wanted was just everything to end... but she didn't have any more energies for it... the thing her body and mind wanted the most was fall asleep and recover from the previous battle, nothing more nor less; actually there wasn't anything else she'd like, asides of maybe just cuddle and sink into Flint's warm presence… there she lifted her gaze with both eyes wide open…

"Flint…!" She whimpered, her body started to recover some energy due her deep concern, "I must… go back and…" An attempt to get up almost became into a fall that got stopped by the two invisible forces of the McHale couple, even more tears fell down her eyes as her body was sore, almost numb for all the effort made, "I need to save him…!"

The flashes of what happened earlier that day came to her mind, crying in silence of all the hurtful things he said to her, but then the previous days and the good memories with him plus his support during the fight became stronger than the argument, everything just came back… and slowly she started to walk towards the door even if there was this giant hole in the ceiling, feeling the stare of the two phantoms upon her back as it felt like they were wishing her luck for whatever could be coming back once again.

"We may don't know what's going on outside, but we're sure if you could survive a fall like that, you will be able to stop it..." James said, she could feel him smiling.

Her hand touched the rusty knob of the front door and turned it around…

It was always open…

"Also, sorry for breaking your ceiling..." She said smiling a bit, turning around to their direction even if they still were invisible to her eyes, "And the name's Alice by the way... (1)"

With that and hearing a couple of giggles, she closed the door and started to make her slow way to wherever her friend was, unable to fly anymore but with determination to reach there with her own legs...

Back to the others...

And suddenly both Brent and Alex flew away, having received a painful blow in their necks that left them instantly unconscious but not dead, not being that his intention just yet. He was shaking, yes; scared to death, yes; about to wet his pants, definitely. Despite all of that, almost instinctively he unsheathed the sword of his friend, holding it tight and biting his lower lip nervously trying to recover his composure. The act also made Maximus let out a soft, deep and evil chuckle in an almost ironical way.

"Back off!" Flint exclaimed pointing at him, the sword was trembling softly as his grip tightened harder around the handle.

"Brave enough young man," He said, "But I don't think you'd–" He had to jump back a few meters when the inventor swung the blade down, entirely having not expected that.

Neither he avoided seeing certain similarity between the annoying girl and her friend in that right moment due the position he adopted, with legs separated in attack position as his back was bowing to the front, adopting a more confident corporal expression as the trembling seemed to stop. He didn't, only managed to canalize all the adrenaline and fear into one thing... "I said, back off..."

From behind, Tim was seeing the scene scared than ever, way afraid to lose his son with such kind of beast like him, and even beyond there because he wouldn't hesitate to fight. He was praying to God and his wife to not let anything happen to him as he was the only thing he got left...

At least, for the inventor, Max lost his giant sword after he got caught in the explosion of whatever he hit in the cannery which in part was good because he wouldn't be able to handle so much weight… and bad because he made himself quite faster than without it… in any case, he swung the weapon up in diagonal trying to slice the alien, then swung it down, left, right, he tried to hit him no matter what, showing, surprisingly for his enemy, certain ability using it.

The least he expected was him holding the blade easily with a hand firmly, which of course surprised him much more than he'd liked to, he tried to make let go, but he was unavailable for it, being the panther alien stronger, to then let go making him fall back and making his weapon fly a few meters back as it made that clinking sound of the metal. When he turned around to look at the panther, he got a painful kick straight to his face that sent him flying backwards, even behind than his weapon, once he recovered from it immediately stood up and went behind it, only to feel a breathtaking kick on his stomach that took all the air out of his lungs…

He couldn't struggle against the pain, falling on his knees and coughing hard, his vision was blur again, about to become unconscious, his eyes struggling to focus and seeing the black shoes of the evil panther, who tossed him against a wall by whipping him with his tail. He barely got time to react when the top of his friend's sword almost made a hole on his forehead, having tilted it to his left side to avoid it…

There was a trail of blood coming down his nose, some leaked to his mouth making him taste the metallic flavour of the crimson liquid, the blade also made a cut on his shoulder, it was actually deep, he didn't even feel it at first until a few seconds later it actually did hurt a lot, reminder that it was sharper than it looked; without losing time he moved to grab the handle of the weapon, succeeding at it yet starting to feel pain. He wouldn't give up now…

"Wow, you're pretty tough, kid..." Max said growling softly, yet it sounded calmed with a mix of honesty, "Indeed it's really bold of you to face me, even though you know you can die… and yes, you have some of my respects for it."

Flint got back in attack position, ready to launch himself back for a fight even if he didn't still stand any chance against him. He ran towards the panther, only to feel a punch on his face that de-stabilized him; he tried to attack again, being dodged over and over again as he got some other hits on his chest, shoulders, face, forehead… it didn't matter how many times he fell, he always got back up growing weak but determined to get him away somehow.

Tim tried hard to go and get his son to stop, but he was being held back by the other citizens to keep his own safety, the inventor heard him calling out his name many times, and it was making him go more and more against the panther not wanting to give up just yet… weakly both Brent and Alex started to recover their conscience, when they saw the inventor in the way he was going they wanted to help, but they were feeling tired to do it.

The beating was becoming worse than before, with his face bleeding, part of his lab coat scratched and others already ripped in large parts… the wound of his arm wasn't the only one to worry about now; breathing heavily some wheezes could be heard showing damage in his lungs, then he coughed taking out some blood, he was too tired to keep going, finding himself on his knees and leaning against the ground with the sword… "Why…?" He lowly whimpered.

"I couldn't hear you, boy..."

"Why…?" He repeated again, "Why are you doing this…? You're literally condemning a child for something she didn't do but her family…" He took a little pause unable to breath properly, "Please… leave us alone… that's all I'm asking you now… you already won..."

There was silence, like he was thinking about it…

"After the girl is dead, maybe I'll let you live..."

The grip around his sword tightened in anger. "Are you fucking serious...?!" He asked angry, "What the fuck is wrong with you to fucking condemn a child for whatever the flying fuck other people did?!" The more he thought the less he understood, humans were already too weird for him, and this man was weirder; whatever rule or anything he was following was just messed up, "Just leave her fucking alone for once at fucking all…!" He was losing it already.

"What does a stupid boy like you knows about this kind of affair between warrior races?" He asked coldly, "You don't know what's losing everything you love! My entire family was murdered, my race, everything I fucking loved was gone…!" His growling became louder and heavier, "Her father destroyed my planet and everything I knew… now I'm returning him the favor!" He was losing it, too, "Why don't you better go with your parents and let me end this? As if you actually know what's like to lose something important..."

That just completely got Flint angry, way too angry at the point he stood up looking straight to the panther man's yellow eyes with fire in his blues, "I do fucking know what's losing something I love with my entire life!" He roared, this time making his enemy step back in surprise, "I fucking saw my mother die when I was eight years old, do you know what's seeing the people you love lying in a hospital bed while her life is fucking going away from your hands without being able to help?! Do you know what's like to be actually helpless?!" There was a heavy silence around, nobody dared to break it, "The worst thing you can ever be through is seeing somebody you love with every single little thing you have die, without being able to save their live! And guess what?! There is actually something worse and that's go through the same fucking hell twice!"

Brent had an idea of where the story was going… he smiled a bit in response with a bittersweet expression feeling completely related to his screams of pain, tearing up and wanting to cry so much with him…everybody else just froze where they were…

"I don't–" The man was going to say

"I've been through the same hell… twice in my life..." His chest couldn't handle the secret any longer, he wanted and desperately needed to let it out, "Her name was Marlene O'Neil… the prettiest girl I ever met in my life… we met… we befriended… I fell in love… and you know what?" His completely looked out of his mind with the stare he was giving, "Her father, a fucking asshole! He fucking beat her up to death because he didn't like me! And I couldn't do anything to save her life!" Indeed he lost his mind already, sounding all furious, raging wildly inside, but more than that, broken, "And guess what else…!" He looked down with tears furiously falling down his face, "She died in my arms too! And what her last words were…?!"

I love you…

Marlene…!

His knees didn't handle the weight anymore making him fall down again, with the young man sobbing out loud, he felt his body cold, as if he was back in that dark basement in the house of Shelbourne, yet his mind was remembering how he held a beating young girl with white skin marked with several injures including what looked like cuts, and a long, curly brown hair; her eyes were closed, and her beaten face got a little yet peaceful smile…

He was sobbing silently while holding her body so tight in his arms…

But God! It felt so fucking good to finally tell that out loud! He always thought he'd take that straight to his grave but… it was so hard to tell how it actually felt, it was as if a weight got lifted from his shoulders, something that made him feel, among all the rage: relief… incredibly everyone were surprised to hear the brief story, while the only one who knew all along… for a moment it felt like Max understood what was going on, and actually, it seemed like the two stories hit him hard.

The point of the story was so simple: he wouldn't be able to handle one more loss, that little girl Maximus hated so much was so important for the young man… it was an actual plead from his part, he did want her to survive and be left alone for once at all.

On the other side, Tim now understood why he once arrived back home seeming completely pale a couple of years ago, lost in thoughts, with his icy blue eyes dull almost lifeless… as if he saw something traumatizing; back then he didn't speak, he didn't say absolutely anything but head to his laboratory where he remained locked for days straight without being heard nor seen by anyone.

Yes, he was worried, yet he didn't have enough strength to go upstairs and check on him properly; when he came back he seemed weak and petty, like he didn't sleep during those days he stood locked away, all he knew is that at least he used to get some of the food he always left in the entrance… he never found out why, now it was clear: another death that hit him harder than anything, and one more and it'd be the end.

"I know you have issues with her family… I know they took your family away… but please… if she didn't do anything then just leave her alone… you're punishing a child for the mistakes of the adults… just put yourself in her place at least…!" He was in despair to make him change his mind and stop it for once at all, "How many times has she pleaded you to stop attacking her?! Just tell me! Because I'm sure she did it many, many times…!"

With the not-so-many clues he got about the issues between her and the panther man, he made an attempt to get in her shoes for at least a moment, only to find himself unable to scratch the surface of the hell it must be run away from her life constantly at the point she couldn't go back home for the sake of her loved ones… the panther was hesitating a lot this time, as if for the first time someone made him ponder about his actions, the thing that said that the most were the low position his ears got.

Flint only hoped he could understand the whole point: children had nothing to do with what adults did in the past, the other thing was that revenge wouldn't change anything but bring more misery. Despite everything that's been happening for the last hour, he also hoped there was a conscience inside the panther man; he was an animal too, but one with use of reason like human beings with morals and beliefs…

He heard growls of anger as Max stepped back once holding his head, mumbling weird things as if his mind became a total mess feeling that no one ever faced him in that way, in a non-violent way where the points of view of the other person were being exposed and how it was affecting everything; among the things he (kind of) understood coming from him were, "Everything is wrong! This is all wrong!" as if he was totally nuts, to then pass to a "He's playing with your mind!" while it was exactly the opposite, "But he's right! She's still a child..." passed from one side, "She is the daughter of the king of those space monkeys that killed everyone!"

"Look, just move on… if she dies it won't change a thing..." The young inventor said, weakly standing back up, "Her death won't bring anybody back to life nor rebuild your planet… you're only going to make yourself completely miserable..." That side of his was totally the one from his mother: tender, soft… and then he realized he had to do the same from those things that scarred him for life, move on… the enemy seemed to process the information for a moment, then he had the feeling he was going back to that savage state from before, "Max don't let your instincts take over you like that..." He said, "You're more than an animal…! You can beat it…!" To be honest, he didn't think he would empathize with him, even if he was becoming… unstable.

"Shut up!" He roared furiously, releasing a similar wave of energy that Alice caused early, becoming once again the mindless beast from before, "Just shut the fuck up now!" His body was shaking showing him in a certain kind of distress, the inventor slowly started to step back gulping heavily, to then fall down dropping the sword and keep crawling upon his back in fear, making his father want to run to them and save his son once again.

Then he felt the hand of the panther man grabbing his neck tight, starting to choke him slowly; the fisherman managed to set himself free from the grip of all the others, only to get whipped back to the start by the raging alien, who started to lift up the inventor and punch his stomach hard, taking the air more and more from his lungs… he was losing his conscience fast, everything was darkening, death was round the corner… he just thought about Alice, his mother, then felt that he would soon meet her again... and suddenly the wild blows ended, Max threw him aside releasing his neck barely leaving him alive and hardly breathing, with the least he could see, he saw him looking to a side…

Alice was there looking completely shocked…

"A… Alice..." He barely said, his voice didn't come out his throat.

The man started to recover back his sanity and pass to a big grin, she was barely standing, yet looking horrified for the scene given… "How... dare you...?" She asked slowly, looking down with tears, "How dare you... to treat my best friend like that?!

The voice of Alice was somehow different, very different, airing pure rage, loading air into her lungs, launched a strong cry of battle, mixed with the sound of something beastly, a dark aura coated, completely different from the golden aura of before, her nails became claws, teeth were fangs, and her eyes changed to a purple color with torn pupil… her position was one of a beast in four legs, similar to the man when he was down to the lowest.

"What the–?!"

"You... are so dead... Maximus!" She shouted letting out a powerful shockwave that turned a large part of her surroundings into dust.

This time, things took a turn of 180 degrees, and Alice was completely furious...

...

(1): I realized she didn't introduce herself to them the first time

...

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kitty-chan17985 · 6 years ago

Text

Again. It just had to happen again, didn’t it?

She already lost him years ago when he went back to the restaurant in a fit of rage, not thinking about what consequences would come to him, only wanting to take it out on the machines that once brought children and even adults so much joy. Not thinking about his wife, his five-year-old daughter, his sons, his oldest son’s partner...none of them. None of them were in any part of his thinking process as he destroyed the machines, setting their souls free...hiding away, he thought he could escape, not knowing that his already greatly emotionally damaged wife, still recovering from brain trauma from Foxy’s bite years prior, had followed him there, only to watch him be torn apart from the inside from the same incident that permanently scarred and damaged him for the rest of his life.

She was still recovering from the sight when she found work at the horror attraction. Years of silence on her end as she could never talk to anyone about her late husband, not even her therapist, not even her own son or his partner, not even her own daughter, brought her there. She’d been advised against it by Michael’s partner, who had still been recovering from the disappearance of his husband at the time. Still, she went anyway. She still remembers how William acted so much differently; driven mad by obsession, left as nothing more than emotions left behind by his monstrous side...she still remembers how it felt when two boards fell on her, breaking half of her ribs, nearly shattering her spine, breaking one of her arms and her nose, how it stung to not even be able to see her husband before she was yanked out of the destruction and fell unconscious for a week. She was hardly able to recover, hardly able to do anything, before Michael was scooped, before he went to work at the new place. She remembers running in there, having a brief heart-to-heart with a very dead but somehow walking and talking Mike about her being there being dangerous before being taken out, only to be confronted by her daughter after she found out about what her father was truly like. Of course, Skylar had insisted that Penny not push it, considering their mother’s sensitivities.

Then...it all burned. Again.

Letting the remaining kids mourn for a bit with each other, the completely emotionally ravaged woman wails into her pillow, letting out nearly two and a half decades worth of tears as she digs her nails into it. By now most of her face is wet, the room seeming even more glum than before. She never let herself sleep anywhere but their room...she was always so protective, selective over who came in and who didn’t. She only ever allowed the kids to come in, but anyone else received frantic screams to “just go away”. While the still living children try to find a way to calm their shattered mother down (with scoldings from the older brother, insisting that they not ask anything more about William’s past until their mother is okay), she pushes herself up and away from her pillow, her chest aching from the remaining soreness in her ribs and heartache she never knew could be so deeply painful. She curls up on the bed, her even longer brown hair an absolute mess, her eyes red and puffy from sobbing, her nose red from sniffling, her face pink from so much stress. She pulls her legs in tighter, her hands reaching under her mess of tangled locks. She had put on her usual yellow sweater, a white skirt, pink stockings, a pair of white flats, and her blue butterfly hairpin...the outfit she wore when they first got together...the first time she felt okay, the first time she felt truly happy and satisfied with life in years. She sobs as her throat had gone raw from wailing and screaming. She can’t stop the tears anymore. She’s been crying for over forty-five minutes and she hasn’t stopped...at this rate, she’ll be too dehydrated to eat anything. It’s not like she’s been especially good about eating since William died anyway.

She opens her previously squeezed shut eyes as she shakes violently, gripping at her cross and rings tightly. She falls quiet for a moment, thinking that maybe she’s finally done...but another burst of emotion runs through her as tears run down again. Throwing herself back down onto the bed, she pulls the covers up over herself, unable to handle the amount of grief she’s having to let out. She’s never cried this much...not since the incident with Fredbear, not since she woke up from that coma, not even since William died. She’s crying harder than she’s ever cried before, and she isn’t sure exactly why.

Why does grief hit her so hard specifically?

She winces and coughs as she keeps a grip on the covers with one hand, the other arm still stuck in a cast, unable to help the searing pain that goes through her sides now, a harsh reminder of this horror story’s beginning. She tries to settle herself down enough to stop crying, but she can’t now. Nothing can keep her from relentlessly sobbing, no matter how much she wants to stop. She feels a chill centre itself on her uninjured arm’s shoulder, her hand moving to it as she forces herself to sit up. That chill then centres itself on her hand, which she tries to think nothing of for now. She felt a similar chill when she went to the horror attraction, a similar chill when William died...a similar chill when she went to the now burned down restaurant. She sniffles as she lowers her head, her hair covering most of her face as she tries to settle her breathing.

“It’s okay, love...I’m right here,” an all too familiar voice sounds from behind her, startling her a bit. She gasps softly, wincing before looking behind her...only to find someone she ever expected to be there. A much younger looking version of her late husband, looking down at her, smiling at her. A see through copy with shorter hair, the old rectangle glasses he wore so long ago, still retaining the scars from the first springlock incident from so many decades ago, his once silvery blue eyes back to a much more vibrant blue colour, though still slightly greyed.

The hazel-eyed widow can’t help but go wide eyed from shock, the spectre still smiling at her as a see through hand rests itself on her cheek. She feels like her heart stops as she feels the chill move to the same cheek, staring in disbelief. She thought she had run dry of tears, but an even bigger stream of tears runs down her already tearstained face, her eyes narrowing as she tries to wipe the tears away, not wanting to lose sight of him. How...? Is...is his spirit still trapped here? If so...why is he so much younger?

“My, you look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he jokes, giving her a slightly concerned smile as she reaches up to where she feels his hand is, though her hand goes right through it. She sniffles a bit as she slowly works up the ability to speak.

“...h...h-how...a-are you still...t-t-trapped here...?” she asks. God, she sounds so pitiful. She sounds like a terrified child. His hand moves away from her cheek briefly, much to her displeasure as she tries to grab at it, forgetting that she can’t touch him. He moves to sit next to her on the bed without phasing through it.

“You don’t need to be worried about that, love,” he replies. “I’m not trapped so much as I am...wanting to stick around a while longer,” he explains simply as she bites at her lip, trying to keep tears from flowing so much, not wanting the sight of him to leave her. She doesn’t want him to disappear ever again...she doesn’t want him to leave. Maybe it was selfish, maybe it wasn’t fair to him to have her want to stay with her even after he’s been laid to rest, finally at peace with himself...but can one blame her?

“I...I-I’m so sorry, W-W-William...” she whimpers, her breathing shaky as she covers her eyes with one hand. “I-I’m so sorry...I-I-I...I-I wanted to h-help you...I-I-I wanted to keep y-you away from F-Freddy’s after you and H-Henry c-c-closed it down, I...I-I knew you’d...you’d go back, a-and...i-if I had just gotten th-there sooner, I–”

“Angel, please...stop blaming yourself. I went back because I was furious. I went back because I wanted to vent my anger. I wasn’t thinking about you, Penny, Skylar, or Michael...it’s not your fault I made a selfish choice,” he argues, though he keeps his tone calm as he rests a hand on hers. “I don’t hold any of it against you. There’s nothing you could have done in that instance. Even if there was...in all honesty, what happened there was deserved. I know you’ll disagree with me–”

“Y-you never deserved th-that...”

“–but I assure you, it was necessary. The suit became my prison, and for the longest time I turned into nothing but the monster I had become. But when you came back...something in me found clarity. The recent fire at the now destroyed Freddy’s...it freed me, it freed Michael, it freed Charlie, it freed my Elizabeth. The real versions of all of us finally have closure...and the monster that started all of this is finally where he deserves to be,” he says, his brow furrowing. “He is now in purgatory, but...I’m still here,” he finishes, smiling at her again. “I wanted to at least say a proper goodbye to the wonderful woman that showed me how to be me again,” he adds, cupping her cheek once more, planting a chilled kiss to her lips.

“D...d-does...d-does that mean...y-you’re leaving me soon...?” she asks, a pained look on her face as she asks that. She sniffles a bit, squeezing her eyes shut. “P-please...f-for as long as y-y-you’re comfortable w-with it...j-just...stay with me...” she begs quietly, whimpering softly. “I-I’ve...recently f-f-found that...A-Alzheimer’s runs in m-my family, and...I-I-I’m terrified that...in the n-next twenty or so y-years, I...I-I’ll forget everyone...I-I don’t want to...I-I-I never want to f-f-forget you, o-or Penny, or...or Skylar, o-or Michael...” she cries, her chest heaving as she starts to break down again. “P-p-please, just...s-stay...e-even if you can’t f-for long, I just...I-I never want to f-forget you...” she whimpers, her voice breaking as she squeezes her eyes shut. She feels the chill suddenly wrap around her, causing her to look up. His spectre wraps his arms around her for a hug as she moves to wrap an arm around him, though it’s more like her having to hold an arm up in an awkward place. She feels like she’s just hugging air, but she knows he’s there.

“I’ll be here for as long as you need me...but please, try to take care of yourself. And...be kinder to yourself. You’ve held a grudge against yourself for so many years. It’s time you let it go...”

She can hardly muster a response, just staying in place as he holds onto her. How he can hold her, she’ll never know, but she isn’t going to complain. Even if she can’t touch him, she’s glad he can still touch physical things...she’s needed this closure, or at least a goodbye. She never wants to lose him again. She knows he can’t stay forever, but she hopes he can pop in every so often...not just for her own sanity, but she’s sure he’d want to see his little girl again. For the first time in a little over two decades, she feels...okay.

“Don’t worry about me, love. I’m here.”

“I-I-I love you, W-William...dead or alive...”

“I love you too, Angel, so much more than you know.”

#nefarious-inventor #drabble #Angel #Angel Ferguson #William Afton #FNAF #Five Nights at Freddy’s

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prettieparker86 · 6 years ago

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Promises To Keep || Part 4

Part 1, Part 2 & Part 3

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Warning: Brief adult situations, mentions of POW camps, post-traumatic stress, flashbacks, domestic violence

Gif Credit: @themanicheart-resources, @ckare @sceawere @ivankaramazov88 Thank you for allowing me to use your gorgeous gifs

Tag: Please let me know if you want to be added or removed or if I forgot someone - @theskinofmyemotions, @ishoutmarcoandyoushout, @small-heaths, @lainey-lane, @londoncharlotte88, @tommysmutnothingbut, @xxdearlybeloved, @twistedrunes, @gilraenpalantir, @athewindsofsummer, @sympathyfortheblinderdevil, @badwolf-in-the-impala, @mafaldaz, @athewindsofsummer

Note: We’ve seen what makes Tommy and Addy sizzle and spark. So this chapter explores a little more of what made Addy hold on to WIll even after he was gone, while still being torn over Tommy. If I wrote this well enough, I want you to be morally conflicted. I want you unsure of how you want this to end. Everyone had a stake in the game. Everyone has a reason to win. I wrote this story with the intention of it being very morally gray. Everyone is no more a sinner than a saint. Everyone is dirty for their own reasons. Hopefully I achieved that level of conflict. Also, I did do research on POW camps in WWI to try to keep this as authentic as I could. And it’s important to keep in mind this was really the generational that brought to light “shell shocked” and back then society wasn’t really sure what to do with them or how to help them.

Gotta start it off with thanks again... THANK YOU for all the likes, reblogs, and comments!!! I am just blown away by the support for this story. I never imagined anyone would want to read this and hopefully you guys still do.

So I guess it goes without saying, but I’m gonna say it anyway lol…

Likes, reblogs, and comments are encouraged and greatly appreciated. I’m just a lonely starving wannabe writer. Knowing what you guys think means everything!

After that day in the office, you keep your distance from Tommy. You realize he was right all along. You can’t go back to being friends like you had naively believed in the beginning, you had never really been friends from the start. Tommy had always been Will’s friend. You knew him because you hung on Will’s arm, you were Will’s girl.

And while you had grown close in your own way after the war before sleeping together. That closeness was still brought on by Tommy’s commitment to keeping his promise to his best pal. You realized whatever justifications you made while Will was gone, while he was dead, what you did with Tommy in his office that day was cheating. Plain and simple. There’s was no moving that boulder in any other direction.

So in order to live with an action you swore you’d never commit, you stayed away from Tommy, you kept your distance. For the sake of your husband and your marriage, you steered clear of the temptation of Thomas Shelby.

There were times you second guessed your choice to give up on your love for Tommy, to give up the love he had for you. But as the weeks went by, Will let the walls come down and you both grew steadily closer. You began to rediscover your love, rediscover each other.

He began to open up and tell you about the war. Revealing after the explosion he dug himself out, but the Germans found him. He had been kept in a camp with hundreds of other men, surrounded by barbwire fencing. Little by little the pieces came out, some late at night, more after he had a few too many. He explained he lived in a makeshift tent most of the time, digging holes in the ground to keep warm at night when there wasn’t mud.

Men were always sick from typhus or cholera and dying all around him every day, some in his hands. There was never enough food, mostly just soup or scarce amounts of water that became tainted when heavy rains would make the latrine overflow.

After half a bottle of whiskey one night, Will told you he had been kept close to the front line and that in some of his darkness moments, digging trenches and carting away bodies until he was sure he would collapse, he could see the other side, he could see his fellow men fighting, he just couldn’t reach them without getting shot. Breaking the rules meant confinement, in small places with no light for up to a week, or being tied to a post for days, or beaten severely.

He revealed he got the limp from flying shrapnel when he was digging the trenches. Said it got infected and he nearly died. He held on for you, convinced he’d see you again one day if he just held on, but it never healed right.

Will told you how he fought so hard to get back to you, refusing to give up even when he wanted to. He explained the prisoner exchange made the end of the war drag out, and even after they got him back he had spent months in a hospital recuperating.

You were angry he didn’t have anyone send word, angry he didn’t write, but you tried to understand… Will didn’t want you to see him like that. He didn’t want your reunion to be in a hospital bed while he felt broken and lame. Learning what he went through to get home to you, you knew you made the right choice.

You loved him, deeply. Even more now that you understood the nightmare he had gone through. You loved him before you knew what love was. And as your Will began to reveal himself to you more and more, you knew in your heart you couldn’t give up on him anymore than you could cut off your own leg and pretend to not be crippled by the loss.

Will keeps his promise, he keeps trying to be the man he was before. One night he surprises you. Taking your hand gently into his, he leads you out into the night. Lantern steady in his hand, you don’t know where you’re going as Will leads your down the soot covered streets of Small Health. When most of the seedier crowd came out for the night.

You had nearly turned in to bed for the night when he arrived home, excited and impatient like a boy about to sneak away with you. And for a moment he looks like the version of himself in his youth, before the war, sneaking you off before your father notices, to some private rendezvous where you could get lost in each other and forget the world.

You walk the streets side by side, his arm wrapped around your shoulders as he holds a lantern in the other. No one bothers you with Will by your side, no one messes with a Blinder, let alone one as notorious as Will. He had built a reputation for himself before the war, just like Tommy, that only seemed to amplify since he came back from the dead.

You’re not sure where you’re going until you reach the mass of wood and steel that makes up Charlie’s yard down by the cut. All gnarled and jagged edges in the dark. The stars obscured by the factory smog still heavy in the air, you still feel unsure why you’re here as Will moves on ahead, you trail his step as he clutches tightly to your hand. Weaving you through machine parts and rusted out junk, Will leads you around to the back.

“Does Charlie and Curly know we’re here?” You whisper as if you’ve broken into some place you don’t belong.

“Yeah,” Will nods easily, lifting the lantern a little higher to see ahead his feet. “He gave the word.”

Rounding a corner, you reach Charlie’s barn. You’re confused more than ever why Will dragged you out of your home after midnight to take you to Charlie’s barn, but his secrets are yet to be revealed. Will releases your hand as you both go inside, hanging the lantern on an old nail hammered into one of the posts that holds the barn steady. You look around trying to get a sense of why he brought you here, before admitting defeating.

“What are we doing here?” You finally ask.

“I wanted to bring you to the place.” Will tells you simply as you look around to see what’s changed since the last time you were there.

Not much from what you can tell, but everything is cloaked in shadows and poor lighting. It’s hard to see much of anything, not that you were ever an expert on Charlie’s yard or cared to be. Just another place to waste time in your youth. A place to run and hide, and make mischief of one kind or another.

“What place?” You ask as a quiet laugh breaks free, confused now more than ever over what he means as you snatch up an old horse shoe and give it an easy toss into the hay.

“Where I first knew I loved you.” Will says, the words vibrating at your back, instantly stopping you in your tracks as a shiver runs down your spine. You turn slowly to face him, the lantern casting shadows across his handsome face, making him glow in the yellow light of the flame.

“I was fourteen and you were twelve. I’d brought you here after you got into a fight with your old man. You found me on the street stirrin’ up trouble with Tommy an’ Arthur, an’ wanted to get away, so I took you here. It was late, an’ particularly dark that night, an’ all I had was that stubby fuckin’ candle.” He lets out an easy laugh at the memory.

“But I remember sittin’ in here with you an’ thinkin’ you were the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.” Will’s words take your breath away, frozen and transfixed you watch as his slowly moves toward you in a shower of light and shadow. Brining it all back to you, a love nobody could break. The lifetime you shared before the war stole him away. You think you remember that night too. The first night he ever brought you to Charlie’s yard alone, after dark.

“I knew I loved you that night, Addy. An’ if given the chance, I’d have you as my girl the rest of my life. Only girl who didn’ look at me like I was trouble. Who’d look at me like I could be somethin’. An’ I use to think, if a girl as smart and pretty as you thought so, then maybe I could.” Will ends on husky whisper, wrapping you in his words and memories, as he stops in front of you. Softly he touches your cheek with the back of his hand as your heart races and you gaze up deeply into his eyes.

You catch sight of him pulling something from his jacket pocket as your gaze drops down to a little box held in his hand. Opening it up, inside revealed a silver band with delicate pedals and sweet ribbons engraved around a beautiful aquamarine gem.

You nearly gasp at the sight of it as your eyes shoot up in disbelief to Will’s smiling face and back down to the ring in the box.

“Will, what is this?” You ask, hardly able to catch your breath or believe your eyes.

“I told you when I married you I’d get you somethin’ better one day. You did such a great job holding everything together while I was gone that we ended up with some money after I took care of a few things for Tommy.” He explains, pulling the ring from the box before reaching for your trembling hand.

“Do you like it?” He asks as he slips the ring carefully onto your finger, next to the simple band of gold you had from your wedding day.

You gaze in wonder at the beautiful ring as it faintly sparkles against the lanterns flame on your finger, running your fingertips over it in awe as your heart beats hard in your chest.

“I love it,” You tell him, your breath heavy with disbelief. Hardly able to believe your eyes.

Taking your cheek gently into his hand, Will lifts your face until your eyes meet once again.

“You waited for me even after hope was gone. Held it together when anyone else woulda fallen apart. Your everything to me, Addy. An’ I don’ know what made ya fall for a fuckin bloke like me, but I’m pretty damn sure I’m the luckiest bastard for it.” He tells you, his words ending in a slight chuckled smirk before pulling you into his waiting kiss.

Your heart pains with the never-ending stings of guilt that wind like fine tendrils around your strangled heart, because you didn’t wait. You betrayed him and if he knew with who it’d break his heart too, but tonight you push that down. You bury it away.

You don’t want to drown held down by the weight of your choices, tonight you just want to be here with your husband. Completely present in this beautiful moment with him. Just the two of you like before the war. So you set yourself free, sighing against the heat of his mouth as the kiss slowly breaks.

“I love you Adeline Darmody.” Will whispers softly to you in the pale light that surrounds you both, his full soft pout faintly brushing your lips with his declarations, before pulling you back in for another slow burning kiss.

Running his tongue along the seam of your mouth, Will seduces your lips to part, deepening the kiss, as warm and wet meet for a taste. His hand finds your back, running along your spine and down to grip at your hip, pulling you deeper into the curve of him. You’re the first the break the kiss, smiling up at him in the shadows of the barn, as your chest rises and falls heavily against the heat of his kiss.

“I love you too William Darmody.” You whisper back to him as his fingers lacing through your hair and he smiles back you lovingly.

Your stomach clenches with the sight of it. Standing here alone with your husband in the pale lantern light, Will looks like the boy you fell in love with before life and the war stole it all away.

Seeing him like this again feels like magic. It sparks and tingles just beneath your skin, your belly clenches and your heart races, you swear you could spend the rest of your days here and never want anything more, if only you could stay like this forever. Who you are today, holding onto everything you had before.

Leaning in, you give Will another quick kiss, but as he tries to deepen it, his arms pulling you close, you push off his chest and slip free of his grasp. Will watches you carefully, his eyebrow arching in question as you slowly back away from him and toward the darker end of the barn. Excitement building in your veins, your heart beginning to race harder as you flash him your best mischievous grin.

“You’re gonna have to work harder than that, Mr. Darmody.” You tease him, watching the rules of the game become clear in his mind as a smirk curls on his lips.

He holds your eyes for a moment and you brace yourself, heart pounding as you await his next move. When Will finally lunges for you, you squeal in delight, slipping out of his reach just before he can get ahold of you.

Moving quickly away, you glance back to see Will moving for the lantern still hanging on the nail, his pupils dark like madness in swirl of his beautiful blue eyes. You hold his gaze a moment longer before slipping into the shadows, deeper into the barn.

You wander down toward what you think is the back, where the piles of hay are stacked. Your eyes slowly adjust to the lack of light that surrounds you, the world transforming into bleeding shades of grey and blackness, all melting and weaving together. The sound of his steps sends you glancing back over your shoulder.

Spotting the faint light of the lantern approaching, you knew Will could find you easily, he still knows Charlie’s yard better than you. It’s then you realize you want him to find you, as you slowly turn back his way. The light from the lantern illuminating you as Will rounds the corner of the stables.

Your eyes meet in the faint yellow light as your hands rise and find the top button to your white blouse. Slowly working it free before your fingers slip down to the next. You watch Will’s gaze become transfixed upon the movement of your hands and the skin you’re slowly revealing to him as he draws closer to you with every step.

“Is this what you want, Will?” You ask suggestively, your voice raspy, breath heavy as you slip free the button held between your breasts, growing more wanton by the second from the heat of his stare. You know what Will wants, you can see the familiar darkness in his eyes. And you know what you want too… Him.

Sometimes it scares you how badly you want him still. As if losing him and thinking you’d never get to feel his love again made you realize how badly you covet it. Things may have been rocky when he first came home, so much time had passed, you were both different, but once he began opening himself back up to you, everything came back with it.

Will’s eyes flash up to yours with your question - full of innuendo, the heat of his gaze, the way he devours you with desire in his eyes, makes your belly tighten and skin grow flush even in the cold.

“Fuck,” You hear Will breath out on a heavy ragged breath as you finish the last few buttons on your blouse. He hooks the lantern on a nail hanging from another beam, practically to you now.

In seconds he’s on you, his mouth insistent and hungry against your own, pushing you back with the force of his kiss, as his arm encircle you, clutching you close against him and your arms tangle around the back of his neck.

When you break, it’s the sound of your breaths, heavy and panting that cuts through the quiet night air. Reaching the stacks of hay, Will hoists you up on a few bails, your legs spreading for him as he tugs your skirt up your thighs and slips between the warm embrace of them.

His mouth latches briefly onto your jaw before slipping down to the skin you’ve exposed for him. Sucking and nip at the sensitive place along your neck he knows always draws a moan from your lips as his hands moving eagerly inside your open blouse.

“You’re everything I want, Addy.” Will says on a deep gritty breath, finally answering your question as you pull the suspenders off his shoulders and begin to frantically pull free the buttons of his shirt.

His palms are cold and rough against your soft skin, the contrast feels deliriously good as your hands work free his shirt, eager to feel him under your palms, feel his skin warm against your own. Your head drops back in a daze against the assault of his soft full lips, your heavy sighs echoing through the quiet barn. You arch against him, encouraging the heat of his mouth as it moves further down your body, taking your blouse with him.

Reaching for the bulge pressed tightly against his trousers and your thigh, you rub your palm against him, trying to ignite the same pleasure he’s bringing you. You unbutton his trousers and Will’s knees buckle against the hay stack as you take ahold of him with a tight grip. A low shaky moan vibrating against the top of your breast as you begin to stroke him just the way you know he likes.

Will’s always been your weakness, from the first time he touched you. Since you first discovered how to make each other melt. The smell of him, the taste of him, the feel of him, he makes your body spark and sizzle under his undivided attention, under his love. He knows all your tender spots, every place that makes your whimper and beg, and you know his, all the little tricks and place that leave this fearless Blinder putty in your hands.

You were late. You were never late and you should have known that would only raise hairs, but you had foolishly hoped just this once it’d slip by. That in all the chaos of runners, the counters, John calling out odds as he scribbles chalk to a board, while men shuffle in an out of the building to thrown down their last coin, you’d slip by unnoticed. But your gut was right and your hopes are as empty as dreams come morning light it seems these days.

When you arrive at the betting shop, you slip past what feels like a herd of men, trying to disappear in the sea of them as they carry on at a dizzying pace. You hang your jacket over your chair and get right to it as if you had already been there. Plopping down in your usual chair, grabbing the slips, pulling the tally’s, but Polly is coming over, parting the sea before you’ve even gotten through the first few slips. You catch sight of her out of the corner of your eye as your face drops and you try to discretely pull your hair around your face.

“You’re late.” She says, stating the facts as she comes around your desk.

“I know. I’m sorry. Something came up.” You try to explain as you keep your hands busy, letting the papers slip through your fingers as you keep count, keeping your face down and your hair nearly in your eyes.

“Addy?” Polly calls, looking you over, you practically feel her gaze like a touch to your face, tugging it up to meet her eyes as she stops at the corner of her desk. Her tone neutral in a way that doesn’t make you second guess her call, but the knots in your belly know better as you finally glance up from your desk and meet her eyes. Trying your best to keep your hair in place the best you can.

“Stand up.” She orders almost instantly and you can see it in her eyes as your heart starts to hammer. Watch it register on her face as your duck your head back down to your desk.

“Pol, I’m trying to catch up on-“

“Up now,” she demands insistently, rounding the desk and pulling your chair back insistently.

Resigned to her will, you reluctantly your stand, because when Polly insists you’ve learned there’s no getting out of it. But you don’t look at her as you chew on your bottom lip. Keeping your eyes down, scanning the top of the desk, and hair in your face. But Polly doesn’t need or ask for permission as she moves to you, sweeping the hair back behind your ear and grabbing at your chin for a better look. You cringe even before she does.

“Holy shit,” Rolls heavily off her tongue, disbelief dripping from her words.

“He do this to you?” Polly inquires low on her breath, tilting your chin toward the light to examine the fresh bruise along the edge of your face, riding the ridge that joins your cheekbone and eye socket.

“It was an accident…” You try to explain before a pair of eyes that feel sharp like daggers pierce through you from across the room.

Even now you can feel the hold of them from a mile away. Your breath quickens with a new alarm as your eyes glance over quick and spot Tommy standing next to the door of his office. Hands are shoved tightly in his pockets, but his is jaw flexing, eyes zeroed in on you and Polly, before he bursts to life like a fired pistol, grabbing his jacket and storming for the door.

“Fuck,” You swear on a harsh frantic breath, pulling from Polly’s grasp as you watch Tommy storm out the front door of the betting shop. You don’t even need to bother asking to know where he’s headed and that’s exactly what you didn’t want to happen.

“Watch me stuff, Pol.” You practically beg her in haste. Your frantic eyes meeting her gaze, you can see she has questions of her own – about you, about your face, and why your chasing after Tommy, but there’s no time for any of them as you take off after him before he does something that will only make a bad situation worse.

Like a man on a mission, Thomas Shelby storms down the dirty streets of Small Heath. Women and children scurrying out his way as men nod or bow their heads in a show of respect as he marches by like a force of nature. By the time you make it out of the betting shop you have to practically race down the lane to catch up with him. Clutching your long skirt, your heels sink in the mud and filth as you make haste down the crowded streets of early morning.

“Tommy,” You take ahold of his arm as you finally reach him. Trying to reason with him, but Tommy only shrugs you off and keeps pounding the soot covered streets, billow of smoke from his cigarette blowing past his lips, and trailing him like the stacks from a nearby factory.

You realize in that moment you’re going to have to be more forceful in your approach if you have any prayer of getting through to him. Racing around to the front of Tommy, you press firmly against his chest, pressing your weight into his waistcoat and button-down as you dig your heels into the dirt and soot, trying to make him stop.

“Thomas stop,” You demand more firmly. “Don’t make me make a scene in the street in front of everyone.”

Your words break through his anger, Tommy waivers for a brief moment, his gaze faltering from the determined road ahead of him and down to where you press against him. It’s only a brief moment, but you seize it as you snatch his hand in your own and drag him into the nearest alley way, where you can have a word without all of Small Heath hearing about it. Having surely caused enough of a scene as it is, since no one - short of Pol - grabs at Thomas Shelby the way you just did and gets away with it… But most of Small Heath still doesn’t know what else he let you get away with and you intend to keep it that way.

“It was an accident.” You tell him the moment you’re alone. Trying to catch your breath after taking chase as you release his hand and turn to face him before he can take off again.

Tommy let’s out a huffed breath and shakes his head at the ridiculousness of your statement. He’d be amused if he wasn’t so angry. Tossing his cigarette to the ground, he steps into your space, moving in on you. The heat of his eyes, the formidable stride of his gait, cause your feet to step back as Tommy approaches, trying to hold onto the distance between you until your back hits the brick wall and there’s nowhere left to go. Tommy’s all-encompassing in his approach, covering the front of you, his shadow swallowing you as he stops barely a foot away from your body.

Your heart begins to pound hard in your chest with the closeness you two haven’t dared to share since that day in his office. Tommy’s hand reaches out for you, tucking your hair behind your ear to get a better look at the bruise along the edge of your face. His callused thumb runs delicately along the tender discolored flesh, sending shivers under your skin with the feel of his touch once again as you watch fire ignite in icy shards of blue, and realize, Tommy hates it even more from close up.

“He was dreaming.” You explain softly on a shaky breath, watching the anger of his furrowed brow as you he inspects you to ensure there aren’t any more and you try not to savor the feel of his touch of your face. He’s so close your almost afraid to speak anything loud, afraid when he responds the heat of his breath will only weaken your resolve.

“Dreaming…” Tommy scoffs loudly at your explanation. He steps back from you, having heard enough, he turns toward the entrance of the alley. Driven to return to his hunt for Will and have him answer a few questions of his own, but you swiftly snatch at the lapels of his jacket and move in front of him, blocking his way. Forcing Tommy to look at you as you protect your husband from an unfair wrath.

“It’s like with Danny, Thomas. He has nightmares almost every night. And sometimes he has them awake too.” You try to explain it the best you can as your chest tightens with each word.

“Sometimes it’s like he’s not even there. Like he doesn’t even know where he is or who I am.” You struggle in your desperation, trying to put words to something you don’t even fully understand yourself, but you need Tommy to understand Will didn’t hurt you intentionally. Will needs help and you feel if anyone can understand the price of war, it’s him.

Tommy stops pressing forward, his eyes falling and holding yours, and you can tell he’s finally listening. Finally understanding the gravity of the situation. Because Tommy does understand. All too well in fact. Before Addy he hardly slept and never peacefully. And after Addy… he tries not to close his eyes unless he absolutely has to. Just another ghost to haunt him in his dreams. Only this one, she took what was left of his soul.

“He was having a nightmare. I tried to wake him, but it was like he couldn’t even see me. He thought he was being attacked. I got him good gettin’ him off me. The glass cut his head open when it broke. It probably needs stiches, but he’s too damn stubborn to have it looked at. He thinks he deserves it Tommy… after what happened to me.” You ramble, your thoughts scattered, your breath as frantic and confused as you feel. You knew none of them came back the same, but you weren’t prepared for how helpless you’d feel when you couldn’t fix it. When you couldn’t make it better or even lessen the pain.

“It’s like he couldn’t see me, Tommy. It’s like I wasn’t there at all.” You bite at your bottom lip, tears springing to your eyes.

“When he finally came too, he was bleedin’ everywhere. He wouldn’ even let me help him. He wouldn’ let me near him once he realized he struck me. He’s terrified of himself. He blames himself for everything. An’ I don’ know how to help him.” The words fall from your lips on a desperate breath as your shoulders tremble and shake. Your eyes welled heavy with tears you can’t hold inside any longer as you finally say the words aloud you’ve been holding so tightly inside you. Trying to stay strong.

Your hands wipe at your cheeks, pushing away at the tears as fast as they come. Just when you think things are starting to come back together, it all falls apart again. You were startled when Will turned on you. Terrified when you saw his fist coming down on you as he held you to the bed. Grabbing the glass from the nightstand and smashing it into his head had been instinct alone. Everything happened so fast, in the blink of an eye in your mind.

But the eyes that held you to that bed weren’t the Will you know. His lips mumbling something in a language you didn’t understand. But none of that was scarier or broke your heart more than the look on Will’s face when he finally came to his senses. When he realized he had put his hands on you. Watching Will rip himself apart over what he had done, watching him lose faith and trust in himself a little more everyday… Nothing in this world could have prepared you for how painful and powerless that would make you feel.

Without words, Tommy pulls your tightly against his chest, his hand slipping into your hair, the other rubbing at your back. Unable to watch you crumble and not reach for you. Tommy swore to himself he wouldn’t touch you again after that day in the office and your distance only affirmed that was the right choice. But finally having a moment alone with you, even his best intentions proved weak.

And you’re just an malleable as you strive for distance, as the smell of Tommy engulfs your lungs, whiskey rich and smoky harsh, you feel your heart beating faster. It’s like breathing life back into your soul. A chamber all his own. A place only Tommy can reach.

You want to bury yourself deeper into him, wrap your arms desperately around him. You know you’ll be safe there, from everything you can’t fix, everything that makes you feel like a failure, but then you catch yourself. Catch yourself being weak and giving in to the fire. You know in your heart, you can’t keep doing this. It isn’t fair to any of you. And you don’t want to hurt Tommy any more than you want to hurt Will. That was the promise you made to yourself when you left Tommy’s office that day. You’re only making things worse when you let the fire reignite.

And what if someone saw you? How would you explain this… wrapped in Tommy’s arms, breathing him in? Your heart begins to race and clenches as you quickly untangle from Tommy. Taking a step back as your eyes scan nervously about your surroundings to see if anyone is watching, but everyone out on the street seems too busy trying to make the most of the day, enough to get by.

You wipe the remaining tears that have fallen from your eyes and suck a sharp breath in, trying to compose yourself.

“He needs a friend, Tommy. He’s lost and hurting, and I don’t know how to help him.” You practically plead.

For being best mate’s since childhood, Tommy has steered clear of Will since he came home. Will hasn’t said much about it, he wouldn’t, and the fact that Tommy blows everyone off these days makes the odd circumstance easier to swallow, but you can see it hurts Will and you blame yourself for that too. If you and Tommy hadn’t – Maybe Will would have someone to turn to in his time of need.

Tommy shakes his head at the notion of what you’re suggesting as he pulls a cigarette from his pocket, letting it dangle from his lip, before his deft fingers slap a match against the box in his other hand. His easy dismissal only ignites the fire in your belly and amplifies your frustrations. Your world is hanging on by a thread while Tommy roams about Small Heath carefree having walled Will out of his life, like he’s punishing him, right along with you.

“An’ why not? Thought he was your best pal. You’ve known him all your life. Or is Thomas Shelby too mighty for a broken solder now?” You challenge, jaw growing tight as your irritation gets the best of your tongue. As Tommy gets the best of you, the way he seems to do so easily, both the good and the bad.

The fire in your tone gets a rise out of Tommy quick as he plucks the cigarette from his lips and counters you. No less immune to the embers that smolder between you, always ready to spark and reignite.

“What do you purpose, Addy? Should I invite him to the Garrison for a drink after I’ve been fuckin’ his wife for months? An’ what should we talk about, aye? Ask him if he loves the way you let out that little gasp just before you cum or perhaps how fuckin tight an’ wet you get? Or is that only for me, love?” Tommy comes at you, his tongue as sharp as the razors on his cap. As piercing as the daggers in his heart every time he’s reminded how much you love Will. How he lost you to a better man. Watching from the sidelines as you and Will grow closer with each passing day.

“Stop it!” You snap at him crossly, snatching the cigarette from his fingers as he draws it back to his mouth, tossing it violently to the ground below as you resist the urge to smack him hard across the face. Your chest huffing, how dare he think he can speak to you like that.

Tommy looks down at his cigarette you just threw in the mud, head tilting slightly as his jaw tightens in irritation before his gaze returns to you and he slowly moves in on you once again.

“Don’t you see, I can’t be his friend, Addy. I fucked his wife.” Tommy’s voice is low and dangerous, penetrating and calling for you as your back stumbles into the wall once again trying to evade the power he has over you.

“An’ given the chance...” Tommy tells you, his voice dipping down to a gritty whisper as he leans into your mouth. His hand finding and gripping at your jaw as his thumb dances around the edge of your bottom lip, but never quite touches the plump flesh. Your heart is pounding, you’re struggling to remember how to breathe as you gaze into Tommy’s hypnotic eyes and recognize the heat blowing back at you. You’re a cornered animal, backed into a trap. You still want him, you still miss him, and worst of all, Tommy knows it.

You close your eyes, trying to wall him out, trying to numb your heart and stay strong. You don’t know how you got here, in love with two men, but you’re trying to do the right thing.

“Tommy, don’ do this…” You whisper, your breath desperate.

And despite how selfish and cold Tommy can be at times, he does as you ask, instantly, because you wield power over him too. He steps back from you, releasing your face, but as your eyes open once again and you meet his gaze, you see it – undeniable pain. Tommy still wants you too. Still loves you, you were the only thing that breathed life back into him after the war, and your rejection, even for reasons you both understand, has still been incredibly painful for him.

His head bows, his cap taking the space in your vision his face just held, razors shining as the early morning light pierces down upon them, peeking out from a bleak overcast sky. When he glances back up at you a new cigarette is lit and hanging from his lip.

“If he touches you again he’s answering to me.” Tommy states firmly, unequivocally. There’s no question and you can see there will also be no persuasion. He’s giving you his word of warning now.

“He won’t.” You swear it. Will never has before, not even close. He threatened any man who thought of raising a hand to you. And the look in Will’s eyes when he realized what he had done… You’re certain it’ll haunt you the rest of your days.

Tommy’s seas of blue linger on you as the sun breaks through the clouds once again, bathing your both in touches of heat and light. There's a calling in his eyes, you recognize it as the sun pierces his pupil before Tommy swiftly turns and walks away without another word. One hand stuffed in his waistcoat, the other pulling away at a cigarette that encircles him in a cloud of smoke.

“Atleast tell me how to help him.” You yell back at Tommy as he goes.

“You can’t. We can’t be fixed, Addy.” Tommy hollers back, never turning back to face you until he reaches the end of the alleyway. Only then does he look back over his shoulder, your eyes locking in the moment.

“Didn’ you know? We died over there in the mud.” He tells you like a bullet aimed straight at your heart, before he turns back and disappears into the crowded Small Health streets. Leaving you alone with your thoughts and your plight.

Will comes home late that night. You expect him to be drunk, but he’s not. He looks painfully sober as he comes to stand beside you in your tiny hutch kitchen. Drawing your hands into his as he leads you over to your kitchen table, having you take a seat before he drags the other directly in front of you and lowers into it. He bought you your favorite treat from the little candy shop down by the church where you got married.

One of the things you love so much about him, he never forgets the little things you love, but you can tell none of that matters to him tonight as his hand brushes the side of your face, moving your hair back from the spot where he struck you earlier that morning. His thumb sweeping tenderly over the spot as his face twists in agony. His eyes growing that tortured shade of blue that breaks your heart.

“It’s a’right, Will.” You try to reassure him. Thankful he’s finally willing to touch you, be near you again, after being terrified of himself and inconsolable after what he’d done this morning.

Will’s blue eyes shoot to yours as you speak, tears glistening in his baby blues as his jaw clenches tight.

“No, it’s not Addy.” He tells you, his hand clutching desperately at your cheek as his words drip and drown with guilt and remorse.

“It’s not a’right. Nobody puts their hands on you, understand? Least of me.” His voice breaks at the end, cracking under the weight of own his desperation.

You reach for his hand on your face and cover it with your own, holding him close as his face falls and shakes from side to side with shame. He scrubs angrily at his eyes as the tears escape, before his face lifts and his gaze returns to you, his thumb stroking gently at your cheek.

“Your safety is the only thing that matters me, understand? If something happens again. If I- If I disappear or somethin’, don’ try to wake me, don’ try to help me. You get as far away as you can, understand? Do whatever you gotta do. I need you safe.” He tells you earnestly, his eyes drilling into yours as his hand presses into your cheek to affirm his point.

You can feel it from every bone in your body, Will needs you to hear him right now. He needs you to promise, and you’re just about to until he pulls his gun from behind his back and places it on the table beside you both. The weighted metal sounding heavy and ominous as it lands on the old wooden surface. Your eyes shoot to it in horror before flying back to Will’s.

“I wan’ you to take this. You do whatever you have to do to protect yourself, understand? Promise me, Addy.” His voice is desperate as tears spring to your eyes and mirror his own. You can tell this has been eating him alive all day as he tries to come up with a solution.

Your heart begins to pound as you shake your head slowly from side to side.

“No,” You whispers to him. “No Will.”

“I need to know your safe, even if that means from me. I couldn’ live with myself if I hurt ya again. I’d want ya to pull that trigger, Addy… If it meant keepin ya safe, I’d want ya to do it.” He pleads with you, his breath heavy and desperate.

You can see it in his eyes, he loves you so much, but he’s scared. You’ve never seen him this scared. He doesn’t know what’s happening to him. He doesn’t know how to stop it and he doesn’t trust himself anymore. He doesn’t believe in himself, but the thought of hurting you again is more than he can bare.

“I can’t.” You gasp, tears falling from your eyes, no longer able to hold them inside the rattle of your chest any longer.

“I can’t do that, Will.” You can’t even bear the thought of shooting of him. You were scared when he turned on you this morning, but the thought of shooting him scares you more. You can’t shoot the man you love. You can’t turn on each other.

“Shhh, it’s ok. It’s gonna be a’right.” Will soothes you as your tears starts to fall, drawing his head down to yours as he softly strokes your cheek, wiping at your tears.

“That’s not gonna happen. It’s not gonna come to that. I just need to know your safe.” He whispers to you softly, like he used to when you were a scared little girl.

Alone in the building after your father went off to the pub. Leaving you to fend for yourself and protect yourself against the other boarders in your apartment, some single men. Never knowing what would happen if someone tried to have their way with you, but Will was there, holding your hand well into the night, promising to fight off anyone who tried to lay a hand on you, before he’d sneak out when your old man stumbled home.

Will leans in and kisses your mouth, soft and deep. His lips pressing into yours in the old familiar way that always makes your heart racing, but your fear quiet. You run your hand up along his hair, but as he winces you instantly remember. Pulling back quick you finally get a good look at it, you see a jagged cut going into his hairline held together by blood and stiches. Tears spring to your eyes once again with the sight of it as your fingertips faintly touch the scalp around it.

“Oh my god Will, I’m so sorry.” You apologize profusely, your throat closing in around your words as you look at what you did to him.

Taking your hand from the cut, Will draws it to his lips giving your fingertips a gentle peck.

“Ya did the right thing, Addy. You defended yourself just like I taught ya. Nobody lays a hand on my girl, she’s got grit.” He smiles at you, trying to win a smile off you in return as he reassures you he’s alright, giving your fingertips one more quick kiss.

“It’s gonna heal up just fine.” He licks his lips and you can tell by the glint in his eyes he has something more to tell you.

“I talked to the Doc today like ya asked, after he stitched me up.” He tells you softly, trying to ease some of your concerns. Rubbing your hand between his before he laces your fingers.

“They don’ know nothin, babe. Nobody seems to know anythin bout what’s goin on in my head. They just tell ya to move on, put it behind you, your home.” Will tells you, a hopelessness plaguing his eyes once again before his face drops down against your laced hands.

You watch as the muscles in his shoulders tighten and tense. He’s struggling. Facing the fight of his life and he’s facing it alone, but not completely. You need him to know you will stand against the gates of hell with him, by his side, and never waiver. If that’s what it takes. Just like he always stood by you.

“But I got somethin.” He sounds a little more hopeful. His face rising again to offer you a sad smile.

“I ran into Tommy today. An’ he gave me something that’s gonna help with the nerves, help me get some sleep…”

Your heart pains with Tommy’s name. It’s a bittersweet elixir, because you know, having seen him today, Tommy spoke with Will because of your talk. He did it for you and that only resurfaces all the old familiar guilt churning inside you as you try to protect Will from what you did and live with it yourself. But then Will’s searching your eyes and he looks so damn hopeful. And you can hear before he ever starts speaking, he needs you to have hope too.

“I’m gonna figure out what’s going on with me, Addy, with or without the Docs. You’ll see, I can be the man you want me to be. I can be who I was before.” He promises you and you can see it in his eyes, he needs you to believe him. He needs this as much as you do.

You nod easily, taking his word as you reach for him. Will pulls you onto his lap, into his arms, holding you desperately tightly against him as he buries his face against the comfort of your breast. You wrap him in your arms, stroking back the long strands of his hair as you place a gentle kiss atop his head and press your cheek to him.

Part 5

#Tommy Shelby #thomas shelby #Peaky Blinders #tommy shelby x oc #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby fanfiction #thomas shelby x oc #thomas shelby imagine #thomas shelby fanfiction #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders fanfic

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lawchan89 · 7 years ago

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Starco Christmas prompt - Blanket Fort

A little fluff piece I dished out to try and get myself back in a writing groove.

Feel free to send me any Starco Christmas/holiday related prompts! I may actually write a few of them :)

“Star?” Marco called, slipping through the door of her bedroom quickly before shutting it. She did say her room, right? he thought, checking the note she had scrawled to him quickly on a torn piece of parchment. Yep. But where is she?

All he could see was darkness, shadows of shapes outlined by the four moons glowing through the open window. One of those shapes looked strange, like a tent had been pitched in the middle of her floor. Stuffing the note back in his hoodie pocket, Marco cautiously gripped the handle of his scissors before drawing closer.

“Star? Are you th-- whoa!”

He jumped back, shielding his eyes as the room was suddenly bathed in light. It was a sort of tent, and what looked like several strands of fairy lights were strung around the poles. He saw a shadow bound towards where two of the sheets serving as panels parted, and the face of his girlfriend poked through them.

“Hey Marco! Took you long enough.”

“What is this?” Marco asked, kneeling down to her level once his eyes had adjusted to the change in light. “Are we going camping indoors?”

“It’s a blanket fort, duh,” Star rolled her eyes as if it were the most obvious thing. “But I made it look all pretty for Earth’s Stump Day!”

Marco’s forehead wrinkled, “Earth’s Stump D-- oh, you mean Christmas.”

“Yeah, that!” Star said, pointing at him triumphantly. “Wait, so that’s not the one with the candles that Starfan13 celebrates, right?”

“That’s Hanukkah,” Marco clarified. “My family celebrates Christmas.”

“Oh phew, good. Last thing I wanna do is offend anyone.” Moving aside, she swept the hanging sheet aside with a flourish and gestured for him to enter. “Enter la casa de Navidad, Señor Diaz.”

Marco crawled inside, instantly feeling more warm and cozy within the little nook than he had all day. Every blanket was red and green, the pillows stacked against the wall white with silver snowflakes. Even the panels seemed to shimmer with glitter, giving the illusion of falling snow. He suspected Star’s wand had been involved for that.

“So, you like it?”

“It’s nice,” Marco sighed, throwing himself onto one of the pillow piles and closing his eyes. Only then did he realize just how tired he was. Knight training been especially brutal today, and while he had sparred against Kelly for the past two weeks to make sure he was in top form, he hadn’t anticipated the blizzard that would whip down upon Mewni for most of the day. As if half freezing to death wasn’t bad enough, River had called him into his study once he returned to the castle to have a “talk” with him. At first he had thought he was going to be lectured for not accelerating as quickly as he should. Now Marco wished that had been what it was.

“Mind if I join you?”

“Sure your parents won’t be upset?”

Star snorted. “Why? Plan on being a little frisky tonight, Diaz?”

“A true squire would never treat his princess indecently,” Marco stated with his eyes still shut, holding his hand up in the air as if taking an oath before letting it drop lazily. He felt slender fingers lace themselves through his, her body slide down beside him as Star placed his hand around her waist, and a pair of soft lips caress the end of his nose.

“What happened?” She could read him like a book.

“I don’t really wanna talk about it,” Marco mumbled.

“C’mon...whatever it is, you can tell me.” Star bit her lip. She’d wasted so much time feeling like a terrible friend to him ever since she made him her squire, giving him orders in the midst of her overwhelming duties while he was ready to die protecting her, that once she became his girlfriend, she was determined to be the best one she could be. One that he deserved.

Marco shook his head, opening his weary eyes to find hers locked onto his in concern, and drew her even closer to him. “Just stay here.”

“Okay…” She turned her head to gaze up at the lights above their heads, and Marco followed suit. Something about the lights and the colors surrounding them made it feel like Christmas was alive in this tiny space. A time when people put their worries aside for a little while and just basked in the warmth of those they loved. Star let out a sigh of her own, snuggling into Marco’s arms under several comfy blankets to rest her ear against his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat. If this was what Marco wanted right now, then that was what he’d receive.

Marco titled her chin upward, his eyes lowering to her lips, slightly parted and glossy with balm, before he took a taste of them with his own. She deepened it and he succumbed willingly, cupping his hands around her head, his fingers tangling her mussed blonde hair while she slid her hands inside his hoodie, nails digging at the t-shirt underneath.

“Star…” he mumbled once their lips were free, letting his head fall back on the pillows.

“Yeah?” Star breathed, resting her chin on his chest. The anxiety briefly relieved by their passion had returned to his eyes, and she let her finger trail under his jawline almost coaxingly.

“Your dad and I had a discussion today,” Marco finally blurted out, turning his head to face her. “He doesn’t think I should continue my knight training.”

“W-what? Why?” Star sat up, her baby blues flashing, sounding outraged as her voice rose in volume. “You’re doing great! I think so, Mom thinks so, the royal guard, Kelly -- even Tom thinks so! What is Dad’s deal?!”

“Star--”

“I swear, first thing tomorrow, I’m gonna straighten this out.”

“Star, listen--”

“Nah forget that, I’m gonna march in there right now and tell him that you--!”

“He wants me to start prince consort training instead.”

Star blinked. “Say that again?”

“Prince consort training,” Marco repeated, each word making the bile rise higher into his throat. “He figures now that I’m legally an adult, I should stop fooling around.”

“What does that even mean, ‘fooling around’?” Star spluttered, her fingers scrambling for the ends of her hair to tug on them. “Knights have a very serious dangerous job protecting this kingdom! C-Consort training? That’s-- that’s insane!”

“Isn’t the prince consort...like...the husband of the future queen?”

“Or, ya know, steady boyfriend,” Star panted out, whirling away from him and clutching at her scalp, her knees drawn to her chest in a fetal position. “I know we’ve been dating for a couple years now, but Daddy wanting this so soon-- is he out of his mind?!”

“Your Mom’s apparently on board, too.”

Star growled, “They’re both gonna hear it from me!”

“Star, wait!” Marco grabbed her around the waist before she could exit the blanket fort and flung her against the wall of pillows. “I’m not saying anything has to be set in stone right now. But, maybe in the future...do you think me being your prince consort might be...a thing?”

Star exhaled, “Not if you keep throwing me against pillows like that.”

“Sorry,” Marco said, wringing his hands in his lap. “This whole thing, it just--”

“Freaked you out,” Star nodded understandingly, sliding back towards him on the piles of blankets. One of her hands cupped his face, her thumb gently rubbing over the mole under his right eye. “I just don’t get it. We don’t have any laws against princesses dating knights. And even if we did, I could change it.”

“I think your parents are...worried about me. Knights go on the front lines in battle, don’t they? If a war breaks out and I’m officially sworn into the ranks, there’s a good chance I might…” He trailed off, wiping his now sweating palms on his jeans. “They’re just trying to lessen the chances of something happening to me. For your sake.” His saddened brown eyes bore into her glistening blue ones, as if purposefully trying to lose himself in them. “You know I’d do anything to protect you. But the last thing I wanna do is break your heart.”

Star blinked back a sudden onset of tears, “Oh Marco...” She cradled his head as he buried his face in her nape, at a loss for words. She loved and admired him for his bravery, his ever-present willingness to stand by her side no matter what. But that often led them to deadly situations, and while Star knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she could face them with Marco, the possibility of ever having to face a future without him was too much for her to bear.

“Look,” she finally spoke up after a few silent minutes, “I like things the way they are now.”

“Me too,” Marco sighed happily, the absolute happiest he had ever felt as he tugged Star gently back into his arms. “But it’s not gonna stay this way. Everything’s changing really fast.”

“It’s been like that for awhile. But even through all of that, I’ve always been able to depend on you. You’ve...always been there Marco.” She slipped her arms around his neck, kissing both of his cheeks and finally his lips. “And I’d like to keep you here.”

“So if we had no responsibilities, no royal titles to worry about, and we didn’t just turn eighteen…” Marco swallowed hard, “Would you say you’d marry me if I asked you right now?”

“Probably,” Star snorted, “‘Cause I’m reckless and make hasty decisions, like Mom says.”

“Was I a hasty decision?”

The princess shook her head, exhaling slowly as her squire’s lips pressed against her jaw and inched down her neck. “No. That’s why you were the best one I ever made.” She cupped Marco’s face to get him to look at her, “If you agree to do the consort thing, I’ll go with you to your training until you feel comfortable.”

“You sure?” Marco asked. “I-I don’t wanna take away from your queen training.”

Star scoffed, “Whatever, Mom’s not going anywhere anytime soon. And besides, after all the time you’ve spent supporting and protecting me, it’s about time I returned the favor.”

Marco pulled the colorful wool blankets back up so he could tuck them around his girlfriend, so snugly until only her head peeked out. She looked so adorable in that moment that he couldn’t help chuckling. Pressing his forehead to hers, he let his fingers idly trace the hearts on her cheeks. “Thanks, Star. And Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, Marco.”

And above them, the fairy lights continued to twinkle as they both drifted off into a peaceful slumber in each other’s embrace.

#lawchan writes #star vs the forces of evil #starco #starco christmas prompts

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welllpthisishappening · 7 years ago

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Tripping Over the Blue Line (39/45)

It’s a transition. That’s what Emma’s calling it. She’s transitioning from one team to another, from one coast to another and she’s definitely not worried. Nope. She’s fine. Really. She’s promised Mary Margaret ten times already. So she got fired. Whatever. She’s fine, ready to settle into life with the New York Rangers. She’s got a job to do. And she doesn’t care about Killian Jones, captain of the New York Rangers. At all.

He’s done. One more season and he’s a free agent and he’s out. It’s win or nothing for Killian. He’s going to win a Stanley Cup and then he’s going to stop being the face of the franchise and he’s going to go play for some other garbage team where his name won’t be used as puns in New York Post headlines. That’s the plan. And Emma Swan, director of New York Rangers community relations isn’t going to change that. At all.

They are both horrible liars.

Rating: Mature Content Warnings: Swearing, eventual hockey-type violence AN: Welcome to Los Angeles, hotbed of NHL drama. At least in this version of the NHL. It gets real dramatic guys, but Roland Locksley is here to be painfully adorable in front of media hordes, so there’s some give and take. We’re closing in on the end of this whole story and your continued feelings and thoughts and clicks just absolutely blows my mind. You’re all incredible. Screaming the praises of @laurnorder, @distant-rose & @beautiful-swan forever and ever. Also on Ao3, FF.net & tag’ed up on Tumblr

“Is it always sunny here?” Will asked, squinting up at the sky like he was actually in pain.

Killian rolled his eyes and Roland laughed softly next to him, tugging on the bottom of his jacket and while he certainly wasn’t about to complain about sunshine, it was fairly hot. And they couldn’t take the jackets off.

He wouldn’t complain.

He’d just sweat to death. Probably.

“Shut up, Scarlet,” Robin muttered, brushing against him as he swung open one of the doors on the side of the Staples Center.

Will made a face, pulling Roland away from Killian’s side and slinging his arm over his shoulder – as if that would somehow protect him from age-old insults and jabs just a few minutes before league-mandated media days.

Roland couldn’t stop laughing. He and Henry had gotten new merch almost as soon as they clinched – Eastern Conference champion t-shirts and hats and sweatshirts and, now, they were both in their own Stanley Cup Finals jerseys that Killian was half convinced they'd never actually take off.

“Just because you don’t have a kid wearing your jersey doesn’t mean you have to be a jerk about it,” Killian said, widening his eyes knowingly.

Will groaned. “Whatever.” “Hit the nail right on the head then, didn’t I?” “You aren’t Mrs. V, you don’t get to just start shouting clichés at me, Cap.” “I hardly think I shouted anything at you. We’re having this normal, calm conversation, like normal, calm people. You’re the one freaking out.” “Who’s freaking out, Hook?” Roland asked, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet as he started tugging on suit jackets again.

“Uncle Will,” Killian said.

“Ok,” Will snapped, turning on Killian and Roland with his arms crossed tightly over his chest. “First of all, I am not freaking out. I am hot.” “Presumptuous.” Robin rolled his eyes and Killian grinned, glancing down at Roland, who, it appeared, was finding all of this more amusing than just about anything. “Don’t antagonize him,” Robin sighed, brushing his hand over Henry’s shoulder.

“Scarlet’s words, not mine,” Killian laughed.

“Warm,” Will corrected and he still hadn’t uncrossed his arms. “I am warm. Because it is perpetually sunny here and we have to wear these stupid jackets.” “Those stupid jackets let you keep your job.” “I could pay the fine,” Will said quickly. “How much you think it’d be if I just showed up to media in a t-shirt and shorts?” “More than you can afford,” Ruby answered, appearing at the end of the hallway with a smug look on her face and no league-mandated jacket.

“You don’t know that. For real though, how much do you think it’d be, Lucas?” “Too much,” she said, heels echoing on the floor when she walked towards them with a clipboard in one hand and her phone in the other. She didn’t look at any of them when she moved, a picture of media relations efficiency and something that might have been frustration because Killian had absolutely been trying to antagonize Scarlet.

Will grumbled, kicking at something that wasn’t actually on the floor as Ruby’s fingers flew across her phone screen. “Does it ever rain in Los Angeles? I’d really love if it would rain. Or at least maybe a few clouds.” “You’re a pessimist, aren’t you?” “Warm, Lucas. I am warm.” “Maybe you should take a shower before media.” “Ok, see, that’s just rude.”

“They call it the sunshine state for a reason, don’t they?” “I don’t think that’s California,” Robin objected. “Cap, what’s California?” Killian made a face and held his hands up. “Why would I know that?”

“You think Emma knows?” “Why would anyone care about that?” “You guys are always doing that cutesy fact thing. And Liam totally made you learn what all the states were at some point. That’s almost too on point for him.” “He never did that, although I will pay you a good amount of money to tell Liam he missed out on some sort of academic activity. Maybe it is sunshine, then.” “That’s Florida,” Henry corrected and four wide-eyed adults stared at him. “Florida’s the sunshine state. California’s the golden state.” “How’d you know that?” “I do go to school sometimes.” “Sometimes?” “Well when you guys aren’t in the Cup Finals.” “And he’s still got homework to do,” Robin added as Henry sighed dramatically.

Killian laughed, hauling Roland up without even really considering it and everyone in a five-foot radius rolled their eyes. “You’re going to hurt yourself,” Robin muttered.

“It’s because you’re old,” Will added. “And, you know, what? You guys might have vaguely adorable children wearing your jerseys now, but, but , I’m some kind of fan favorite. What do you two say to a friendly little bet?” “What?” Killian asked, rolling his shoulder so Roland’s weight shifted a bit more comfortably. He was definitely going to hurt himself.

“A bet,” Will repeated.

“No, I heard you. I just don’t understand where this is going.” Ruby was tapping her heel impatiently and her phone hadn’t stopped making noise since they’d landed at LAX the day before. “If you guys could do this at, literally, any other time, that’d be absolutely fantastic.” “You got some kind of schedule to stick to, Lucas?” Killian asked and she glared at him.

“You know I do and you know Emma does too. Don’t act like you don’t.” He couldn’t really shrug since there was a seven-year-old wearing a Locksley jersey draped over his shoulder, but Killian hummed in agreement. He knew, had seen the to-do-list for the day that morning and Emma’s phone made almost as much noise as Ruby’s.

Will let out a low whistle, throwing a meaningful glance towards Robin. “Uh oh, Cap, were you not in your assigned room last night?” “Oh my God,” Killian sighed. “Lucas, what happened to this schedule?” Ruby made a noise in the back of her throat, smile threatening to overtake her face and Killian didn’t appreciate being backed into some sort of metaphorical corner like this. Will nearly fell over, arm clutching his side tightly as his whole body shook with laughter.

“Alright,” Ruby said sharply, falling back into business as soon as her phone vibrated four times in a row. “You’ve each got a table out there and people who want to talk to you. You sit, you answer questions, you don’t say anything stupid and, after a half an hour of this, you get up from those tables and those people and you find me and we go to Emma’s fan event and you smile for those people and then you go to skate. Got it?” “That was very efficient, Lucas,” Killian said.

“Shut up, Jones. Or I’ll tell Emma on you.” “Tell Emma what, exactly?” “That you’re being an ass.” “Ruby,” he snapped and she hissed in air through her teeth, tossing an apologetic look towards Roland.

“Sorry, Rol.”

“It’s ok,” Roland promised, never one to be too upset at the decidedly not-quite-family tendencies of a team trying to win its first Cup in several decades.

“He’s got a new jersey, he doesn’t care,” Robin reasoned. He rested his hand on Roland’s back, thumb tapping against his number and Killian wished they’d get on with media day so they could get on with the rest of the schedule and he could get back to a hotel room he hadn’t been assigned to.

This Los Angeles trip was going to be better. This wouldn’t end in fights and arguments and trade prospects. They were going to win here.

Roland moved, twisting Killian’s jacket as he tried to pull himself up to look at him. “Can I come with you, Hook?” “What?” Killian asked and Ruby had her phone out again. He heard a shutter snap and Roland had moved off his shoulder, balanced on his side and his arm and Ariel would kill him if he actually hurt himself because of this. “God, Ruby, what are you doing?” “This is painfully adorable. It should be Snapchat'ed.” “That seems more PR than you.” “That seems like none of your business,” she muttered distractedly, waving one hand in her face while her other hand sent out pictures to social media without his permission. “Bring Rol with you, it’s super cute.” Killian glanced at Robin – who seemed torn somewhere in between terrified at the prospect of arguing with the schedule and what would happen when Regina found out Roland was on the New York Rangers Snapchat. He shrugged and pulled Henry against his side.

“You want to come with me, Henry?” Robin asked. “We’ll confuse ‘em with mismatching jerseys.” Henry nodded enthusiastically and Ruby looked overjoyed. This was an addition to the schedule that would, probably, spark half a dozen headlines and it was positive and adorable and didn’t require her to do any extra work.

“Alright, mate,” Killian said, finally meeting Roland’s expectant gaze. “Let’s go talk to the horde.” Ruby groaned and he’d absolutely done it for the reaction. “Ok, well don’t call them that when you get out there,” she shouted, but Killian just waved his hand behind him as he moved down the hallway.

It wasn’t really that bad.

Roland was as good a buffer as any Killian could have asked for and half of the first round of questions were about him and his thoughts on the series and why exactly he had a nickname for the captain of the New York Rangers.

There were a lot of questions and a lot of voices and Killian wasn’t convinced his eyes hadn’t suffered permanent damage from the vaguely ridiculous amount of lights around them, but it wasn’t bad.

It was, almost, fun.

“What about the bet?”

Killian snapped his head up, eyebrows drawn low in confusion at a reporter who absolutely wasn’t from New York.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he said.

“Scarlet said there was a bet.” He groaned and Roland was actually sitting on his media table now, legs crossed underneath him as he surveyed the sea of reporters around them. “Of course he did,” Killian muttered. “What did he say the terms were?”

The reporter nodded once, glancing around to make sure the rest of the media horde noticed him. Killian tried not to groan again.

“Point, hits and ice time,” he said. “Add ‘em up, subtract any penalties, and between you and Scarlet, whoever ends up with the most after the first two games of the series. Wins.” “And the losers?” “Buy the other one’s jerseys and wear ‘em before the New York games.” “Pretty tame bet.” The guy shrugged. “He said something about team competition and getting the line back on track and, well, keeping you on the first line.” “Naturally,” Killian sighed, rolling his eyes and it didn’t even surprise him that Scarlet had taken the chance to publicly mock his line demotion. That’s what he got for making fun of him before. “Anything else?” “Not about the bet.” Killian sat up a bit straighter and even Roland seemed to notice the change in the reporter’s tone, pulling up towards the front of the table to swing his legs over the edge. “What about then?” he asked.

“About you and Milah Onde.”

His mouth dropped open and Roland made a noise, a gasp of understanding that Killian didn’t quite expect from a seven-year-old. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Killian said, tongue darting over his lips and he pressed his arms against his side like he was willing the tattoo to disappear from underneath his jacket.

The reporter clicked his tongue and shook his head. “See, I’m fairly certain that you do. I’ve got sources.” “Yeah, who?” “I’m afraid I can’t just say who, but they’re credible and they put Milah Onde in the car at the same time as you when you got hurt.”

Killian swallowed and the room suddenly felt very small. It wasn’t. It was enormous. It was a goddamn conference room and there were no less than twenty different media outlets standing a few feet in front of them, every single one of them waiting for him to say something.

Anything.

He had to actually say something.

He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his lips together tightly, trying to force the oxygen back into his lungs and come up with something, anything, that wasn’t this moment – getting on the ice and skating and scoring and he was on some kind of multi-game point streak, they should want to talk about that.

They shouldn’t want to talk about this.

No one else knew about this. Who knew about Milah? Robin and Gina and Scarlet and Ruby and Liam and Elsa and Anna. That was it.

And Emma.

Emma knew about Milah and the accident and every single moment of that night.

Emma.

Killian opened his eyes and something felt like it had shifted in that entirely too-big conference room, staring out at a mass of reporters with an easy stare that didn’t quite make sense for whatever situation he’d stumbled into.

Emma.

Emma knew and Emma didn’t care and Emma wasn’t the source and that was enough. No matter what they printed.

“Any sort of comment, Killian?” the reporter asked, eyebrows lifted and phone held loosely in his hand. “About Milah? You know, from what I can tell by the records I’ve been given, that divorce was never final. She died before it went through.” Roland shifted on the table, turning around to look at Killian. He smiled.

“I’ve got nothing to say,” Killian answered, pulling Roland back towards him and resting his hand on the Locksley emblazoned across his back.

“What about the new one?” “Excuse me?” “Well, you two haven’t exactly been shy about it? You and the front office girl. She’s kind of a perennial dater isn’t she? Although at least this one isn’t married.”

Roland stood up and Killian didn’t even try to stop him, mouth hanging open again and breath rushing out of him and, goddamnit, where was Ruby?

“Leave Emma alone,” Roland half shouted, a response before Killian could even begin to formulate coherent thoughts.

That woke him up. “Sit down, mate,” Killian muttered and the reporter laughed.

“Thanks for the tip, kid,” he said, glancing around at the crowd that was still standing there waiting for Killian to acknowledge Milah. “Anything else you’d like to add, Cap? Maybe, what’s her name, Emma, got handed this job with the Rangers because she’s good friends with your media director? Or how you two have proved a complete distraction for this entire team throughout the season? Anything?” “We’re in the Cup Finals,” Killian answered. “Doesn’t seem like much of a distraction.” “That seemed like a confirmation, Cap.” Killian rolled his eyes. “That what you want?” “Whatever you’ll give.” “Alright,” he said sharply, hand still on Roland’s back. “Fine. I am dating Emma Swan. It is not a distraction. For me or anyone else on my team. She’s ridiculously good at her job and your source probably should have mentioned that when they were giving you the rundown on all of this. None of it, however, has anything to do with getting on the ice or winning a Cup, which is why we’re here right now. So unless you’ve got a question about that, then we’re done.” He stood up, nearly knocking the chair over behind him and Roland was still smiling. “C’mon, mate,” Killian muttered, holding his hand out. Roland jumped off the table and jogged towards Ruby, standing just a few feet away from them, looking as if the entire world was about to crash down around them.

“A little late, huh, Lucas?” he asked.

“Scarlet was explaining the bet to anyone who would listen. I didn’t….” “I know,” Killian interrupted. “It’s fine.” “It is the opposite of fine.” “That too. Who was that? He’s not from New York is he?” Ruby shook her head and, eventually, Roland was going to get tired of being pulled against people’s sides of some sort of child-based support system. “He got credentialed through the Kings. He’s like TMZ, but somehow worse since TMZ is almost actual journalism now.” “What?” “You know, they break a lot of stories and especially in sports…” “No, no, that’s not what I meant. I meant he got credentialed through the Kings? You’re sure?” “Well, I didn’t do it. So it must have been.” “Who’d be in charge of that?”

Ruby shrugged. “It depends team to team. With stuff like this it’s probably a couple of different people, honestly.” “But just you in New York?” “I’m very specific about who gets in.” “You’re a control freak is what you’re saying,” Killian laughed and Ruby actually stuck her tongue out. “So it could be media relations and PR then? Some kind of joint credential effort?” “What are you getting at?” Killian raised his eyebrows and it was almost too obvious when Ruby understood. “Oh, shit,” she muttered. “Sorry, Rol. Again. Don’t tell your dad I said that.”

“Is that possible?” Killian pressed.

“It could be,” Ruby admitted. “Cover your ears, Rol.” Roland did as instructed, smiling widely at Killian as he moved his hands. “Shit,” she repeated, stamping her foot for good measure. “God fucking damnit. Emma’s going to lose her mind. She’s going to kill him, you know that?” “I’d probably help, honestly.” “Well neither one of you can actually do that.” “No one else knows,” Killian said. “About Milah and the accident. No one except Gold. And, now, maybe, Neal who’s credentialing gossip websites to write stories about it. I don’t get it.” “For real?” Killian shrugged. “Gold is all about control,” Ruby explained. “Or that’s what it seems like at least. And if he bought the Kings last year and brought in all his new people then he did it for a reason. To win a Cup. You’re on some kind of ridiculous point streak and this team is good and this could work, Cap. This team can win. He knows it. So he’s fighting with something else. It’s a distraction, all over again.” “That’s insane.” “Nah,” Ruby objected. “That’s front office politics.” “But why drag Emma into it?” “A complete takedown. I mean, they fired her too didn’t they?”

Killian nodded slowly, breathing coming in short gasps and it did, almost, make sense. Maybe not in the real world where there was a Cup to win and a max deal to sign, but in this world where everything seemed flipped on its head, it was almost too obvious.

“He’s trying to break you apart,” Ruby continued, taking his silence for misunderstanding. “Both of you. If you’re thinking about the past and worried about Emma, then he’s winning. And the team gets distracted and the New York tabs drag you over some metaphorical coals.” “Fuck,” Killian mumbled, running a hand through his hair. “Jeez, sorry, mate.” Roland didn’t seem impressed, head tilted up to stare at him intently. “Hook,” he said and Killian hummed distractedly. “Are you and Emma going to break up?” “What? No, why would you think that?”

“I don’t know,” Roland mumbled, a lie so obvious Killian was surprised it didn’t come with a flashing neon sign as well.

Killian crouched down, pulling on the bottom of the brand-new jersey and Roland wouldn’t meet his eyes. “No one’s leaving, mate,” he said seriously. “I promise.” Roland nodded slowly, still staring at his shoes. “Ok,” he mumbled. “Because I like Emma.” “I do too.” “You might want to mention that,” Ruby added, pushing her phone into Killian’s face. “Several times. As soon as you see her.” Killian sighed, eyes closing lightly and it didn’t really matter because that headline was going to be seared into his memory for the rest of his life. “Cover your ears, mate,” he said before muttering every single curse he could think of.

She was working when they got to the fan event and Killian’s phone battery was somewhere in the realm of very dead , a string of text messages from half a dozen people who all demanded to know what was going on .

Elsa had sent the link to the tweet.

As if he hadn’t seen it. And thought about nothing except the tweet the entire car ride to the fan event.

Regina was, apparently, going to kill him.

She’d have to get in line.

“Come on, Cap,” Ruby muttered, pushing on the back of his jacket as he stepped through the door. “One foot in front of the other.”

Robin shot her a meaningful look – his phone in his hand and Regina was texting all of them now – but Ruby didn’t move her hand or stop muttering semi-supportive nonsense in Killian’s ear as he walked into the restaurant.

“Lucas, I haven’t lost my motor skills,” he hissed and Emma, somehow, managed to hear that, even with Merida a few feet behind her and a crease between her eyebrows.

They’d hit traffic.

Los Angeles was the worst city in the entire world.

“Hey,” Emma shouted, waving her hand towards a table and a line of fans. There was merch everywhere. She was wearing merch – a shirt with Cup Readyemblazoned across the front and Killian bit the inside of his lip to stop himself from kissing her right there in the middle of a chain restaurant in downtown Los Angeles.

“We hit traffic,” Killian explained, answering a question he hadn’t actually been asked. Emma lowered her eyebrows.

“You ok?”

“Fine.” “Jones.” “You didn’t get any text messages did you? Actual phone calls? Mary Margaret planning my death in frightening detail?” Emma tilted her head, a shadow of a smile tugging on the ends of her mouth and she crossed her arms slowly, staring at him like he’d started speaking a different language. They were very behind schedule. And his phone vibrated again.

“I haven’t been able to check my phone,” Emma said. “I’ve been kind of busy trying to make sure the fans didn’t start rioting when you guys were ten minutes late.” “Traffic.”

“So you mentioned.” “If we go talk somewhere right now, do you think the fans will actually start to riot?” Emma tugged her hair back over her shoulder, lip pressed tightly in between her teeth and she shook her head. “Mer,” she yelled, glancing over her shoulder at her assistant. “Get them all in line and Locksley and Scarlet can sign and photo op now.” “What about Cap?” Merida asked, nodding in Killian’s direction. He’d never actually sat down.

“Later.” Merida didn’t object. She very clearly wanted to. “Ok,” she said. “Here’s your phone, boss. You left it in the kitchen. It’s been buzzing nonstop.” “Of course it has.” Killian groaned. “Merida, is there somewhere that isn’t filled with chanting fans right now?” “Probably the kitchen,” she answered, moving her shoulder in the same direction she’d walked out of a few moments before.

“Alright. Come on, Swan.” He held his hand out without really thinking about it and the fans cheered when they weaved their way through the crowd, some of them trying to pat him on the back while others shouted detailed game plans that absolutely would not work on the ice.

Killian counted no less than five different shutter snaps and Emma’s hand was wrapped up in his. They pushed their way through the kitchen and a few employees glanced up at the sound, eyes going wide when they noticed Killian.

Two more shutter snaps.

“Jesus Christ,” he grumbled, pulling Emma behind him towards a corner and this was ridiculous.

“What’s going on with you?” Emma asked. Her phone buzzed in her hand.

“You should probably read those. I bet El sent you the link too.” “Link?”

“Tweet. Screenshot. Whatever. I wouldn’t be surprised if Banana had some very detailed opinions for you as well. She sent me ten text messages in a row.”

“About?” Killian sighed and there was no way around it. They had to talk about it. They had to resolutely ignore it. And make sure David didn’t follow through on any of the threats he’d sent Killian’s way that afternoon.

“There was a guy at media,” Killian started. “From some gossip site.” “A gossip site?” “Yeah. Started asking about some bet Scarlet wants us to agree to during the Finals and then all of the sudden started asking about...Milah.” Emma’s eyes widened and she reached her hand out quickly, gripping the front of his jacket of instinct. That almost made him feel better.

“Wait, what,” she sputtered, glancing around the kitchen like that guy’s source would suddenly appear in front of them. Just another shutter click. “Who would know that? I thought…” “No, you’re right, Swan.” “Gold?” Killian nodded slowly, tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek, and Emma’s eyes, somehow, got wider. “Lucas thinks so. And, well, maybe someone else.” “I don’t understand.” “Neal.” “Oh shit.” “Exactly.” “Is that who Ruby thinks credentialed this gossip guy?” “Smart, Swan,” Killian smiled and maybe he did actually feel better.

“I don’t know if that’s an actual compliment. God, what an ass. Ruby said she didn’t credential that guy?” Killian shook his head and Elsa needed to put her phone down. The text messages were nonstop. She’d probably teamed up with Anna. And he was too busy worried about his own phone that he didn’t notice Emma looking down at hers, only realizing what had happened when she let out a low whistle and took another step towards him.

“Is this real?” Emma asked, voice low and Killian’s shoulders sagged under the weight of disappointment three words could hold.

“Yeah.” “Like...this is out there. In the world. On the internet. Where people can see it?” “Yeah,” he repeated. He deserved every single threat David had sent him. And the ones Regina sent. And the ones Elsa and Anna were, probably, coming up with while he stood stock still in a kitchen with Emma still staring at your phone.

It wasn’t much of a story – more a headline with a Swan pun and Emma’s picture and promises of all the details of her trail of NHL stars and how she got her job in New York, something in that final paragraph about her and Killian and what she’d done to get her own department.

It wasn’t intelligent writing. It was drivel. It was stupid.

It was all over the goddamn internet.

“Who sent it to you?” Killian asked, positive he didn’t actually want the answer. He wanted to get on the ice. He wanted to hit something.

He wanted to kiss Emma without a kitchen employee taking another picture of them.

“El,” Emma answered.

“Of course. You know, you’d think she had other things to do.” “Oh God, Anna is texting me? I think. I don’t actually have her number.”

“Here let me see,” Killian said, holding his hand out. He didn’t even have to look at the number. The whole message was in caps lock. “Yeah, that’s Banana. El probably gave her your number. They’ve been taking turns yelling at me for the last forty-five minutes.” “Yelling? Why?”

She looked genuinely confused and maybe just a bit protective or defensive. Huh.

“Swan, did you read the story?” “I mean it’s not really much of a story.” “That’s true,” Killian admitted. “But this is exactly what you were worried about from the very beginning. This is, well, this is everything you didn’t want on some sort of national scale. El and Banana aren’t very happy with me. Neither are Regina or David, for that matter.” “David?” “I think it made it onto the subReddit.”

“Jeez. I’ll text him.” “No, no,” Killian said quickly, fingers wrapping around her wrist as she tried to swipe her thumb across her phone. “Don’t do that.” “What?” “Don’t text David. It’s not...he’s not wrong.” “This is all wrong,” Emma argued, tapping her finger on the side of her phone. “I mean aside from the us dating, but that’s been kind of obvious. God, did they try and make it seem like Graham and I dated?”

She laughed. She actually laughed, smile on her face and eyes tracing across his face and Killian wasn’t certain he’d loved her more than he did right then.

In the middle of a kitchen with fans chanting for him a few feet away.

“Is this the part of the conversation where I say that everyone is probably halfway in love with you, whether they dated you or not?” Killian asked and it was far too easy to talk to her.

It always had been. From the very beginning. It was far too easy to tease and joke and his pulse pounded in his ears, far too focused on Emma’s reaction to one tweet than any potential story about someone he loved six years ago.

Emma rolled her eyes, but she was still smiling and she muttered charmer under her breath. “Are you ok?” she asked.

“Swan, you can’t possibly be asking me that.” “I just did. What else did the guy say?” “Are we not worried about this? David went into some very specific details about what he was going to do when we landed in New York.” “Yeah, well he’s always been absurdly overprotective. I’m surprised he did that though, he’s very worried about messing up your pre-game schedule.” “I think he’s more worried about you.” She shrugged – a dismissive move that sent a shockwave of something down Killian’s spine and it might have been his own need to protect. “Swan,” Killian continued, fingers still wrapped around her wrist. “I’m serious.” “So am I. Come on, tell me what this guy said.”

Killian took a deep breath and Emma didn’t blink, just stared and waited for an answer. “He knew she was in the car.” “What?”

“Yeah.” “And he just told you that? He didn’t want a comment?” “Oh, no he definitely wanted a comment.” “You didn’t yell at him did you?” “I know how to answer questions, Swan,” Killian sighed. Emma made a face and there wasn’t really any space in between them, but she found some anyway, forehead resting on his chest and he couldn’t stop himself from moving, lips brushing over her hair as his hand wrapped around her waist. “And it was no comment. Or something like that.” “Something like that,” she repeated, voice muffled just a bit by his jacket. “Where was Ruby this whole time?” “Dealing with Scarlet and the bet.” “That almost doesn’t surprise me.” “A distraction.” Emma scoffed, tapping out a rhythm against his side, and he kissed her again. It was too easy. And she hadn’t run. She’d leaned against him – quite literally.

“I love you,” Emma mumbled and Killian squeezed his eyes closed.

“I love you too, Swan. More than anything.” More than gossip sites or ex-boyfriends giving out credentials to less-than-reputable news sources or even a team owner who, it appeared, wanted to tear Killian down from the past to the present.

He didn’t say that part.

He didn’t really have to.

“Some sort of team, right?” Emma asked. “That was the agreement.” “An enthusiastic one.” “Then we’ll deal with it. Let them write whatever they want about me.” The kitchen door swung open and they both should have expected Regina sooner, but they’d already spent far too much time in that kitchen. “Are you kidding?” Regina snapped, staring at Killian. “You walked out?” “You walked out?” Emma said, head pulled up and mouth hanging open and there was nowhere to actually hide in the middle of a kitchen. “I thought you said you told them no comment.” “Oh he told them that too, but not before he actually confirmed you two were dating and then stormed out and then promised my kid that you two weren’t ever going to break up.” “There was no storming, Gina,” Killian muttered. Emma hadn’t blinked yet.

“Well there was enough to warrant an ESPN blog post and you know who that doesn’t look good to? Front office. That’s who. Front office that you’ve let decide your entire future.” “I’m not an idiot.” “Could have fooled me.”

Emma blinked, turning so quickly she nearly lost her balance and Killian’s hand tightened around her waist. “Can he sue?” she asked, sounding as if she’d been considering legal action for the better part of this entire conversation.

Regina blinked once, lips twisting in thought and she hummed in frustration before she actually answered. “I don’t think so.” “Isn’t that libel?” “Not if it’s true,” Regina sighed. “And, well, Milah was in the car. I mean they didn’t do anything wrong, not really. But it…” “Doesn’t look good,” Emma finished. “Yeah, I got that.”

“I can’t stop it either. They’re going to run it before the game.” “How do you know that?” “I called the site, demanded an editor, got an incompetent idiot and was informed that the story was already set. Nothing I can do about it.” Killian wasn’t quite as angry at Regina anymore. “Thanks, Gina,” he said softly and she clicked her tongue in response.

“Your assistant is going nuts out there by the way,” Regina continued, glancing at Emma. “They all want Killian.”

“Ok,” Emma said. “Two minutes.” Regina nodded, gaze darting towards Killian. He tried to look somewhere in the area of confident and he could hear the crowd outside shouting his name, but it had been an exhausting day and the story was going to run no matter what.

Emma didn’t turn back towards him until Regina’s heels had retreated completely, both hands flat on his chest. “You told Roland no one was breaking up with anyone? Ever?” He didn’t expect that question.

“Uh, yeah,” Killian answered, stammering over the two words. “He was, uh, he was worried we were going to break up. Because of the story.” “And what did you say?” “I promised him that no one was leaving. And that I liked you too.” “Too?” “Rol wanted to make sure I knew he liked you.” “Oh.” Emma bit her lip, eyes falling towards the floor as she took a deep breath. “I’m not,” she whispered.” “Not what?” “Leaving. Or running. Even if they print everything. And I like you too.” He moved and Emma moved and there might have been another shutter click and another tweet, but they kissed each other anyway. Killian smiled for all of afternoon skate.

“Alright, so the rules of the bet are simple,” Will started, leaning up against the boards in the corner of the Staples Center with the edge of his skate pressing into the ice.

“Scarlet, we don’t have time for this,” Killian sighed, retreating back towards the line and warmups and it was already absurdly loud. He glanced up, a general idea of where the team boxes were and where Emma was sitting. Or would be sitting when she wasn’t helping Ruby run media requests.

It didn’t really make sense – she was in charge of her own department, after all – but Ruby had asked and Emma couldn’t bring herself to argue and it was so impossibly nice , Killian couldn’t stop himself from smiling whenever he thought about it.

“What’s he smiling about?” Robin muttered, knocking his shoulder against Will’s when he skidded to a stop.

Will shrugged. “Probably Emma. Or trying to win our bet.” “It’s definitely not your bet,” Killian mumbled, twisting his stick in his hands.

“Ew.” “Isn’t Belle supposed to be here for Game 2?” “What does that have to do with anything?” “Absolutely nothing. Fine, tell me the rules of the bet.” They were, surprisingly, almost exactly what the reporter had told him during media day and they really didn’t have time for some sort of side bet during the Stanley Cup Finals, but it had been a frustrating twenty-four hours and if Killian got to win a bet and brag in front of Scarlet then he’d make time for a side bet.

Killian won the first period, two shots on net and four hits and Will was whistled for a two-minute slash that drew the ire of Arthur during intermission. Will won the second – he scored. And that was, apparently, worth six points in whatever game they were playing.

“So you’re telling me, suddenly, you’re ahead?” Killian asked, tilting his head towards Will as Robin grumbled about focusing on the game as soon as they swung their legs over the boards.

“My game, my rules, Cap,” Will answered. He lowered his shoulder when he got back onto the ice, connecting on another hit and the Kings player next to him barely managed to stay on his skates. “And I’m beating the crap out of you now. Did you see that hit?” “I am on the ice with you Scarlet.” Arthur shouted something from the bench and Robin glared at both of them meaningfully. Will just laughed.

“Did we ever decide on terms?” Killian asked, pushing into the zone and he could feel a defender on his left side. It didn’t really matter. He was faster than just about anyone on the entire Kings roster.

He took the shot and missed wide right, but Robin was just a few feet away and he’d probably say it was a pass anyway. Robin’s shot went in.

They were winning.

Killian yelled, punching air and it probably looked as ridiculous as it felt, but they were winning Game 1 of the Stanley Cup Finals and there were only a few minutes left in the third. And that probably meant he was winning the bet too.

Unless Scarlet was cheating.

Robin groaned when Killian threw his arms around him, shouting nice shot in his ear like he didn’t know it was a fucking fantastic shot. “Maybe Gina won’t kill me now,” Killian added. “Setting you up like that.”

“You weren’t trying to pass to me.” “You don’t know that.” “I absolutely do.” “Whatever. Good goal. Good almost-pass. And I’m totally beating Scarlet now.” “That’s not even remotely true, Cap,” Will argued, clapping Robin on the shoulder as they skated back to the bench, a line of hands held out in front of them, ready for post-goal celebrations.

“How you figure? Assists have to be three, right? That’d put me somewhere in the double digits.” “Your math is horrible.” “You’re making up these rules as you go along!” Arthur actually stopped chewing his gum to yell at them, stepping off the bench and leaning over the boards to grab both of them by the scruff of their jerseys. “If you two don’t shut up about this goddamn bet,” he hissed, “then Regina Mills is not the only one who is going to be trying to kill you. She will have to learn how to bring you both back from the dead since I’ll have done the job already.” “Jeez. That’s harsh Arthur,” Killian muttered as Will let out a low whistle. “And don’t let her hear you mess up her name like that. Regina Mills-Locksley. It says so on her business cards.

“Plus,” Will added, “Gina only wants to kill Cap.” Arthur narrowed his eyes. “I will make sure she is intent on killing both of you. Got it?”

Arthur wasn’t going to kill them for the bet – whatever the rules of it actually were – he was going to murder his whole team for a complete lack of defense in the final minute and a half of Game 1 of the Stanley Cup Finals.

They lost. Another overtime loss and it wasn’t really anyone’s fault – a good shot on a quick turnaround and none of them had moved fast enough.

There were more questions after the game.

They weren’t actually about the game.

No one actually wanted to talk about anything that happened on the ice and Killian couldn’t actually throw things in front of his visitor’s locker because that would actually get Regina to follow through on those threats from the day before.

He’d hurt his hand at some point too, probably when he got hit during the third period and there was a bruise inching its way across his wrist and maybe one on his shoulder already as well. Every muscle hurt and he was exhausted and no one wanted to talk about the game. They wanted to talk about the story.

They kept using Milah’s name.

And he couldn’t leave. He couldn’t move, just had to sit there and keep muttering no comment like that actually meant anything, while desperately wanting someone, anyone , to ask him about losing Game 1 of the Stanley Cup Finals.

“Enough,” Robin shouted a few feet away, pushing through the throng of outstretched hands and cellphones that wouldn’t get away from Killian’s locker. “Enough! God, leave him alone. Ask a question about the goddamn game.” Will wasn’t far behind him, a look on his face that Killian hadn’t seen in years – since Liam got hurt. The crowd turned on both of them, arms still stretched out and questions ringing in the air and Killian could hear Ruby’s heels echoing down the hallway.

She was running.

Did you know Milah was married? Did you know she was married to Gold? Have you talked to Gold since you’ve been in LA, Cap? What does Emma think? Does Emma know? Hey, can we talk to Emma?

“Shut up,” Will sighed, twisting in between two sets of recorders to tug on Killian’s shoulder. “Come on, Cap. You’re done here.” Killian got on his feet and the crowd split in front of him – albeit with a good amount of grumbling and even more questions and his head snapped around when someone shouted Emma’s name again.

“Stop talking,” Killian muttered, eyes narrowed and voice low and he hadn’t actually taken his pads off yet. The reporter in front of him took a step back. “Don’t ask me about Emma again. Don’t ask me about Milah again. Ask me about the game. That’s why I am here. To play a game.” The reporter flipped his wrist and pushed his phone towards Killian’s face. “Thoughts on losing in Game 1 and how it might affect your deal, Cap?”

Killian sighed loudly and Will actually sounded like he was going to punch this reporter in the face, but no one actually moved – until another voice started talking. He muttered under his breath and Robin shifted next to him, arms crossed and eyebrows pulled low and they had to play another game in Los Angeles before all of this was over.

“Guys, guys, guys,” Neal laughed, pushing through the reporters with a smile on his face. “Come on, you know the rules. Once he leaves the locker, it’s over. That’s how it’s always been.” Killian’s jaw ticked as he tried to press his teeth together tightly, chanting the word fine in his head like some kind of mantra that would stop him from actually doing something stupid.

“Come on, Killian,” Neal continued, brushing by Robin to sling his arm over Killian’s shoulder.

Killian pushed him off, running his hand through his hair and shaking his head quickly. “I’ve got it,” he said. “They ask questions about the game and I’ll answer them.” Ruby skidded to a stop in the doorway of the locker room – something that looked like the actual embodiment of murder in her gaze as soon as she glanced Neal’s direction. And he didn’t look quite as confident anymore.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing in my locker room Cassidy?” Ruby asked, voice low and intent and her eyes were barely more than slits. They might have been shooting lasers too.

Killian was only half paying attention, gaze darting up when he, somehow, heard another set of shoes and Emma was standing in the doorway of the locker room, her blazer pinched underneath her arm and concern etched into every single corner of her face.

Neal laughed again, shoulders straightening as he found his voice again. “Your locker room, Ruby? Now you know that’s not true. You guys are guests here.” “Leave my players alone, Cassidy.” Neal clicked his tongue and Emma didn’t just roll her eyes at the sound, she rolled her whole head, groaning slightly for good measure. It almost made Killian laugh.

Until the reporters realized Emma was there.

They turned quickly, jockeying for position and someone shouted a string of less-than-professional words when their phone got knocked out of their hands. She blinked once, taken aback by the onslaught of questions and statements and Neal clicked his tongue again.

“Hey, Ems,” he said evenly, taking a step towards her as she pushed her arms back into her blazer. “Good game, huh?” He took another step forward and Emma backed up, the concern that had been on her face morphing into something that almost resembled disgust.

“Move, Cap,” Robin muttered, pushing on his shoulder for good measure and Killian nodded as he brushed by Neal and laced his fingers through Emma’s.

“Let’s get out of here, Swan,” Killian said, already half a step into the hallway as he tugged his jersey over his head.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Neal shouted and there were more camera clicks and unanswered questions as he slammed the locker room door shut. “I wanted to talk to you.” “Leave me alone, Neal,” Emma yelled, not even bothering to turn around.

“Not you. Killian.” The entire New York Rangers contingent stopped, turning around in near-perfect time and Neal’s eyes widened. “You know,” he continued, “by himself.” “No,” Robin and Will said at the same time, matching sounds of disgust in their voice and Ruby actually laughed, the sound of it echoing off the hallway’s walls.

Neal looked nonplussed, obviously certain just saying he wanted to talk to Killian would work – as if they were old friends and Neal’s eyes didn’t keep darting to Emma’s hand, still wrapped up in Killian’s with her laces hitting against her wrist.

“I just, uh, wanted to talk,” Neal added. Emma scoffed. “Maybe ask a couple of questions?” “I don’t have time for that,” Killian said.

“Just a few minutes?” “No.”

He didn’t wait for Neal to respond, hardly even paused after the word was out of his mouth before squeezing Emma’s hand slightly and leading some sort of quasi Rangers-parade out of the Staples Center visitors locker room.

“Did you win the bet?” Emma asked softly, pressing up on her toes to mutter the words into his ear.

“How’d you know that happened?” “Will told Ruby who told Dor who told someone at SI and it ended up online in between the first and second period.” “Efficient.” She hummed in the back of her throat and she never actually let go of his hand, even when they moved into the backseat of a team-provided town car with Scarlet in the front seat, muttering under his breath about being the kid on this team.

“What are you guys even playing for?” Emma asked. “I mean if there’s a bet, there’s got to be some kind of prize, right?” “That reporter yesterday said something about wearing each other’s jerseys, but Scarlet’s changing the rules whenever he sees fit, so who knows.” “That’s rude, Cap,” Will grumbled, propping his heels up on the dashboard.

“You’re going to scuff that,” Emma said. “Are you really changing the rules though?” “I have no idea what either one of you is talking about.” “You should probably write it down. Your point system or however we’re marking this.”

Will pulled his feet back down and twisted around to stare at Emma questioningly. “You know,” he said slowly, “I think you’re just as competitive as Cap is.” “Maybe,” Emma shrugged and Killian, finally, felt like he was breathing normally again. “Tell me the rules, Scarlet.” They wrote them down. Or, at least, typed them into Emma’s phone and there was a point system and Emma’s promise that she’d keep track of of every single one of them was still ringing in his ears by the time they opened the hotel room door they weren’t supposed to be sharing.

“You know,” Killian said, turning Emma until she was walking backwards into the room with his hands on her hips. “You were somewhere bordering close to protective in the last two days, love.” “Was I?” she asked and he’d probably remember how breathless her question was for the next two days they were in that stupid city.

“Bordering close to it.” “Weird.” “Absolutely.”

She laughed when her legs hit up against the bed, the smile on her face feeling like it had settled in the pit of his stomach or shot down his spine and Killian brushed his fingers through her hair, pushing it back behind her ears until his hand lingered on her neck. It left goosebumps. That felt like a bit of a victory too. “So I take it you didn’t win tonight, then?” Emma asked. “The bet, I mean. If Will was just changing up rules.” “Eh, it almost doesn’t matter.” “Over-competitive weirdo.” “Almost always.” She laughed again, tapping out a rhythm on the front of his jacket. “That’s ok,” Emma said and Killian got the distinct impression they weren’t talking about weird, hockey side bets anymore. “There’s still a lot of series left to play.” “That’s true.” “So you can totally beat up on Scarlet.” “Is it strange that you’re advocating me beating up on my own teammate, Swan?” Killian asked and he didn’t remember actually laying down. Or when Emma’s head landed on his shoulder, just appreciated that it was there and her hand hadn’t moved away from his shirt.

“Yeah, well,” she muttered. “I might be an over-competitive weirdo too.”

“Oh that’s absolutely true.”

Emma smacked at his shoulder and Killian tightened his grip around her waist, pulling her flush against his side and kissing the top of her head. And he didn’t remember when they started kissing each other either, just happy that they were, twisted around in hotel-supplied blankets before they’d even taken their shoes off.

He didn’t care about the story. He didn’t care about Neal. The only thing he’d ever really cared about was the game and, now, Emma Swan.

And there was a lot of series left to play.

#cs ff #cs fic #captain swan ff #captain swan #csbb #blue line #everyone hates neal #pass it on

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ladyofpurple · 7 years ago

Text

The Parts of You, chapter 34

AO3

“So,” said Chloé slyly over the rim of her skinny latte, “who is she?”

Adrien choked on some foam. She watched him splutter aimlessly for a few seconds, unable to suppress the quirk of her lips as she watched him squirm. “Who’s who?” he croaked eventually.

“Oh, please, I know you better than that.” She set her cup down primly. “Is she someone I know?”

His cheeks darkened to an adorable pink as he looked anywhere but at her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She waved a hand dismissively. “I’m not an idiot, Adrien, dear. Don’t insult my intelligence. You’ve got a girlfriend.”

“I do not,” he insisted. “What gave you that idea?”

Chloé raised an eyebrow. “Do you want the full list, or just the CliffsNotes version?”

His ears were red now. “I don’t—”

She started ticking off her fingers. “You came into class late yesterday, without a single apology or excuse, which is about as unlikely as me putting on facepaint to join the circus. You’ve been avoiding me more than usual — don’t give me that look, I had to drag you into that limo after school today — which means there’s something you don’t want me to know. You’ve also changed your aftershave, which, if I’m not mistaken, is called Heartthrob.” He was fully cringing now, and her smirk widened at his pained expression. She examined her nail beds, pristine as usual. “And you haven’t even said a word about my hair, I just got it cut yesterday.”

His eyes snapped up to examine the long, soft waves trickling down her shoulders. “Of course I noticed. You look great.”

She laughed. “Bullshit. I haven’t done a thing to my hair all week—” She eyed him again, “—which you would have noticed if you were paying attention.” She sat back, crossing her arms. “Now,” she said, “who is she?”

Adrien’s mouth flapped open and shut a few times, looking for all the world like a fish out of water. He finally closed it and sighed. “Why do I put up with you?” he said, defeated.

“Because I’m an absolute delight to be around,” she said, sipping her latte. “Also, I’m right. Honestly, what’s the big deal? Why won’t you tell me?” Adrien said nothing. “What?” she said, examining his expression. “You think I’m jealous?”

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Aren’t you?” he said. “I mean, wouldn’t you be? Hypothetically?”

Chloé sighed, and the cup clinked as she put it back on its saucer. The million-euro question, she supposed. “Hypothetically, no.” She pursed her lips, considering. “No, I wouldn’t. Not if you’re happy.” And that was true, mostly.

It had taken a long time — to separate her crush from petty possessiveness, to realize he didn’t owe her his affection just because she liked him — but she was a better person than she was three, four years ago. She’d accepted her crush was unrequited and moved on, on to other boys and celebrity crushes. Even now, looking at him so obviously besotted with someone else, when the hidden remains of her feelings stirred at his lovestruck expressions, potential jealousy didn’t quite register on her list of concerns. Maybe it would come up again, later tonight when she was alone, and she could deal with it then.

Satisfying her curiosity, and perhaps her nosiness, on the other hand, was much more important.

His blush was fading, although not quite gone, and when he looked at her his gaze was probing, stripping down her bravado. She felt a bit like a kid. He always knew her better than anybody. “Really?” he asked.

She looked him square in the eye. “Adrien, I have never once not wanted you to be happy. I might have been a selfish bitch in the past, and I might have had a crush on you, but I am not, nor will I ever be jealous of someone who makes you look or act the way you’ve been acting the past two days.”

His gaze skittered away. “And how have I been acting?”

“Like a Dean Martin song. You’re in love.”

His ears were red again, but he was almost smiling. “Am not,” he said.

“C’mon,” she urged, playfully nudging him in the shin. “Tell me. Give me a name.”

“No!” He shook his head emphatically, taking a resolute gulp of his coffee. “Absolutely not.” At least he wasn’t denying her existence anymore, which was a start.

“I won’t stop until you do,” she threatened in a sing-song voice. “I have ways of making you talk…”

“In front of all these witnesses?” he said, quirking his eyebrows in amusement. “You wouldn’t dare.”

She leaned forward on her elbows, subjecting him to the full effect of the icy stare that had sent so many first-years scurrying from her presence in fear. “Are you willing to test that theory?” she challenged.

He didn’t even blink. “Absolutely.”

She deflated with a huff. “I’m not giving up, you know,” she said petulantly. “You’ll tell me eventually.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” he replied serenely into his cup.

In the limo afterwards, she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. There was that glow again. It was unmistakable. She knew that look.

She’d seen it often enough; had even been the cause of it once or twice. The guy was blissed out of his skull.

Chloé had noticed the change the second Adrien walked into the classroom yesterday morning. It wouldn’t have taken a genius, really, but she liked to think she’d been a bit quicker than most. She didn’t have a chance to talk to him that day, since he spent every available moment with, well, people that weren’t her. That wasn’t necessarily an issue, except for the fact that she was a good person who would not impose on conversations her friends had with other friends.

Not anymore. She was an adult.

Luckily for her, she’d had practice observing people — a.k.a. Adrien — from a distance, and she had the added benefit of knowing him for practically as long as they both could remember. She knew his ticks. She knew his mannerisms. It was laughably easy to come to the only conclusion that made sense.

He had someone in his life that made him look that way — she could practically taste the endorphins of a newly-established relationship rolling off him in waves.

And for some reason, he’d tried to hide it from her.

The realization had hurt somewhat. It occurred to her that a day and a half wasn’t a particularly long time to keep her out of the loop; perhaps she was just being impatient. But the fact remained that relationships didn’t pop up out of nowhere. If he was dating someone, it had been building up for a while, and she’d still heard nothing about it. She’d almost have been impressed about his ability to hide it from her, if the implications about the level of mistrust towards her weren’t so disheartening.

Then again, with the amount of pure warmth radiating from him, it was hard to be upset. This was the happiest she’d seen him in a while.

She cleared her throat and addressed the driver. “Take us back to the hotel,” she commanded imperiously, and the man nodded slightly in the rearview mirror.

“I thought you wanted to keep shopping,” said Adrien, a puzzled look on his face. “That’s why you dragged me out here, isn’t it?”

“I changed my mind,” she said lightly. “I want to go home.”

“Oh, okay.” His brows were still furrowed together, but he shrugged. “If you say so. Would you mind dropping me off at—”

“Hang on, I never said you could leave. You’re not getting rid of me quite so easily.”

“But—”

“Manicures, Adrien,” she said emphatically. “And ice cream. It’s been ages since we’ve hung out properly, I want to do it right.”

He opened his mouth to protest and sighed instead, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards in a defeated grin. “Fine,” he said. “You win.”

She clapped her hands together triumphantly. “I always do,” she smirked at him.

Later, in her room, surrounded by all the toppings required for the ultimate ice cream sundaes, with some trashy reality show playing unnoticed on her giant television, she glanced up to see him lost in thought again, the hint of a smile on his face. She dipped the brush back into the bottle of lime-green polish and adjusted her grip on his fingers.

“Tell me about her,” she prompted quietly.

He turned to her with a start, nearly knocking the brush out of her hand. “What?”

“Careful,” she admonished, giving him a disapproving glare. “If I get nail polish all over the carpet, you’re footing the cleaning bill.”

“Sorry,” he said sheepishly.

“Tell me about her,” she said again, more gently this time.

He looked away again. “There’s nothing to tell,” he insisted hoarsely.

“Liar,” she chastised, not unkindly.

“Am not,” he protested. She met his eye, a single eyebrow raised. “Am not,” he repeated, even less convincingly.

She sighed. “If you really don’t want to tell me a name, that’s fine. Whatever. I’ll find out eventually. But don’t, like, pretend she doesn’t exist. I’m not stupid.” She squinted at him, a new thought striking her. “Or is it ‘he’? Is that why you don’t want to tell me? Because it’s fine if—”

“No, it’s — it’s not that, I…” He sighed, bit his lip, his free hand wandering upwards to rub absently at the back of his neck. “It’s just… complicated, okay?”

“Adrien, my sweet, sweet imbecile, I am the queen of complicated. Have you met my last three exes?”

He laughed at that, but when the mirth melted away he still looked torn. She let him wrestle with himself in silence as she applied a coat to his middle finger with meticulous precision. “You can’t tell a soul,” he said finally, reluctantly.

“Of course not,” she replied immediately. He shook his head.

“No, I mean it, Chloé,” he said, and she looked up to see a surprising desperation in his eyes, heard an urgency in his voice she didn’t expect. “Seriously, you can’t say a word, not to anyone. Nobody can know about this, and I mean it. Absolutely nobody, do you understand?”

She blinked. “I understand, Adrien,” she said. She didn’t understand why, but she understood. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

He looked relieved, but he didn’t speak again for a few minutes. She assumed he was searching for the words. She’d nearly finished his pinky when the silence finally broke.

“She’s my best friend,” he said quietly.

Chloé glanced up. “I thought I was your best friend,” she said glibly, and fought hard to keep the bitterness out of her voice.

He grinned. “I can have more than one, can’t I?” he said. “What about Nino?”

She shrugged. “Boys are different,” she said. “Besides, there’s ‘best friends,’ and then there’s ‘best friends.’ There’s a difference.”

“Yeah, I guess there is,” he agreed thoughtfully, and the tone of his voice made her think she wasn’t being put in the latter category at the moment. She dropped his hand and extended her palm for the other. He gave it to her without a second glance. “She’s beautiful,” he added.

Chloé made a non-committal noise that could have sounded like encouragement to someone who wasn’t listening very closely. Luckily, Adrien’s attention was currently elsewhere.

“She… she makes me feel… brighter, somehow. Like the whole world lights up when she’s around.” His eyes had a faraway look in them, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips. She glanced back down at his nails. “I just get so… warm around her, y’know? Like my whole chest just…” He gestured vaguely, nearly upsetting the nail polish bottle for the second time.

She slapped his hand lightly as she retrieved it. “What did I say?” she chided.

“Sorry, Chloé, I just…” He sighed. “She’s a good person. Like, all she wants to do is help people. It’s practically her job.” He glanced at her, and added, “I think you’d really like her.” He giggled, and Chloé had the distinct impression it was at some inside joke she wasn’t privy to. “And she’s really smart and resourceful, and she just… she gets me. I can tell her things I can’t tell anyone else.”

She concentrated on evening out the polish.

“And she’s funny, did I mention she was funny? She even laughs at my puns.”

“Those god-awful things?” said Chloé with a snort. “Clearly her sense of humor isn’t that great.”

“Shut up, I’m hilarious.” His voice had taken on a dreamlike quality. “She has the most gorgeous laugh, you know.”

“Really?”

“Really.” He exhaled something that sounded like a sigh and a chuckle all at once. “I didn’t think she liked me back. For the longest time. I wasn’t even going to tell her.” Pink creeped back into his cheeks. “And then she kissed me.”

This really was an obnoxious shade of green, Chloé decided, but that was the one he’d picked. She went to work on his ring finger.

“I never understood what they said about fireworks,” he admitted shyly. “Not until then.”

Chloé cursed loudly as the brush finally skittered across his cuticle. It was an easily rectifiable mistake, hardly a disaster, but she lashed out anyway. “I told you not to move!” she said angrily, jamming the cap back on the bottle.

“Sorry,” he apologized, startled by her outburst.

She waved him away. “Where are those cotton balls?” she muttered irritably, reaching for the nail polish remover.

He handed them to her gingerly, and she yanked the offending hand back, scrubbing viciously at the ruined nail with the acetone soaked cotton. She worked in silence for a while, the tension in the air palpable.

Finally he cleared his throat. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“Sorry? What are you sorry for?” she said distractedly, tossing aside the used cotton ball and reaching for the clear base coat again.

“I was worried you might be—” He paused, started over. “I told you too much. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“I’m not—” she began in a high pitched protest, stopped, composed herself. “I’m not jealous,” she finished in a low voice.

“I’m not saying you are!” he said hurriedly.

“Good, because I’m not.” She finished the base coat and screwed the cap back on the bottle. There was another moment of silence. “Well, go on,” she prompted.

He blinked at her. “Go on? Are you sure?”

“You were just getting to the good part, weren’t you? Well?” She flapped her hands at him and opened the green polish. “Get on with it.” He looked at her uncertainly as she inspected his nails. “I swear to God, Adrien,” she said without looking up, “tell me more about the goddamn fireworks or I’ll dump this nail polish all over your perfect shiny hair.”

His face split into another bashful smile. “We’d been arguing,” he said. “I didn’t think she’d want to talk to me anymore that night, let alone…” He shrugged with one shoulder, ears turning red again. “Have you ever kissed someone in the rain?”

“Look at you, just chock-full of romantic clichés.” She poked gingerly at the thin base coat with a nail to make sure it was dry. “Next you’ll tell me she has dementia and you’re documenting everything in your journal to help her remember when she’s old.”

He chuckled. “It sounds kind of silly when I say it out loud.”

She pursed her lips. “Not silly. Just clichéd.” She painted the nail green in three quick strokes and released his wrist. “Other hand, please.”

He complied and looked thoughtfully into the distance. “She’s totally out of my league,” he said absently.

Chloé snorted. “Well, that’s a load of bullshit if I ever heard it.”

“It’s true,” he insisted fervently. “She’s nice and funny and so pretty I want to die.”

“Then perish.” She caught his eye and smirked. “This kiss of yours… It wouldn’t have happened night before last, would it have?”

He looked startled. “How did you know that?” he asked nervously.

She shrugged. “The rainstorm the other night. Although why you’d be out in it except for your random little fairytale moment I have no idea.” She put on the second thumb coat with a flourish. “Also, you’ve spent the last two days looking like someone slipped you some E. Your poker face is terrible.”

He wrinkled his nose. “It is not. Why do people keep saying that?”

“That you look blissed out as hell? Because you do. And just as a side note, you should tell your friend Nico or whatever his name is to be more careful where he decides to interrogate people. Anyone could have walked in on your little conversation yesterday.”

“His name is Nino, which I know you know, so don't be a jerk, and what the hell, Chloé? You were listening?”

“Not for long,” she sniffed. “Sabrina went looking for me and dragged me off to lunch. Thanks for the concern after the Akuma attack, by the way, it’s not like I almost died or anything.”

“You were fine. And I don’t appreciate you eavesdropping on us.”

“You didn’t seem to mind much when Marinette was defending your sorry ass a few months back, did you?” she countered smoothly, and was pleased to note the embarrassed flush as she swapped hands. “Anyway, if I had to wrestle this hard to get you to acknowledge this girl even exists, I can’t imagine you said anything particularly incriminating.”

“That’s not the point,” said Adrien, ears red.

“No, the point is that you’re being a hypocrite,” she said sharply. “Besides, I was concerned.”

“I see.”

“Oh, don’t give me that. You were avoiding me.”

“Was not.”

“Were too, and the fact that you’ve spent the entire afternoon looking like you’d rather be anywhere but here is doing nothing to convince me otherwise.”

His expression softened, sobered. “I’m sorry, Chloé. I haven’t been a very good friend to you lately, have I?”

She shrugged. “Hey, I wouldn’t win any awards lately for this relationship either. But we’re here now, and your nails are looking fabulous.”

He grinned. “They are, aren’t they?” he said, examining her work on his free hand.

“Top coat next, and then it’s my turn.”

“Yellow again?”

“Obvi.” She looked at him, examining his face, and their eyes met. “You’re going to see her again today, aren’t you? That’s why you can hardly sit still.”

He glanced away, looking embarrassed. “Is it that obvious?” he mumbled.

“Terrible poker face, remember?” She paused in her search for the top coat and pursed her lips. “Are you happy? Like, really truly happy?”

That smile again. “Yes.”

She tapped his chin. “Then don’t be embarrassed. You have my blessing. She may do with you as she will.”

The smile turned into a grin. “Really?”

“Ew, gross, don’t look so eager. Yes.” She unscrewed the cap and scraped off the excess polish. “But you can tell her from me that if she ever hurts you, I’ll rip her eyes out myself.”

He laughed. “I’ll be sure to relay the message.”

“I’m serious, I don’t care you won’t tell me her name. I’ll track her down and flay her alive. You can quote me on that.”

“Noted.” His voice softened. “Thanks, Chloé. I didn’t realize how much I needed to say all that stuff out loud.”

“That’s what I’m here for.”

He left a few hours later, ice cream eaten, Kardashians sufficiently kept up with, their matching manicures finished to perfection. She lay there alone on her couch, staring up at the ceiling, not noticing or caring that the TV was still blaring with the exploits of various housewives. There was a pit in her stomach, one she refused to identify, but which sat there, cold and unpleasant and filling her with thoughts she didn’t want and couldn’t ignore.

She hadn’t been lying when she told him they had her blessing. That love she felt for him hadn’t changed. She knew she couldn’t make him that happy — had known and accepted it for years. She wanted him to be with someone else; the expression on his face was more than enough proof that this was the way it should be.

Still, she’d lied to him earlier, here in her room. She’d heard a fair bit of the conversation, and even in her own head she couldn’t pretend it hadn’t made her feel certain things. Things she preferred not to address, but which seemed intent on addressing her.

They were in the same class the period before lunch, but it had been hard to spy since Adrien and Nino had chosen to sit further back in the classroom than when her suspicions had been first raised — in the second-to-last row, in fact. How inconsiderate. She had compromised by seating herself in the very back, across the aisle from them, so as to easier observe. Her vantage point wasn’t great, but it gave her more than enough ammo as she glanced periodically over through the curtains of her hair. After first period, when the day had turned interesting, she’d slipped into the bathroom to painfully remove her ponytail for better cover.

Thank God she always carried a brush and hairspray in case of emergencies. Nothing was worth a bad hair day, not even this — she had standards, after all.

Her seat gave her a mostly unobstructed view of the back of Adrien’s head and a bit of his profile. He was slumping — no, lounging — with face in hand, staring off into space. He of the perfect posture and perfect grades was practically sliding out of his seat and, although he had his books out and a pencil in hand, he never moved to take a single note.

He always took notes. Sometimes even Sabrina would borrow his notes, they were so meticulous. If she hadn’t suspected something was off before, she definitely did now.

Occasionally a grin would ghost across his face, or his eyelids would droop — not in sleep but in memory, as if savoring something only he knew of. At one point she almost thought he bit his lip, but that turned out to be just the shape of his mouth at this angle. The minutes oozed by with agonizing slowness until she wanted to crawl out of her skin. She was itching to talk to him, corner him at lunch, but when the bell rang it turned out she wasn’t the only one with that idea.

Nino packed up his things at an even slower pace than she did, until she had no choice but to exit the classroom or chase the boy out. She’d ground her teeth in frustration, but slipped out unseen behind Ivan’s girth. She wouldn’t chase him away. She was a good person.

But not so good that she was above eavesdropping. Or, perhaps, that was a testament to how good a friend she was. She was simply looking out for Adrien, whether he knew about it or not. Sure, it was technically a dick move, but ignoring any useful information that might help her understand what her friend was going through would be worse, right? Sure, she could roll with that logic.

She had pretended to be checking her makeup in a compact as the halls emptied around her. ‘I better get some good goddamn intel out of this,’ she’d thought, smoothing out an imaginary flyaway lock of her flawless hair. It killed her to lurk about like some common thug — she was made for the spotlight, not shadows — and hiding from Adrien goddamn Agreste of all people at that, but alas, certain sacrifices had to be made for the greater good.

When it was quiet enough to listen, she pressed herself against the doorframe. The nice thing about boys was they didn’t always think things through properly. Nino might have though he was being slick, waiting to have his private conversation until the classroom was empty. But a girl would have waited until the halls were empty too. A girl would have checked.

A girl would have closed the goddamn door.

“…What, did you get laid or something?”

‘Good boy,’ she’d thought. She had to hand it to Nino, even if only in the smallest of ways; at least he didn’t waste any time getting to the point.

Adrien mumbled something that sounded like a half-hearted denial, while Nino crowed with triumphant laughter. She almost wished she could see Adrien’s face — it was probably hilarious — but she wished Nino would shut up. It wasn’t that funny.

There was some more blabbering about girls it could have been — Chloé rolled her eyes as her brain automatically tuned it out. Stéphanie Delacroix wished she could get a piece of that. She almost wished she had visuals to go with the audio, as the blush accompanying Adriens blustering denials must have been incredible. ‘Boys,’ she thought derisively. Two heads, and they were always thinking with the wrong one.

Then Nino fell quiet. She couldn’t see either of them, but something about the quality of the silence had felt pregnant somehow, loaded.

“Oh my God,” said Nino’s voice, strangled and breathless.

She inched closer.

“Please tell me you didn’t hook up with Marinette.”

Oh. Oh, this was too good.

“I — what… No, of course not!”

“Oh my God.”

Chloé had many opinions on Adrien’s other friends, whether or not she cared to admit it, or bother remembering their names after collège, but one thing she had never pegged Nino for was an idiot. If he thought something was up between Adrien and his precious Marinette, she wouldn’t discredit it that easily. Even she could see the tension between the two from a mile away; hadn’t she chewed Adrien out herself for fucking it up? Gone to see the girl to reassure her? At her house, no less? The only surprise here was that Adrien had apparently gone for it after all.

“…I mean, I know you, like just discovered you have hormones, but complicating this whole trainwreck with sex is just—”

“I didn’t have sex with Marinette!”

That, and the fact that Marinette had ostensibly welcomed him with open arms. Chloé honestly didn’t think she’d had it in her.

Of course, jumping to conclusions helped no-one, but Adrien’s heated, stuttering denials wouldn’t have been convincing to a drunken walrus. If anything, he was only digging himself deeper with every syllable.

“…Asked me for advice on your raging boner?”

“It wasn’t like that.”

“Oh, come on, you wanted to bang her like a drum…”

This was better than a soap opera. Chloé had felt something rise in her, familiar as an old friend. That specific subset of glee that can only come from good gossip. And scheming. Her mind had been whirring on autopilot, filing the information away for later use, and already plotting six different ways she could use it to her advantage. She caught herself and forced herself to listen instead. She wasn’t going to use it, not like that. This was recon. She wasn’t out to ruin anyone’s life.

Besides, what good would it do? Everyone who knew the pair of them from collège would think it was a grand idea, and as far as Marinette went, how could this possibly hurt her? Even if Adrien was telling the truth and they didn’t hook up, knowing her crush was — at least sexually — attracted to her could only be a good thing.

Although, he had rejected her pretty spectacularly, and she was in the process of getting over him…

She shook her head sharply. ‘No,’ she thought decisively. She had no reason to hurt Marinette. Not now, anyway.

And Adrien was her friend. She’d loved him once, or thought she did. She was a good fucking person.

“Where have you been?” demanded Sabrina’s voice suddenly, and Chloé whipped around to see her friend just standing there, hovering, really. “I waited for you by your locker and you never showed. What happened to your hair?”

“Something came up,” said Chloé dismissively, straightening. Something in her had felt suddenly protective, and she didn’t want Sabrina involved in it. “Honestly, you shouldn’t have waited. Don’t you have other friends?”

Sabrina looked hurt. “But I wanted to wait for you.”

Chloé sighed. Honestly. She cared about Sabrina, in her own way, but the girl could stand to grow a spine. “Whatever, let’s go.”

The strange thing was, replaying the memory, she realized that she hadn’t been jealous when she thought he’d been with Marinette. It was almost as if the girl was pure Chloé-Repellant, and whatever Marinette touched suddenly lost all appeal to her. That seemingly mutual attraction had been a major factor in getting over Adrien in the first place, after all. All she’d been able to think about during her “recon” was whether the conversation she heard could help or hurt Marinette — and now that Adrien had all but confirmed she wasn’t the mystery girl in question? It was as if her crush was an old wound that had suddenly reopened, and all the bitterness and jealousy came pouring out.

He was her best friend, always had been, since they were kids and whether she deserved him or not. She loved him, as much as she had ever loved anyone. If that love had ever been truly romantic and not simply a possessive childhood crush, well, it was overshadowed by that desire to see him smile.

She rolled over, an arm flopping down to the floor. It wasn’t fair. Not to her, who thought she’d washed her hands of Adrien Agreste and his gorgeous smile. Certainly not to Adrien, whose only crime had been to fall in love with someone who wasn’t her. And the poor girl who’d captured his heart — Chloé couldn’t find it in herself to hate her, although every part of her screamed she should on principal alone.

And it wasn’t even jealousy, not entirely. What it felt like was loss. Perhaps that was the thing. It had been easier to get over him when he was single, because she could pretend their incompatibility was by design. She could pretend the reason they’d never gotten together was her own choice, that the relationship upgrade she’d so desperately wanted once wasn’t worth her time, even though she’d never trade their friendship for all the ice cream and manicures in the world. Suddenly she had a real, tangible reason they couldn’t be together.

Somehow that made it harder.

She sat up, fixed her hair, and turned up the TV.

‘Time for more ice cream,’ she thought.

#tpoy fic #Lady writes things

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sass-cass-writes · 7 years ago

Text

Floating Downtown - Part 3

Title: Sex and Alcohol

Description: Sammy its time to face your coulrophobia with Pennywise! With a string of disappearances occurring in Maine, the Winchester Brothers and the reader, a vivid Stephen King fan, try to stop the monster that snatches children and kills them every 27 years. But what will happen when the circus comes to town?

Characters: Sam and Dean Winchester, Reader, Demons

A/N: Reader is speech impaired after being tortured by Abaddon’s right hand man and having her vocal cords destroyed. Ive never written mute characters, so this is a first. If anyone has feedback, please give some!

Warnings: brief PTSD of rape, gorey description, angst, smut!, brief spider thingy

tagging: @totallyluckycoffee / @dixonlover1605 , @wonderavian

READ PART ONE AND TWO HERE!

Once you got back to the motel, Sam left to get some food whilst you searched your way through lore. He was still fuming at the audacity and disrespect Tom Rogan had towards you. After you persuaded him to relax, he roughly pulled the impala to the driveway and said annoyed he was getting food and stormed off.

Usually it would take a normal person twenty minutes to get two burgers, two fries, a side of salad and two drinks. But Sam had been gone an hour. And you were scared. You wanted to call him, but you couldn't...talk. Skype was your best friend when Sam wasn't there to translate for you. But you had tried that too. Sam wasn't responding to your video calls, calls or texts. You decided the only way to calm you down was to lay down, listen to music. And that's what you did. Kicking off your heels, stripping away your jacket, you fell into the double bed. You turned your body and faced the bedside table. Smiling, you take the Stephen King book and look at where you bookmarked the page. Laughing to yourself, you think about how Beverly was so badass, how funny Richie was, how Pennywise was taken down by...Then you frowned. You looked at the book, the gut feeling suddenly concluding your assumptions.

The answer was right in front of you this entire time! Stephen King was your fucking clue this entire time!

You jump at excitement and run to the phone texting Sam, following your other five messages, telling him you've figured it out. However he wouldn't be so happy. You plunked the old and battered copy on the table and started to write in your trusty journal notepad, that resembled John Winchester's. You wrote the following down, from having read the book 4 times....and googling extra videos....and articles...It was your favourite! You were too curious into finding out the Turtle/Pennywise conflict it still baffles you. The notes you took were;

•Pennywise shifts into your fears, in order for you to be "well seasoned" before you're dinner •he's something not from this dimension •Pennywise likes to eat children- Exhibit A; Georgie had his arm ripped off and then eaten in the book •Tim Curry did great in the mini series •He haunts children when their adults to make them go insane and eventually kill themselves- Exhibit B; STANLEY URIS

You could help but make your notes colourful and Stanley Uris in a blood dripping font. True dedication to your occult obsession with Stephen King's psycho clown TM.

•Pennywise can make you see your worst memories and make your nightmares real- Exhibit C; Beverly's abusive father. •was killed by silver rocks = SHAPESHIFTER

The door opened and Sam walked through. You walked to him with a pissed look. "What?" He asked, walking over as he placed the multiple bags on the table.

"Where have you been?! I've been calling and texting you for about an hour!" You sign aggressively. Sam tilts his head.

"I've been out for half an hour, (Y/N)." You turned to a clock and he was right. He looked at his phone. "It was on silent, (Y/N), I didn't notice." He smiles a little and walks to you. "Are you okay?" You sigh and nod.

"Just tired. BUT!" You sign, walking to the table and handing him your notes and your battered copy. Sam reading through the notes and holding the book. He smiles and looks to you. He cups your cheeks gently and crashes his lips to yours.

"You're a bloody genius, (Y/N)" He smiles widely as you smile back and hug him, then kissing him again. He kisses back and it's everything you've ever fantasised. His lips were soft and his passionate movements made you want him more. His tongue started to trace you lips, your mouth opening and letting both your tongues dance. He grips your waist gently holding you up. Your hands had raked themselves into his hair, your fine fingers intertwining with the surprisingly soft strands. He slides his hands around to your thighs carrying you in his arms. He pulls away from the passionate and needy kiss and looks at you.

"Woah, that's uhm. Amazing." He smiles a little. "I hope I'm not pushing you, (Y/N)." His face falls into one of concern. A classic Sam Winchester move. You shake your head and smile hesitantly taking your hands away. Sam made sure you wouldn't fall back as you signed.

"I love you Sam." He smiles and kisses your jaw, as he walks to the bed and gently lays you down.

"(Y/N) are you sure you wanna do this? I don't wanna hurt you." You looked at him with annoyance and nodded, him laughing in response. He kisses your stomach and starts to unbutton your flannel shirt as you did to him, rubbing and gripping his back as you continued to kiss after stripping off each other's shirts. He pulls you up and sits you on his lap as he starts to kiss your chest, nipping the skin as he caught the skin inbetween his lips. He strips off your bra and throws it to the side, massaging your breasts and taking your nipple into his mouth, repeating the same actions he did on your chest.

Whilst doing this, you drag your nails down his back, gripping his shoulders and tugging on his hair. Your nails, blunt sharp, left red welts in their wake, him moaning. He lays you down, pulling down your shorts. You watch his movements as he slides your panties off and kisses your waistline, his eyes never leaving yours. He then dips his head down and hen proceeds to lick a broad stripe over the lips of your pussy, circling the muscle around your clit when he got the chance. Your breath hitches and you grip the sheets as his tongue started to move quickly yet lovingly across your lips, clit and pussy, occasionally biting or sucking. The sensations and unbelievable feeling of Samuel Winchester; his hands roaming your body, lips catching your skin and gentle yet needy motions made it all seem like some fantasy. And then he decided to insert two of his long, calloused fingers into your dripping core. You gasp a little and try to whimper. He starts to move them at a slow pace.

"GET OFF ME!" You yell as you try to force them off. These demons weren't having it. After another torture session into your fourth day of kidnapping, Abaddon's shifter-demons cosplaying as Sam and Dean decided to get a little handsy. "Sam" stood in front of you, the newfound devilish smirk playing on his face. "Dean" started to remove your somewhat clothing- a battered large shirt and torn jeans, of what used to be your flannel and singlet and tight jeans. You thrash and kick at them, but they're too strong. Once you were naked, "Dean" grabbed you from behind and started to attack your neck, his arm wrapped around your chest and one around your hip as his snakes his hands inbetween your legs, circling your clit and inserting his foreign fingers into your core. You scream and thrash, the fake Dean biting and sucking your neck as "Sam" caressed your body, the tent in his jeans poking your stomach. You growl and yell profanities. It wasn't long till they pushed you down onto the rusty metal table. "Sam", stroking and thrusting his length into his fisted hand, stood before you, as "Dean" began to eat you out from behind. You growl and look up at "Sam". He smirks grabbing your jaw.

"Open wide beautiful." He cooed, tracing your lips with the head of his dick. When you didn't comply, he forced your jaw open and thrusted his length in, suppressing your gag reflex and fucking your face. You growl and scream around his length. He moans and grips your head as he rolls his hips. You clamped your jaw down onto him, "Sam" screaming and pulling out as you smirk. "Dean" noticing, pulls you to his chest as "Sam" slapped you hard across the face. He then started to punch and hit you relentlessly. No one was gonna use you and walk scot free.

You cry out as the pressure building from within your stomach had burst from the unbelievable twists and knots. You look at him as he pulls away and licks his fingers clean. Your legs trembled and shook as he crawls up the bed, kissing your body. He starts to unbuckle his jeans and kicks it off, fiddling with the boxer waistband. When he hovered over you, you couldn't help but cup his cheek and drag it down his neck and chest. He smiles and kisses you gently as he slowly eases his way into your dripping core for sure stretching you wider than you ever had.

You open your mouth and breath out as you grip his shoulders as he moans. "Fuck (Y/N)..." He starts to roll his hips , his massive ass length dragging along you sweetspot. The symphony of low possessive growls and high, sweetened gasps filled the room as you tugged tightly the strands of Sam Winchester's hair. What started out as friendship had now turned into a needing, loving feeling to be with one another and hold close to death. And although you couldn't make a sound, your grips and digging of nails into his muscly toned and tanned skin make him aware.

This fantasy. Too good to be true. But hadn't you said that already? You both rut your hips and kiss the now sweat filled skin of both bodies. The almost desperate breaths and gasps from you had almost motivated him. The feeling of his length rubbing your sweet spot deliciously and girth of his friend had made you uncontrollably high.

Kissing your neck with burning need and desire, Sam growls as his thrusts became slow, and soon you felt him twitch. You had come, crashing hard the feeling of complete desire and spent hitting you hard the second time. At the wet and tight feeling Sam felt himself break as his hot release shot out in white streaks, coating the numb walls and stinging the paper cut like abrasions on your walls from the friction.

You pant and wince as Sam pulled out gently and kissed your neck and shoulder joint lovingly. Laughing a little from the ticklish feeling you play with his hair. Closing your eyes, his body warmth and cuddliness held you. But something didn't feel right. Since when was Sam's hair....spiky?

You open your eyes and soon enough they were wide with fear. A massive tarantula held you down its fangs dragging creepily along you chest and collar bone. You whimper and slowly move under. But it wouldn't let you. It had two legs forcefully pressing into your arms and two on your legs while the other four cradled your waist. You face away but you only expose your neck. It screeches loudly as it dives its head down and its fangs penetrating your ample body, skin and muscle tearing at the downward force, bones and organs tearing apart.

You sat up panting and gripping your chest were the bite had got you. Sweat and heat surrounded your body. You look to your side and see Sam laying beside you naked. At least one thing was true. You grab a shirt and jeans and walk out leaving a small note for Sam. You had a monster to take down, but right now- you needed a drink.

-•••-

The bar was filled with the usuals; the drunk truckies, the frat boys, the attention seekers, the wolf pack and let's not forget the occasional good boy. The bartender handed your trusty scotch and bourbon on the rocks and you downed the Hazel liquid letting your throat accompany the sensational burn. Oxymoronic isn't it? You decided to text Dean and explain your rather familiar find.

You- "hey Dean..." • 11:34pm 30/5/2014 D.W- "having fun in the motel, (Y/N)!" • 11:34pm 30/5/2014 You- "you bet! :P" • 11:35pm 30/5/2014 D.W- "anyway Princess what's up?" • 11:35pm 30/5/2014

For the next 10 minutes, you and Dean had explained the monster, discussed plans and even the one night stand that stood up to Dean because of his cat-calling. He then explained how he received the five finger Mark of the backslap. He joked about the fact that he has the mark of hell, heaven and Satan on him. Even you couldn't help but "laugh" at that.

"What you looking at beautiful?" An older, more deeper voice asked. You didn't have to look. He was a trucker, middle aged, obviously bloody drunk and God forbid, looking for a good lay. You try to ignore him, but he sits beside you, smiling his crowed smile cooing words and phrases.

"You're so beautiful." "A little bored honey?" "I know of a place where it's no longer boring." "Not much of a talker are you."

You kept quiet. But that's when things got way out of hand. He started to caress your arm, cooing again nicknames such as "beautiful" and "sexy" and "good lay". You push him off his chair with a single arm and everyone looks. He growls as he stands up and grips your wrists tightly, dragging you to your feet.

"Dad stop!" The bartender yelled as he was about to run to you.

"Shut up Eric! Sit down and be good!" The older man yelled. The bartender obliged but it wasn't soon before the older Winchester turned him around and punched him.

"You have some explaining to do."

#supernatural #Supernatural Fan Fiction #Supernatural smut #sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester smut #dean winchester #it #pennywise the dancing clown #supernatural/it crossover #floating downtown

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